Faking It with My Bossy Ex (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

9. Amy

Chapter 9

Amy

The first thing I realize is the fact I’m not alone in bed. I check my pillow barrier. Thank goodness it’s still there. Sitting up, my eyes catch on the white outside the window.

Perfect, unblemished snow covers everything. It must have snowed all night. Thankfully, there’s now a clear sky. Is Dylan up? There’s no noise coming from his side of the bed.

I slowly creep forward until I’m able to poke my nose over the mound of pillows. Dylan’s blue-green eyes stare up at me, an obnoxious, cocky smile plastered on his lips.

“Good morning, Ames,” he says, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Enjoying the view?”

I grab one of the pillows from the top and launch it at him. He narrowly dodges with a laugh.

“Hey!” He half protests, “I didn’t make the rules.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just checking to see if you’d finally gotten up.”

He chuckles, looking completely unfazed. “Sure, if that’s the story you’re sticking with. Can’t blame you, though. Pretty hard to resist a face like mine.”

If he was conceited before, he’s worse now.

My cheeks are red, I’m sure of it. No matter how hard I try to school my features, there are some reactions that are uncontrollable.

I give him my best death glare. Though it’s probably not as intimidating as I think. I’m scrambling to find something a bit more efficient.

Jerking my blankets up on my side of the bed, I do my best to leave it made.

“I’m going to change and then find something to eat. Everyone out there is probably expecting us to go together, seeing as we’re supposed to be a couple. ” The sooner we can get away from the topic of me trying to get a look at him, the better.

“Wouldn’t miss it, darling.” His voice lilts with mirth as I excuse myself to the bathroom to change. Sharing a room with Dylan? This must be some sort of cosmic punishment for past misdeeds.

Fuming, I put on my clothes for the day and rejoin Dylan. He’s already changed and standing by the door, which he opens for me, making a grand gesture.

Of course, he’s making light of romantic gestures. He used to do little things like this just for me, even though he’d laugh and call himself ridiculous afterward. Now he’s doing them as a joke, poking fun at our fake arrangement, and somehow, it hurts.

I miss those little moments that made me dream about our future together. Knowing that I was his, and he was mine. I pushed those thoughts away, slowly getting past it while in Europe, but now that I’m back and we’re back together in the same spot, it’s not so easy to ignore.

The walk to the lobby is miserable. The snow clings to my boots and makes the hems of my pants drip with freezing melted snow. It reminds me of when I’d go out looking for a Christmas tree with Dad.

I never minded the discomfort then. He’d scoop me up on his shoulders and carry me. Once we found the perfect tree, I’d watch as he chopped it down, then would ride on top of it as he pulled it back to the house.

I smile at the memory. Those were easier times. Then I remember the last night I saw him.

“I don’t want you to leave.” I look up at him. “Maybe I can talk to Mom, and then she won’t ask you to go.” My tenth birthday in two weeks away. He’s never missed one. Who’s going to cut my cake? Will he be okay out there?

“Don’t worry, Ames, I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t hold this against your mom. We just need some space from one another. It’s not either of our fault. It just happens sometimes.” He leans down and pulls me into a tight hug, his body engulfing mine, the smell of smoke from the wood stove he just lit a little while before still clinging to the fabric of his coat.

“You promise?” Tears press at the back of my eyes. Make him stay. He’s never coming back. That little voice screams in my head, demanding action, but what else can I do?

“Pinky promise.” He clutches my pinky with his, then kisses my forehead. “I’ll be there to cut your cake, okay?”

“Okay.” He steps out the door, snow blowing, settling in wet specks across his coat, the only sign he was in that hallway a few seconds before. He’ll be there to cut my birthday cake. He’s never missed a year.

Turns out there are a few times in my life where my inner voice knows what it’s talking about, and that was one of them. My birthday came, and I sat by that cake waiting for him, through my birthday, through his funeral, through all the years after when I kept telling myself he’d just walked out for a little while.

My dad abandoned me. He said he’d always be there for me, but that wasn't a promise he should have made. I thought it was a fluke, but I’ve been abandoned three times by three different men, and it doesn’t feel like an accident anymore.

“Everything all right?” Dylan asks. He touches my elbow and I startle, realizing we’ve reached the lobby and I’m standing by the door like I’ve forgotten where I am.

“Fine. I just … never mind. Got lost in the moment for a second.” I force a smile.

“Are you sure?” He steps closer, touching my chin, and examining my face.

“I’m sure.” I look up at his face, taking in every detail of his features. Could there be a second chance for us in the cards? No. It wouldn't make a difference. He’d walk away, just like he did before and like everyone before him did.

I pull away from him and hurry inside before I say anything else. I pick a table near the back of the dining area, hoping to be common enough that no one notices us.

There are plenty of people in town that know who Dylan and I are. I'm not convinced that everyone isn't gossiping about us already, considering the show Dylan put on last night with Mrs. Parker.

After we order, Dylan leans over the table. “Cheer up, honey. You wouldn't want people to think there's trouble in paradise, would you?” He winks and I shake my head.

“There is no paradise,” I remind him. “Mrs. Parker is looking this way, probably trying to see if we are cheating her out of a couple’s cabin.”

I shake my head. My exhausted brain got the best of me the night before by going along with this charade. Even if I do find a suitable place to stay in town, I'm going to have to come up with a clever way to explain the situation to Mrs. Parker without it looking like I lied.

The waitress sets two plates in front of us. My stomach growls at the sight of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and turkey sausages. I bite into one and close my eyes, sighing as the flavor takes over my senses.

“It’s been a while since we got breakfast together,” Dylan says, mimicking my reaction when he takes a bite of his food.

“This isn’t breakfast together like you’re saying.” I remind him. “We’re just both here and need to eat.”

“Same difference.” Tense silence sits between us as we eat until Dylan puts his fork down. “You haven’t been back here much, have you?”

“No.” A wave of emotion surges through me. Snowfall Springs holds so many memories, both good and bad.

“Why didn’t you ever come back?”

“There was nothing left to come back for.” I meet his gaze. He would have been my only reason to come back.

“Ames …” He clears his throat.

He’s the only one in my life that has ever called me that besides my dad. I’m not sure if I like it or hate it.

He shakes his head and tightens his mouth into a thin line. His eyes darted away, focusing on some invisible point in the distance. The air between us grew thick with tension, weighted by whatever he couldn't bring himself to say.

“I’m going to talk to Mrs. Parker about some snow shoes to get into town. Take your time.” His tone is taut with tension as he stands up and leaves the table. He turns away, but not before a flash of pain flickers in his eyes.

It makes no sense.

He was the one who left, who tore everything apart. So why does he look hurt? Why does it feel like he’s carrying pieces of the past that should be my burden alone?

I don't think I'm in love with you anymore.

He was the one who ended everything, moving on with Clara like I was a chapter he’d finished reading. He wouldn’t have any painful feelings about our split.

When I left for Europe, it felt like the world just stopped. And he’s not supposed to be the one making it feel like it’s spinning again, not after everything. He shouldn’t still have this pull on me. I shouldn’t feel anything at all.

Movement by my table yanks me back to the present.

“One fudge brownie and vanilla ice cream with a cinnamon cappuccino,” the waitress says, setting the treats in front of me and yanking me back to the present.

“What?” My eyes drop to the mouthwatering dessert, the vanilla ice cream dripping down the sides of the brownie. “I didn’t order this.”

“Oh, your boyfriend did. He said it’s your favorite.” The waitress smiles, a look of wistfulness on her face as she hurries away.

My boyfriend. My heart turns into a gooey mess as I take a bite of my favorite dessert.

It’s pretend, and it has to stay that way.

My phone pings and I fish it out. It’s another email from Leo. I’d forgotten to write him back the day before.

So, what did you think of the news I sent you yesterday? Pretty cool, right? You’ve been MIA for a while now. Check in so I know you’re still alive.

Leo

His message makes me smile. I’m definitely still alive. I finish up my brownie and type out a response.

Your news was indeed groundbreaking, except for the fact that Creative Canvas has a mega sale once every six months. I’ll be sure to check it out once I get back to New York City. I am still alive. Thanks for checking. I’ve just been a little distracted running into a lot of familiar faces.

Turns out, my ex is back in town. A little hard to believe, don’t you think? Even worse, I’m working with him on the whole fundraiser thing. Never thought we’d be in the same room again, much less have to be civil. Can’t wait to get back home.

Talk soon,

Amy

I hit send, feeling a little bad about deflating his news about Creative Canvas. Leo’s not a painter, just a supportive friend who is apparently on Creative Canvas’s promotional team. I appreciate the effort, though. That's what friends are for.

My gaze falls back to my empty dessert plate. Dylan seems to be making an effort to either keep the peace or maybe something more. Despite the past, it’s harder than I thought to keep the right barriers between us.