Faking It with My Bossy Ex (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

16. Dylan

Chapter 16

Dylan

The horror on Amy’s face is priceless. She might think these forced couple moments are torture, but for me? It’s like getting handed a dream I never thought I’d have again.

She starts to make her getaway, her eyes darting toward the exit. Before she can bolt, I slip my arm around her shoulders and pull her against me. She stiffens for a second, then lets out a resigned sigh, like she’s accepting her fate for the morning.

Everyone here seems to be a couple, or at least most of them are. Some are probably staying in the cabins, but a lot of them are couples from town, which takes me by surprise.

“We can’t keep doing these competitions. It wouldn't be right if a different couple had a chance at winning a real prize and we deprived them of that.” Amy adjusts herself to try to put more space between us while still staying under my arm, but she only manages to come closer.

“I know that there has been a lot of curiosity about what the first prize winners are going to get,” Mrs. Parker continues speaking, her gaze falling on us for half a second.

“Don’t you at least want to know what the prize is, dear?” I whisper in her ear with a naughty grin.

“Do we have to be like … so close?”

“Unless you’re okay with people thinking we’ve been faking it just to stay here and enter the Couple’s Contest.”

Maybe keeping up appearances is a small part of it, but I like having her so close. It feels right, like she fits up against me as if she never left in the first place.

She relaxes just a bit. It starts in her shoulders and works its way down the rest of her, and my smile grows.

“The winners of the whole competition will get an all-expenses paid trip on a Caribbean cruise. A very generous person who wants to help stoke the romance for a special couple has donated it.” Mrs. Parke beams.

I grin and Amy withers.

“A cruise?” she whispers. “We are not conning all of these poor people out of a cruise.” “We’re not about to take a cruise from a real couple.”

“It’s not like that.” I lead her over to the breakfast line and hand her a pre-warmed plate. “We are a couple, staying in a couple’s cabin. They just want people to enjoy the contest and the prize. You used to talk about a cruise as one of your big dreams. I think it was your five-year plan, wasn’t it?” I smile, hoping she remembers the way she used to share her dreams with me, back when I was part of them.

She doesn’t answer right away, but the way her eyes light up says it all. She wants this cruise. I can see it plain as day.

“Come on, Amy. Let’s really go for it. Where’s your competitive spirit?” I place a brownie on her plate, and a little smile tugs the corner of her mouth. I love her smile so much, and I wish I could be the reason she smiles like that.

“I don’t want to go on a cruise with you.”

Ouch. That hurts. Her words hit like a cold wind, but I cover the sting with a grin.

“Fine. If we win and you still can’t stand me, take someone else. Just don’t let the ticket go to waste.”

I would hate that, but if she doesn't change her mind about me at the end of our time together in Snowfall Springs, then I’m going to have to accept her decision.

“What’s in it for you, then?” Her green eyes study me curiously, as if looking for any sign that I'm trying to set her up for something.

“What’s in it for me is seeing you get something that you’ve always wanted.”

“So,” Mrs. Parker’s voice interrupts her answer. “Our next portion of the competition is a gingerbread house-making contest. Materials will be delivered to everyone’s table and you have one hour to put something together. There will be three small prizes, and the overall winners will get a point toward the final prize.”

Everyone cheers as Amy’s expression turns determined. “How good are you at making gingerbread houses?”

“Pretty handy, if I do say so myself. Let me take that plate for you.” I scoop her plate from her as she grabs two cups of orange juice.

“All right then. Let’s do this.” She giggles. I’ve won this round, and I can’t wait to see how far she’ll let this go. Being enemies has its fun moments, but I want more, something even better than that.

One hour, two trips to the buffet, and three buckets of frosting later, we’re standing up front on the stage along with five other couples waiting for final judgment. Amy’s cheeks are bright red, and she clasps her hands in anticipation. There’s the competitive side I was looking for.

I also think that our gingerbread house might win. It’s complete with a chimney, flower boxes with real candy flowers, and even a couple out front, made completely from gummies and licorice.

Mrs. Parker stops beside each little table, examining the houses. The two other judges she’s brought in take extra care, pointing out things they love and things they aren’t so sure about.

I feel optimistic when they spend twice as long looking at our house and are whispering among themselves. Even with my optimism, I am not expecting it when they pin a bright blue ribbon to the front of our gingerbread house.

“We won! Can you believe it? We won!” She stares at the blue ribbon in disbelief, then launches herself into my arms, her laugh ringing in my ears as she hugs me tight. I don’t think she even realizes what she’s doing. For a split second, I let myself pretend this is real, that she wants to be here with me, just as much as I want to be with her.

She pulls back, her cheeks burning red. “Sorry, I … got excited.”

“Don’t apologize, darling.” I pull her close as the three judges offer us smiles and congratulations. Two of the other couples are chosen as winners, and the smaller prizes are handed out, which, in this case, are baskets full of treats for two to enjoy. No one seems bothered that Amy and I won. Instead, they’re all telling us how happy they are that we got first place and admiring the little house.

Now, if only we were a real couple with a real house and little flower boxes, and not all pretend.

***

The evening with Amy has left me feeling lighter, like I’ve been transported back to the best days we had together. But as I step out of the bathroom, towel-drying my hair, I stop cold.

Amy’s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at something in her hands, tears rolling down her face.

Throwing my hair towel off to the side, I cross the room and sink down beside her on the bed.

“Hey … what’s wrong?” My hand rests on her back, offering comfort. I’ve barely seen Amy cry over the years. She’s usually the strong one, even when she doesn’t have to be.

“Oh.” She looks up for a moment, then wipes away a tear, sniffling. “I’m sorry. I sort of forgot where I was. It broke and I just …”

She holds out the thing in her hands. It’s a butterfly, a silver butterfly with a blue inlay. It’s the pendant she’s worn for as long as I’ve known her. She keeps it tucked under her shirt for the most part, but I’ve seen it once or twice. The chain has snapped in two. “I tried to fix it, but the chain won’t stick.”

I take the piece of jewelry, turning it over in my hand.

“I’m sorry. Your mom gave this to you, didn't she?” I knew how much it meant, even though she rarely spoke about it.

Amy nods, a sigh shuddering through her shoulders.

“It’s always with me. I never take it off. It’s a reminder of her and everything she used to do when she was here with us, and I …” A fresh tear rolls down her cheek and I can’t take it. I reach out, brushing her tear away with my thumb, letting my hand linger. I want her to know I’m here, that I see her pain.

“Your mom would have wanted you to be happy when you remembered all of those memories.” I set the necklace on the side table and turn Amy so she’s facing me. We’re both sitting on her side of the bed. What’s left of the pillow wall is sitting right against our legs.

“Tell me, what’s the first thing that you remember about your mom during these times when you look at the necklace?”

“Her cinnamon french toast,” she sniffles with half a smile. “She’d make a loaf of bread from scratch and infuse it with cinnamon, then she’d use that to make the french toast. My dad used to say it was a slice of heaven.”

I wipe away two more tears that fall, and she takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I remember the way she’d get up before all of us to fill our stockings. Even though we always had mandarin oranges when she went to the grocery store, we thought it was the best thing ever when we’d find one in our stocking because she didn't want it to all be candy and bad sweets.”

“The first time you stayed at our house, your mom helped fill our stockings and put a mandarin orange in each one. I thought it was strange, but when I saw how excited you were, I couldn't bring myself to ask you about it, so I pretended it was exactly what I wanted, too.” I chuckle. Even back then, she had a hold on me that I couldn't shake.

“You weren't as good of a liar as you thought you were. I knew you were lying, but I ignored it because I appreciated you trying.” Amy shakes her head, and her gaze meets mine. “Those were good times, all of us together. When my mom died, it was hard to get back to enjoying Christmas the way I used to. It’s hard this time of year, remembering how much it meant to her.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I think our dads were just friends by association. It was our moms that were really close and all of us kids just figured out where we fit.”

“Sometimes I wish we could have Christmas dinner like that again. It’s just that my brothers would probably kill you now.”

I laugh. “I’m willing to risk my life if you’ll invite me.” Our knees are touching, and her hands are in mine. Silky smooth skin. I swear I could hold them for days.

My eyes drop to her lips, soft, tempting, dangerously close. I can’t take this much longer. She’s killing me, being so close to her, feeling so intoxicated, but knowing I can’t … shouldn’t touch.

But I really want to.

I lean in slightly. The scent of strawberry washes over me, sweet and tangy. It’s too good.

Her eyelids flutter like an invitation, reeling me in. She's so close, one tiny breath away. My heart thunders in my chest. Time seems to slow, stretching out this precious second before everything changes.

I lean in, watching her eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. There is none. Just a softness that makes my breath catch.

My lips hover a hairsbreadth from hers. I pause, savoring the anticipation, the electricity crackling between us. Her warm breath mingles with mine, sweet and intoxicating.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, I close that last sliver of distance. Our lips meet, and the world falls away. The touch is feather light at first.

Her lips part slightly, a sigh escaping her as she meets me halfway. We balance there, right on the edge of something real happening between us.

Does she feel the same way I do? Could she possibly know how my heart longed for her?

“Amy …” I whisper, my lips brushing hers.

She presses forward, her mouth closing against mine, an invisible force pushing and dragging us together.