Faking It with My Bossy Ex (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

18. Dylan

Chapter 18

Dylan

Clara Hayes. Of all people. My stomach twists as her eyes scan the room, searching, sucking everything in, until they land on me. They zone in, and she walks toward us. Perfect. Just what I needed.

Amy’s gone silent. Her shoulders are frozen in place, her face shifting from confusion to hurt, then back to that guarded expression I was just starting to break through. This isn’t good. We were making such good progress, but Clara's sudden presence will complicate things.

Clara doesn’t just walk, she saunters, swinging her hips, a smug expression on her face. The way she parades herself around, it’s in an in your face sort of way. She never did have a very nice personality, which probably contributed to her lack of friends.

Amy, on the other hand, is a quiet presence, one that demands attention in a different way because people can’t not look at her.

“We can go …” I reach toward Amy, who yanks her hand back and stuffs it under the table right as Clara walks up.

“Dylan! When I signed up to do a story on the Christmas Couples Contest for the town newspaper, I never imagined I’d run into you here.” Her smile stretches across her face, and she rests a hand on my shoulder.

If her claws dig in any harder, I’m going to need a tetanus shot.

“What brings you back to town?” She coos, not sparing a single glance toward Amy. My stomach turns.

“Actually, I came here for Amy.” I nod in Amy’s direction. “We’re working on a fundraiser together.”

Amy’s eyes widen slightly, her gaze snapping to mine.

“Oh, Amy. Good to see you again, too.” Clara’s tone changes when she speaks to Amy, as if something’s gotten caught in her throat, and she can’t quite shake it. She turns her attention immediately back to me.

“Would you mind doing an interview? It’s for the local newspaper, and I know everyone would want to hear from someone who made it big in the city.”

“I don’t think …” I’m not doing an interview with Clara while Amy sneaks off. She’s already stood up and gathered her things. Clara waves over the two men who were with her, one with a video camera and the other with a microphone.

“This is going to be wonderful, and it won’t take but five minutes. You don’t mind, do you, Amy?” Clara asks in the sweetest voice.

Amy gives a tight-lipped smile. “Of course not. I don’t think Dylan has anything else going on tonight.” Amy doesn’t wait for a response before rushing out of the dining area, leaving me behind. The men position a chair and shove a microphone in my face.

Mrs. Parker is standing nearby with a face aglow with happiness, most likely ecstatic that her inn is getting so much attention. Some of the other couples have gathered around to listen in. The only way out is for me to get through the interview and rush after Amy.

When Clara scoots a chair a little too close for comfort and leans forward while asking the questions as if we’re having some intimate conversation, it’s almost too much for me. I answer five or six questions before making an excuse that I have to go.

I push through the crowd and get outside, nearly running all the way back to the cabin. I need her to be there, to let me explain, but the emptiness of the cabin tells me I’m too late. Her snowshoes are gone, her things already cleared out for the day.

She’s out there alone, and I’m the last person she wants to see.

Clara and I were never real. She was a desperate choice, someone I knew Amy would see and believe. Someone who would convince her I’d moved on. I hated myself for it then, and I hate it even more now. If I could go back and do it all over again, I’d have found another way.

Sure, there were rumors, plenty of them, and I let them fly. It was easier for Amy to believe I’d moved on if everyone else thought so, too. Clara was just part of a story I had to create to protect Amy’s future.

I should have told Amy sooner. Now she’s going to think I’m making it up just to win back her favor. Either way, I’ve got to try. As soon as I can track her down, the truth is coming out. All I can hope for is that she hears me out.

***

My legs ache, but it’s nothing compared to the strain in my chest, like I’m dragging my heart uphill. Amy’s been avoiding me all day, dodging every chance I get to talk to her.

She can avoid me out in the library and at the fundraiser, but she can’t avoid me at the Karaoke competition. The place is packed, and when I say packed, I mean it. There’s not a free seat in the entire establishment, and I’ve never seen Mrs. Parker so happy.

The other couples are waiting, tittering and talking before their turn to sing comes up. Amy shows up when it's almost our turn. I draw in a sharp breath. She's wearing a calf-length red dress with long sleeves. Black leggings and a white cardigan complete her outfit, hugging her figure.

Her hair falls around her shoulders in soft curls. She’s Christmas wrapped in a package. Heads turn to watch her approach, including Clara, who has a death stare on her pinched features.

“There you are, darling. I thought you might not show up.” Putting on my best grin, I try to smooth things over.

As if that’s going to go well.

“Sorry, I got held up talking with Laura.” She doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she hands me a slip of paper. “I thought we’d sing this one.”

“Really?” I deadpan.

“Last Christmas?” I mutter, my stomach twisting. Of all the songs, she picked this one. She’s sending a message, loud and clear. And it stings, because if I could go back, I’d rewrite everything I did that year.

“Yes. Really. It’s fitting, if you ask me.” Her eyes dart between me and Clara, who is standing across the room, a couple of people around her, giving interviews and commentary.

I shake my head as the song starts and she jumps in with the first line.

“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart …”

My heart sinks, but I put on my best smile. I convinced Amy to try and win this Christmas competition, so I’m not backing out now. She’s singing very well, and even with this awful song, maybe we could have a chance at first or second place.

“I thought you were someone to rely on.” Her voice is steady, but her gaze isn’t. It lands on me, steady and accusing, like a knife straight through. I’d give anything to undo that hurt, to go back and be the man she needed.

The song draws to an end, and my stomach falls. We’re going to walk off this stage and go right back to being ice cold.

She finishes her line, a sweet smile on her face, sending a rush of electricity through me. The music stops and everyone claps. We seem to be one of the favorites so far. I take her hand and pull her close as we leave the stage. She lets me, but it’s like there’s a wall standing between us I can’t remove. As soon as we’re off the stage, she ducks out from under my arm.

“Can we talk?” I don’t let go of her hand.

“Look, Mrs. Parker is coming.” She ignores my question, tossing her hair over her shoulder and pointing to Mrs. Parker, who is indeed walking toward us.

“Good work, both of you,” Mrs. Parker beams. If she notices the good bit of distance between us or the brittle expression on Amy’s face, she doesn’t say anything.

“There’s a good chance you’ll win. You know, you’re soaring through the competition so far.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t do it without Dylan.” Amy glances up at me, blinking her eyes sweetly. It’s for show. That’s easy enough to see, but two can play that game. I reach out and take her hand in mine, spinning her toward me until she’s wrapped in my arms.

“You’re too sweet, Ames.” I kiss the top of her head, her back against my chest. Her breath come out in furious little puffs.

“I can tell the two of you are head over heels in love.” Mrs. Parker’s eyes twinkle. “I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure everyone is eager to hear the results of the competition.” She hurries off into the crowd. Amy starts to pull away, but I keep her where she is, swaying to the music that’s now taken over the Karaoke attempts.

“Dylan …” her voice is tense with warning.

“Amy,” I reply, a smile on my face.

“Clara’s watching. If you’re using me to make her jealous …” Her tone falters for a moment, and I turn her around, still keeping her close, one of my hands resting on her waist and the other holding her hand.

“Believe me, I am not trying to make Clara jealous. I don’t care what Clara thinks.”

She smells like a cinnamon roll, and it’s doing something to my head. I wish we were dancing because we wanted to be. She’s still tense in my arms, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.

“I’m sorry …” she shakes her head and breaks free of my grasp. “I can’t do this.”

She weaves through the other couples, spectators, and all the other guests in the inn until she gets to the front door and slips outside. I’m right behind her.

I’m not letting her run away this time.