Chapter Twenty
It wasn’t every day that Jeremy Wentworth traded his hoodie and work boots for a tuxedo, but apparently, miracles weren’t confined to Christmas movies.
The fundraiser was still an hour away, and my spot in the musical performance was at least an hour after that, but I stood in the motel office fiddling with the clasp on my evening bag. When I looked up, he was descending the back stairs.
Handsome and stunning.
In black tie.
My heart skipped like a scratched vinyl record. He was a walking contradiction: broad shoulders that seemed too rugged for something so tailored, yet the quiet confidence that made it look like he belonged on a red carpet. The crooked bowtie, the faint glow edging his beard, and the trace of sawdust clinging to his hair—because, of course, he’d been working on some project until the last minute—made him impossibly, undeniably Jeremy.
“Wow,” I said before I could stop myself. “Who knew you cleaned up this well?”
His lips quirked into that maddening, half-smirk as he stepped off the last stair. “You sound surprised.”
“That’s because I am. The last time I saw you in anything fancier than a hoodie, it was your cosplay outfit.”
“Hey, that was classy. It had buttons and everything,” he shot back, straightening his already-perfect cuffs. “What’s your excuse for looking like you stepped out of a Bond movie?”
I waved him off, but the movement made my elbow twinge. The pain was faint—thanks to the double dose of painkillers I’d taken earlier—but enough to remind me I wasn’t invincible. Not even a black column dress and an expertly clipped updo, courtesy of Sage, could hide how shaky I still felt inside. I was going to go without the sling tonight, and if it killed me, so be it.
“Bond movie? Please.” I tilted my chin up, playing along. “I’m clearly the femme fatale in this scenario. You know, the one with a tragic past and questionable choices.”
Jeremy’s eyes sparked with humor. “Does that make me the rugged hero with a tragic haircut and a heart of gold?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said, laughing. “Except your haircut isn’t tragic. I love it.” The way the waves fell softly over his forehead, wild and untamed, a perfectly natural and charming look. The light hit it at just the right angle to showcase the myriad hues of browns, from chocolate to a light tan shade.
He chuckled, low and warm, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared. It was just us, standing in the motel office, trading jokes that felt too natural to be scripted, too real to be fake.
And that’s when it hit me.
I’d fallen for him. Completely.
Not the way I was supposed to—not with this ridiculous fake relationship or my grand plan to win back an ex I couldn’t even remember why I’d wanted. No, this was different. He was different.
The realization was like stepping off a ledge, weightless and terrifying. My pulse quickened, heat rising to my cheeks as I stared at him, and I had to fight the urge to look away.
I opened my mouth, intending to say something—anything—but the words tangled in my throat. I wanted to tell him everything. About my past. About the cameras. About why I’d run from the life I’d built as an actress. But then I looked at his face—the way he was watching me, like I wasn’t a problem to be solved but a person to be cared for—and I knew I couldn’t do it.
Not yet. Not here.
I cleared my throat instead. “You’re actually pulling off the whole tuxedo thing, by the way. Just in case you were worried.”
“Oh, I wasn’t,” he deadpanned. “The lady at the rental shop said I’d look like a million bucks.”
“She was being generous,” I teased, though the truth was I’d never seen anyone look so devastatingly good in formalwear. Not even the actors I’d worked with.
Jeremy’s smile widened. “And you—you’re…” His voice faltered, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re something else, Molly. There’s not even a proper word in the dictionary to describe…”
Heat flooded my cheeks. My pulse thudded in my ears, but I couldn’t look away.
“Well,” I managed, trying to keep things light, “just wait until the fundraiser’s over. I have an encore performance planned for later.” It was time to show the cards in my hand and let the chips fall where they may.
His brows lifted. “Something to look forward to.”
The way he said it—like I was the only thing in the world worth waiting for—made my breath catch.
As we left the motel, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just stepped into something both exhilarating and terrifying. Jeremy’s confession echoed in my mind, making my heart race all over again. Could this really be real? Could he actually feel the same way I did?
The Beauvert Ballroom glowed with warm light, the golden chandeliers casting soft shadows against the polished wooden floors. Laughter and conversation rippled through the air as the fundraiser was all abuzz around us, but for once, I felt strangely calm.
Jeremy stood beside me, his tie slightly crooked with his hands tucked into his pockets, his signature casualness managing to shine through even in a tuxedo. The man could make a black-tie event feel as easy as a Saturday morning coffee run, and somehow, that made everything—this night, this moment—feel lighter.
We’d just placed silent bids on a handful of auction items. A weekend at a nearby spa (my idea), a gourmet basket of cheeses (his, and he promised to share with the motel guests should he win), and, inexplicably, a vintage truck carved out of a tree that neither of us had room for but both of us had laughed about.
“What should we name it?” he’d asked, his grin infectious.
I tapped my finger against my chin, trying my hardest to think of the perfect name. “Elmer Pinewood.” I pronounced it elm-er .
“Elm-er, eh?” He arched a brow at me, curiosity flickering in his eyes, but before he could ask what I meant, the band started up again.
The band struck up a classic, the melody soft and lilting, and the hum of conversation around us softened. Couples drifted toward the dance floor, their movements slow and easy, and for the first time that night, I felt the pull of something quieter, deeper.
Jeremy stepped closer, holding out his hand, his gaze steady on mine. It wasn’t just a playful gesture anymore; it was something else, something that made my pulse quicken.
I hesitated for just a second, glancing down at his hand before taking it. His grip was warm and steady, the faint calluses on his fingers brushing against my skin. As he led me to the edge of the dance floor, I felt the strange, electric pull that only Jeremy seemed capable of creating.
He slid an arm around my waist, his other hand holding mine, and I rested my free hand on his shoulder. The scent of his cologne—something woodsy and clean, with a hint of sawdust—wrapped around me as we moved.
“You’re full of surprises tonight,” I said softly, glancing up at him.
“Yeah?” His gaze met mine, the corners of his mouth curving into a small smile. “What’s so surprising?”
“You can dance,” I said, the words barely above a whisper.
He chuckled, the sound low and rich, his breath warm against my hair. “Don’t let this fool you. I’ve stepped on a lot of toes to get here.”
“Yet somehow, mine are unscathed.”
“Beginner’s luck,” he said lightly, but his eyes gave him away. There was something warm and unguarded in his gaze that made my chest tighten.
We swayed in silence for a moment, the music and the glow of the room wrapping around us like a cocoon. My head tilted slightly toward his shoulder, and I felt his hand at my waist tighten just enough to steady me, to hold me closer.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said softly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
His hand paused for the briefest moment before he spoke. “Where else would I be?”
I glanced up at him, the sincerity in his voice knocking down every wall I’d built to keep him at a distance. I wanted to tell him everything—that this wasn’t fake for me anymore, that somewhere between the trivia night and the morning coffee runs, something shifted into something real. I was terrified of what would happen when he found out who I used to be and how I hadn’t been exactly truthful.
Instead, I smiled.
“You know, I have to be honest with you.” He glanced down into my soul, bypassing my eyes. “I was talking to Grandma.”
I swallowed as a surge of adrenaline coursed through me, which I tried to keep at bay by swaying in time to the music.
“And she’s wise, right? She’s seen things I can’t even imagine in all her years. She sees right through a situation and drops the truth like a hot potato.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She told me something I didn’t believe. I thought she was wrong, but the truth is, she’s right, and I’m not even mad about it.”
“About what?” The words were breathless.
“Us.”
There was an uptick in my heart rate as my breath caught in the back of my throat. “And what is that?”
He leaned impossibly close. “Somehow over the past week, which is crazy because how can it happen like that, and so fast too? Somehow I’ve fallen for you, and I can’t help myself. You’ve been the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. That kiss?”
“The one at trivia night?” I held my breath as I replayed it in my mind.
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t fake, was it?”
Slowly, he shook his head.
A huge smile bubbled out of me, spreading over my face. “It wasn’t for me either.”
“Really?” The award for genuine happiness was all Jeremy’s.
Inhaling, he cupped my cheek, stroking it lightly as he brushed his lips across mine, teasing and wanting. When I came up for air, my soul felt lighter than it ever had.
The doctor was barely a flicker in my thoughts now. Jeremy, on the other hand? He was a full-on forest fire. Smoldering, steady, and all-consuming. A man I hadn’t expected. A hope I didn’t deserve.
* * *
As I left the dance floor, the warmth of Jeremy’s hand lingered on mine, the weight of his words still wrapping around my heart. My cheeks were flushed from more than just the swing of the music, my pulse quick with something I didn’t want to name.
Sliding onto the edge of the stage, I cradled my flute in my lap, its familiar weight cool against my damp palms. Around me, the people buzzed; laughter mingling with the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation. The elegant warmth of it all felt distant like I was watching a scene from a movie.
For the first time in years, I’d felt like I belonged here—like Molly was enough. Not Holly Gaudreau, the actress. Not some version of me shaped to fit others’ expectations. Just Molly. And I was okay with that.
Completely and truly.
I glanced across the room to where the handsome Jeremy stood at the bar. His tie was loosened, and his jacket slung over the back of a chair. However, his relaxed posture had stiffened. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. His smile—the one that made me feel like I was the only person in the world—was gone.
Had I imagined it? The connection between us, the spark that felt so undeniable. My chest tightened. My breathing became uneven. No, it wasn’t in my head. But something had shifted. Why?
The conductor’s baton rapped sharply against the music stand, breaking through the fog in my head. I straightened and lifted my flute, willing my fingers to steady as the first notes of the set began.
I’d done this countless times. The melody should have come effortlessly, weaving through the room with practiced ease. Instead, my fingers trembled over the keys. My breath became shaky. My focus was splintered and the rhythm slipped just out of reach.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I spotted her.
She lingered near the edge of the room, partially obscured by a potted fern. Her black pantsuit was sharp but unremarkable—except for the camera in her hands. My stomach dipped.
It wasn’t the kind of camera you brought for casual snapshots. The lens was long. Pointed. Deliberate. And it was aimed directly at me.
My fingers stumbled over the keys, the next note cracking in the air like glass shattering on marble. The clarinet player beside me shot a glance my way. I forced a tight smile, heat flooding my cheeks as I adjusted my pained grip on the flute.
Maybe she’s with the fundraiser. The conductor did say someone would be taking pictures for the community music program.
But the pit in my stomach deepened as the camera’s flash lit up the room.
The next note wavered, slipping through my grasp.
This was innocent, she was just here to highlight the music and bring attention to the community music program. But my instincts whispered otherwise, the thought gnawing at the edges of my panic.
Was she here for me? Had I been outed?
The potted fern shifted as the woman stepped forward, the camera rising for another shot. My pulse quickened. Two men moved in from opposite sides of the room, their cameras at the ready. Their movements were smooth, practiced, and their attention was targeted on the stage.
On me.
Murky whispers rolled through the crowd, my stage name breezing off the tips of their tongues. They were soft at first but swelled into a low hum. Heads turned. Fingers pointed. Curiosity surfaced.
My chest tightened painfully, my vision blurring at the edges as I forced the flute back to my lips. The notes came out jagged and all wrong; my fingers were stiff and uncooperative. Each sound was like dragging my bow against a broken string.
Smile. Finish the song. Complete the set. Do it for the team.
The struggle endured for the longest twenty-nine minutes in history, but we finished to a muffled applause as if I was underwater.
My eyes darted across the room, searching for something solid to hold onto, a tether in the growing chaos.
My heart holder.
Jeremy was still at the bar, but his casual ease had vanished. His brow furrowed as his eyes locked on mine, a storm of confusion and concern clouding his face. For a moment, the weight of his gaze was like an anchor, steadying me against the tide.
But that steadiness only lasted a heartbeat. His expression shifted. He mouthed the words Holly Gaudreau and the weight of what I hadn’t told him reflected in his pinched expression. My stomach twisted.
He knows.
My legs moved before I could stop them, the flute slipping from my hands with a metallic clink. I stumbled off the stage, weaving through the crowd, my heels skittering against the polished marble.
Photographers swarmed the room, their cameras scanning like searchlights. Panic surged as I spotted the terrace doors through the haze of guests.
A decorative tree snagged my hair as I pushed past, painfully yanking out my hair clip, the metallic sound echoed off the floor as it bounced. But I didn’t stop.
The night air hit me like a wave as I burst onto the terrace, cool and sharp against my flushed skin. My chest heaved, my left hand tingling as I pressed it hard over my pounding heart. I gripped the stone railing, struggling to catch my breath, as the muted hum of the ballroom faded behind me.
Fleeing toward the lake, where the setting sun shone through the thick grove of trees casting dancing shadows across the water, my gaze drifted back to the ballroom where the faint flicker of chandeliers was visible through the frosted glass doors.
I’d wanted to tell him. Tonight. After the fundraiser, when the night was perfect, and everything felt safe.
But now it didn’t matter. The words I’d rehearsed in the quiet of my motel room, the confession I’d been too scared to say, felt small and pointless.
Because even if I turned back now, even if I tried to explain, I couldn’t undo the damage.
A ghosted image of his face swam into view. That pinched expression. The confusion.
We’d promised to be honest with each other, and now the truth was out.
At that moment, I had hurt the one thing I now couldn’t bear to lose.
Jeremy.