The Accidental Honeymoon (Wildflower Lane #1)

Chapter 9

nine

CALLA

It’s funny. I agreed to be Jay’s fake wife only yesterday. And yet today, I’m dragging my feet as Jay leads me across the Greater town square. Saying I will be his wife is one thing.

Actually doing the things I promised? It seems like an obligation . And forcing myself to smile and seem happy the entire time is just exhausting.

You can do this. You can pretend to be Mrs. Jay Rustin, I tell myself. Hell, you already married him. What’s the worst that can happen?

I keep up a stream of chatter to bolster myself as Jay and I walk down the sidewalk at dusk. Jay is looking at his phone and muttering to himself. He is dressed like a giant groundhog. Apparently, everyone who attends this event will be.

I shudder. I don’t like anthropomorphized creatures. And this pub crawl is going to be packed with them. As we approach the square, I can hear distant shouts.

Swallowing convulsively, I try to steel myself. Jay notices and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer than I’d like. The scent of his cologne is something woodsy and undoubtedly expensive. It fills my nose, making me acutely aware of his presence.

“Are you ready to start our fake honeymoon?” he asks.

“Uhh… yup.” That’s the best I can come up with.

"You’re making a face like I’m leading you to your execution. Cheer up! We're going to have fun," he assures me.

I shoot him a look. He has the kind of confidence only the truly delusional possess.

"Define 'fun,'" I say. But Jay has already turned his attention elsewhere. We pass through the big intersection that dumps us out into the packed Greater town square. Festive lights hang around all of the shop doors, twinkling madly. There are comical wood cutouts of groundhogs on window displays, and a giant inflatable groundhog hiding his eyes from the sunlight. The crowd is already loud. They’re all dressed in various levels of groundhog-themed ridiculousness.

One woman in a full fur suit waves a paw at us, making me flinch. She may intend to be cute, but the fur glued to her face is pretty startling.

Before I can say anything to Jay, someone on the far side of the town square shouts something that I can’t make out. Everyone lets out a cheer, making me even more confused.

Jay whoops like a college freshman and grabs my hand. “The crawl has begun!”

I adjust the furry ears on my head and glare at him. "These things itch," I complain.

He looks down at me, his blue eyes sparkling with something I can only describe as mischief. "I think you look cute. Almost as cute as my whiskers. "

He strokes the drawn-on lines with a mock-vanity that would make a peacock blush.

I snort. "You look like a deranged cat."

"A dashingly deranged cat," he corrects, then grins. "You know, you look hot as a groundhog. I've never been so attracted to furries before."

My cheeks heat as I gently hit him on the arm. “Shut up.”

“Relaaaaax,” Jay purrs.

I look away, focusing on the historic brick buildings that line the square. Greater is beautiful in a quaint, small-town way. The kind of place where everyone knows your business. Which, of course, is why I’m here, playing along.

As a small business owner, my reputation depends on being reliable, professional, and community-minded. The last thing I need is a rumor that Calla Nikolakis refused to support a local charity event.

"Come on, Calla," Jay says, elbowing me. "This is for a good cause. Put a smile on your face."

I know he’s right. The Tin Shed Pub donates a portion of the crawl’s proceeds to the animal shelter. As a business owner in this community, I should be all in. But spending an entire evening with Jay Rustin, even in the context of a fake marriage, feels like playing with fire.

"We're only doing this until the first stop," I remind him. "I have to work in the morning."

"Whatever you say, crawl wife.” There’s a teasing lilt to his words that makes me want to either punch him or kiss him. Probably punch.

The crowd starts to move. We shuffle along with them. Someone hands Jay a plastic cup of something brown and frothy. He takes a swig, coughs, and then offers it to me.

"Want some courage juice?" Jay wiggles the cup enticingly. I shake my head. "Suit yourself.”

He drains the rest in one gulp. His exaggerated sigh of satisfaction is so absurd, I almost laugh.

We’re almost to the first bar when Jay pulls out his phone. He holds up the camera, and I can see our reflection on the screen. My groundhog ears are lopsided, my expression a mix of resignation and horror. His stupid whiskers are already smudged, and he’s grinning like an idiot.

"Just documenting the fun. Say hi to my followers."

"Hi, followers," I deadpan.

That’s not enough for Jay. He nudges me with his shoulder, causing me to almost lose my balance. "Come on, Calla. Where’s your spirit?"

"Groundhog Day isn’t even a real holiday!” I protest. I force a smile at his phone and wave. "Hope you’re all enjoying the crawl as much as we are."

Jay laughs, deep and melodic. It makes my fake smile falter. He kills the video and pockets his phone. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

I don’t respond because I don’t have a clue what I am supposed to say.

We reach the first bar, which is the Tin Shed Pub. The crowd surges inside. Jay looks down at me, his handsome face serious for once. "You can bail if you want," he says. "I’ll understand."

I hesitate. If I leave now, I’ll watch reruns of my favorite TV shows for a few hours before falling asleep. My fluffy duck jammies are calling me. But something in his eyes stops me. A flicker of… what? Vulnerability? Hope?

Maybe he’s not as put-together as he pretends to be.

"One drink," I say.

His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning and he picks me up, spinning me around like I weigh nothing. I laugh and he grins. “You won’t be sorry.”

I put up my hands. “Just promise you’ll keep the tequila far away from me.”

Maybe I am playing with fire. But for now, the warmth feels nice.

At the Tin Shed Pub's 'Punxsutawney Phil's Prediction Station,' we take turns pulling a lever that supposedly predicts the future.

"Six more weeks of winter," Jay reads from the screen. "Looks like we're stuck in this for a while longer." He waggles his eyebrows.

"Stuck?" I say, crossing my arms. "I thought you were having fun."

“Look, this is the start of our honeymoon agreement.” He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. "Maybe I'm worried you'll start enjoying being Mrs. Rustin a little too much."

"Your ego has to be so oversized if you really think that," I retort. "This is all strictly professional, Mr. Instagram."

He laughs. I can’t help but smile. The banter is starting to feel less awkward and more akin to slipping into a well-worn pair of shoes. When the crowd begins to move, I go along with it. Jay doesn’t say anything as he heads outside into the cold for the next stop on our crawl. But I can see him sizing me up, doing some kind of calculations.

What is he thinking about?

We move onto the next stop. As we walk, I notice that our crowd has thinned. People leaving early, I suppose. Like I should be doing right now… if only I weren’t having fun.

Manuel's Saloon is the oldest bar in Greater, with a historic landmark plaque to prove it. The place has a rugged charm, like an old cowboy who’s aged into a kindly grandfather. The walls are lined with vintage beer signs and assorted bric-a-brac. The tables are a mismatched collection of wood and metal. Everything I look at is scarred with the patina of decades of use.

Jay and I find seats at the back, where a makeshift stage has been set up for trivia night. The owner, Manuel, has a booming voice as he takes the microphone.

“Settle down, here,” he calls, his rural Georgia accent as thick and slow as molasses. “Y’all hush up so I can read the card.”

The crowd quiets. Manuel launches into the rules: teams will answer questions related to groundhogs, Groundhog Day, and the movie Groundhog Day. Wrong answers mean taking a drink. Right answers earn points. Eventually, prizes will be had.

Seems simple enough.

Jay leans in close. His breath is warm on my ear. “I hope you’re ready to drink. I’m terrible at trivia.”

I wrinkle my nose and smirk. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

The first round starts as a waitress delivers a tray of drinks to our table. Jay picks one up, examining the amber liquid like a jeweler with a loupe. He runs the glass under his nose and then does a double take. “What is this, apple juice?”

I take a whiff of mine. “Smells fruity. Could be dangerous.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.” Jay rests his hand on my knee casually and all my thoughts are erased; I can only think about the warmth of his fingers against the denim of my jeans.

The emcee reads the first question: “What is the scientific name for a groundhog?”

Jay looks at me, wide-eyed and clueless. I blink. “What was the question?”

“I thought you were good at this!” he says. “He asked what the groundhog’s scientific name?—"

I press the buzzer and call the answer out. “Marmota monax.”

“Correct!” the emcee says. “Also known as a woodchuck. How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

The crowd groans at the bad joke. Jay on the other hand is just staring at me, dumbfounded. “How did you know that?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. The answers just embed themselves in my brain, lying dormant until the moment the question is read aloud.”

“You’re super smart, huh?” He looks at me admiringly. “That’s another very attractive trait. Score one for me, I guess.”

To hide my blush, I take a sip of my drink and sputter when it turns out to be a Buttery Nipple. Gross!

The next few questions fly by. We learn that groundhogs are part of the squirrel family, that the first Groundhog Day was celebrated in 1887, and that Bill Murray’s character relives the same day for an estimated 10,000 years. Jay guesses at most of the answers. He’s consistently, almost impressively, wrong.

I save us each time, much to his growing amazement and my smug satisfaction.

“Which U.S. President was born on Groundhog Day?” the emcee asks.

Jay presses the buzzer before I can stop him. “Lincoln!” he declares with the confidence of a man who’s just sunk a game-winning three-pointer .

“Incorrect,” the emcee says. “Lincoln was born on February 12th. Take a drink.”

I laugh as Jay mutters something about historical trick questions. He lifts his shot glass, and I clink mine against his. “To your stunning intellect,” I say.

He downs his in one gulp, then makes a face like he’s just bitten into a lemon. “That stuff is lethal.”

I sip mine, letting the disgusting brew trickle down my throat slowly. “It’s not so bad if you’re used to it.”

“Are you drunk?” Jay wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

I shrug, sliding my shot glass to him with a laugh.

The emcee moves on to the next question: “In the movie, what song plays every morning when the alarm clock goes off?”

I press the buzzer. “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher.”

“Correct! Sounds like someone here has a groundhog obsession.”

Jay calls out, “She’s a ringer. I demand a recount.”

The final question of the night: “According to folklore, if the groundhog sees his shadow, what does it mean?”

Jay slams the buzzer. “Six more weeks of winter!” he yells.

“Correct!” the emcee says. “Looks like we have some real groundhog experts here. Let me bestow the prize… a VHS copy of Groundhog Day!!”

“Oh god,” I groan. Jay grabs me and lifts me off my feet, cheering. My cheeks hurt from grinning. “I can’t believe we won.”

“Are you kidding? You demolished the competition.” He sets me down, letting his hands rest at my waist. “Thanks for hanging in for so long. ”

I beam up at him, my heart beating so loud that I’m certain he can hear it. “I had fun,” I admit. “Can I keep the VHS?”

A laugh bursts from Jay’s lips. “Yes. I don’t have a VCR. I don’t even know anybody who does.”

“More for me, then. Maybe I’m just lucky.”

“You’re lucky, all right.” He squeezes me before reluctantly turning me loose. “Should I walk you home?”

“You don’t have to. I can see my apartment from here.” I check the time on my phone, sighing. “But I do need to get to bed. I’m supposed to work the early shift before we head to the first stop on our so-called honeymoon .”

“Are you sure you won’t stay at my house tonight?”

Looking at Jay, I know that there is no way that I can be in a room with him and just sleep. The chemistry between us is combustible. And the last thing I want to do is set fire to our new agreement.

We might be married, but only on paper. I’d do best to remember that.

“I need to stay at my place tonight. I have to get up at three-thirty anyway.”

Jay nods and sticks his elbow out expectantly. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t at least offer to walk you home?”

Shaking my head, I take his elbow and let him walk me out of Manuel’s Saloon. It’s a quick walk to my apartment, even for two not-completely-sober newlyweds. We make it in no time, even though I don’t want the night to end.

When we get to my door, I turn, sighing.

Jay steps closer. My breath catches as I tilt my head back and look at him.

“I had a really good time tonight, Calla.”

I nod. “Same. ”

My mind is a whirl of thoughts and feelings I don’t want to examine too closely. The night was supposed to be a chore, an obligation. But it’s turned into something else.

Something dangerously enjoyable.

Jay’s hand rises to my cheek. His touch sends a jolt through me, like static from the dry winter air. I can’t help but step into his touch. He leans in, his forehead nearly touching mine. I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips.

My eyes close. My heart thuds a quick drumbeat against my ribs. I tilt my head up, waiting. Mostly, I’m wondering if I should stop this… I don’t really want to.

We pause, suspended in the moment, and time stretches like taffy. One beat. Two. Three.

Then, as if on cue, we both pull back, laughing nervously.

“Method acting!” Jay says, rubbing the back of his neck. “For our fake marriage.”

As if I needed that part explained.

“We’re really getting into character. It just goes to show how devoted we are to fooling your sponsors.”

“My sponsors. Right,” he says. I’m pretty sure he had forgotten them entirely.

The silence that follows is heavy with everything we’re not saying. I know there’s a spark between us. Tonight made that undeniable. But it’s a spark we can’t afford to ignite.

This is supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a convenient fiction. Adding real feelings to the mix would complicate everything.

I open my door. The warm air rushes out from the doorway. I stand halfway in and halfway out of the door, awkwardly. “Good night,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yup.” Jay thrusts his hands in his pockets and smiles at me while I close the door. With a final wave, he turns to go. I close the door, resting my palm against the flat surface.

Cora might have warned me of my habit of making grand gestures for guys I like. But sometimes? Grand gestures are worth it. Even if it’s just for Jay, a man who is technically my husband, but will never be more than a friend.

Worth. It.