Chapter 7
Frankie
“Company?” I blink at him, sure I must’ve misheard. “What kind of company?”
Cole exhales, dragging his hand across his jaw. It’s something I’ve noticed he does when he’s feeling overwhelmed. “My cousin. Ryan.” He says it like the name leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “He’s coming up here for Christmas Eve.”
I drop the light’s I’d been working to untangle back into the box in front of me. “And that’s bad?”
“Yeah,” he mutters.
Cole explains the reason behind him needing to find a wife for Christmas. From his grandfather’s will to the plans his cousin has for this place if he were to get his slimy fingers on it.
He leans against the doorframe, shoulders slumped, and looking about ten years older than he did five minutes ago. “I should’ve told you the truth about everything from the beginning. He called while I was working in the shop. He knows about the marriage, and he’s convinced it’s a sham.”
“Well—” I laugh quietly.
“And I might have said something to throw him off, and now he’s decided to come here to…celebrate the holidays with us.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You invited him?”
“Technically, I fake invited him.” His mouth tightens. “Didn’t think he’d take me up on it.”
I bite back a laugh. “Well, guess we should get ready.”
He sighs. “You didn’t sign up for this part, Frankie. Puting on a show. Pretending to be—” His eyes flick toward me and then away again. “Actually married.”
I cross my arms and tilt my head. “You do realize we are actually married, right?”
That earns me the smallest huff of a laugh. “Yeah. I guess we are.”
“Then what’s the big deal? We’ll just act like a couple for a few days.” I shrug, trying to ignore the little flip in my stomach. “This place is too beautiful to let anyone tear it down for some resort. I can fake being your loving wife for Christmas.”
He stares at me, studying my face like he’s trying to find the catch. I just smile and reach for the tangled string of light in the box in front of me.
“Honestly,” I add. “When I saw your expression, I thought you were upset about the decorations.”
He glances around the living room area of the cabin, taking in the garland on the mantel, the Christmas quilt draped over the back of the couch, and the plaid ribbon twined around the wood banister. His expression softens.
“No,” he says quietly. “It already looks so great. The place hasn’t felt this festive since—” He stops, his gaze landing on the framed photo on the mantle. “Since my Grams passed.”
I follow his gaze. The photo shows an older couple standing in the front of this same cabin, snow falling all around them. She’s smiling at the camera, full of radiant and soft, while he looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“That’s her?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He nods. “Her and Gramps built this place together. They did everything together for fifty years.”
I stare at the picture a little longer. “That’s how I want someone to look at me one day,” I murmur.
When I glance back, Cole’s watching me. His eyes look steady and unreadable. My breath catches, and for a heartbeat, the room feels smaller, warmer.
I blink, unsure I said that out loud.
“Uh,” I stammer, pointing to the garland on the table. “I was thinking we could hang that outside to make the porch look festive.”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, still watching me. “Festive sounds good.”
But even as I turn away, pretending to fuss with the lights, I can feel his gaze linger on me. And for the first time since that first night in the diner, I’m not sure who’s pretending anymore.