Chapter 7
Faux Fur and Real Talk
Ivy
I focus on the road like my life depends on it. My shredded dignity certainly does. One second, I’m kissing Dash, the next he’s pulling away from me like I’m poison ivy. I’m so humiliated I don’t even laugh at my own corny pun.
My stupidity compounds my embarrassment.
Even though my brain knew—knows—that the kiss wasn’t real, my body and my heart clearly didn’t get the memo.
As Dash pulled me toward him, cupped my face, and covered my mouth with his, colors whirled behind my eyes, my legs went liquid, and my breath hitched in my chest. I melted into him, forgetting the crowd, the cameras, our arrangement, all of it.
I was lost in his warmth, his scent—juniper and cinnamon and something I couldn’t place, something uniquely Dash—and the soft pressure of his mouth.
I couldn’t get close enough, pressing my body against his, winding my fingers through his hair, yearning to consume him.
He could tell. It’s not like I hid it. And it obviously disgusts him. The memory of the way he extracted himself from me as if I were toxic stings all over again, and my cheeks blaze. I round my shoulders and curl inward as I pilot the car down the hill and turn onto Lake Road.
I used to do this growing up when my boisterous family got too loud or a good-natured debate between Holly and Merry skated dangerously close to a heated fight.
I would pull myself inward, making myself as small as possible in an attempt to retreat from the chaos to the safety of my shell.
Mom called me her sneaky snail. Tears sting my eyes at the memory of my mom, and I take a greedy gulp of air.
Dash shifts to face me. “Are you okay?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I keep my gaze straight ahead. The only thing that could make this worse would be to break down crying in front of him.
How am I going to get through a whole week like this?
There’s really only one way out—and that’s through.
I sit up straight, square my shoulders, and stare out the windshield as I say, “I’m sorry. I know the kiss wasn’t real. I just … I enjoyed it. That’s all.”
“Wait.” He tugs on the my sleeve. “Look at me.”
“Can’t. I’m driving.” It’s true. This road gets icy.
“We need to talk. Can you pull over? Right there.” He points to the right shoulder in front of a red brick house. The entrance to the driveway is flanked by a pair of stone lions.
Involuntarily, I giggle. “Not a good idea. That’s Pete and Vicky Swanson’s place. Exactly one year ago today, they had my sister’s boyfriend arrested for trespassing.”
I coast by the rambler and its snow-covered manicured garden while he cranes his head for a better look.
“I thought you this town is supposed to be friendly.”
“It is. Vicky is a special case, but even she’s warmed up over the past year. Plus, technically, they don’t live in the town proper.”
He shakes his head. “We’re getting off-topic. Is there someplace we can talk before we go to the inn? Please.”
“We can stop at the Snowflake Cafe.”
“No. Someplace where we can be alone.”
The word alone sends a frisson of anticipation through my body even though I have firsthand evidence that he doesn’t want to be alone with me for any exciting reason. He probably thinks I’ll break down and make a scene when he explains what a fake relationship means.
He’s waiting for an answer. I consider banging my head off the steering wheel or veering the truck into the creek to put myself out of my misery. But finally I say, “My dad’s fishing cabin isn’t far.”
“Perfect.”
I turn off the road and head toward the woods. We drive in silence across the bridge over Snow Lake and climb the hill to the cabin. I park in the gravel drive next to the wraparound porch.
“This is it.” I kill the engine and flip through my dad’s keyring until I find the key to the cottage.
Then I climb out of the truck and mount the steps to the porch. Dash follows a few steps behind.
“Aren’t you going to lock the truck?” he asks my back while I’m fitting the key into the lock on the front door.
“Look around. There’s nobody here, and bears don’t generally hot-wire vehicles for joyrides.” I glance over my shoulder and give him a small smile. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
Inside, I stomp my boots on the welcome mat and Dash copies the motion, knocking off the loose snow.
Then I flip on the lamp on the side table and eye the fireplace.
I doubt we’ll be here long enough to merit starting a fire.
Instead, I toss him one of the fuzzy fleece blankets that Noelle has scattered around the cabin.
My dad’s fiancee has a thing for books and blankets.
There are piles of both everywhere in the cabin and in their living space at the inn.
I wrap a faux fur pink blanket around me like a cape. He’s draped his blanket over his shoulders, too. It’s a velvety brown, and it makes him look like a medieval king or warrior wearing the pelt of some beast. All he needs is a turkey drum in his hand and a stein of beer.
I bite back a laugh and gesture toward the couch so we can get this over with.
He shakes his head. “We can’t stay long. Brody already leaked the location of the cottage where we’re staying to the press. If we don’t show up soon, they’ll get cold and wander away for a drink.”
“Okay. Then say what you need to say. I’ve already said my piece.”
His gaze is intense as he searches my face. “Will you say it again?”
My chest tightens and I rub the blanket’s satin edging between my finger and thumb. I say nothing.
“Please. I want to make sure I heard you correctly in the car.”
“I enjoyed the kiss, and it was clear you didn’t. I know it wasn’t real, though. So you don’t have to worry.” I say the words woodenly.
A smile crosses his lips, but before I can take offense at the implicit mockery, he reaches for the edges of my blanket and pulls me a foot closer to him. Then he lowers his chin and locks eyes with me.
“That’s not why I pulled away, Ivy.” His voice is thick.
I squint at him. “Really?”
“Really.” After a beat he adds, “One thing you need to know about me is I don’t lie. Not even when I probably should.”
“Then why?”
His chest lifts like he’s taking a deep breath. “Because I was turned on, and I was afraid you’d realize and think I’m a perv.”
“Wait? What?”
“I got aroused. I didn’t expect it. That doesn’t happen when I’m acting.”
“Never?”
“Never,” he confirms.
“Not even on Vampire Quarterback when Vlad and Poppy get caught in the rain and—”
“Especially not then. The actress who played Poppy smelled like cured meat.”
A laugh explodes from somewhere deep in my belly. It’s a big ball of amusement, relief, and wonder. The fact that Dash enjoyed the kiss as much as I did doesn’t change anything about our situation, but it makes me feel worlds better.
“Okay. I guess it’s a bonus that we don’t disgust each other, but …,” I trail off, unsure of how to say we have to keep it professional for both our sakes.
“But real feelings are a complication neither of us can afford. We’ll save the displays of affection for the public.”
I exhale. “Exactly.”
He reaches out and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “This week just got a lot harder, though. Pun intended.”
I should step back; I know I should. We just agreed to boundaries. But I don't move.