Chapter 11
The First Real Fake Date
Ivy
By the time I’ve helped Xander Michaelson pick out the perfect pots of deep red boat orchids and fragrant white hyacinths to complement the seasonal display in the window of his jewelry store, it’s almost dark.
Dash and I literally dash across town in an effort to make it to the square before Dawn Min throws the switch to light the tree.
We came this close to kissing. If Xander hadn’t walked through the door, we absolutely would have.
But we can’t. We agreed—displays of affection are reserved for the public.
And there’s nothing remotely public about the windowless back storeroom of my flower shop.
Tucked away back there, we might as well have been the only two people in the world.
If I didn’t fully believe him at the fishing cabin, I do now.
He’s as drawn to me as I am to him. It’s mutual, as wild as that seems.
How can we make it through seven days—and nights—without cracking? I shift my gaze to the side and study his profile. Maybe he can. He’s an actor. But I don’t know if I can do it.
“Are you good?” He slows his pace to look at me.
Did I say that aloud? After a mortified moment, I relax. He’s talking about the race to the square.
“Yeah, it’s the boots. We’re almost there.” I point out the silhouette of the tall tree in the center of town, still visible in the fading light.
He smirks and grabs my hand. “Come on.”
We jog the last block together. When we reach the edge of the brick-paved square, we screech to a stop.
The crowd is shoulder to shoulder. My family will have a spot right up front, but there’s no way we’ll be able to swim through all these people before the town manager hits the switch to turn on the lights.
“We’ll have to watch from here.”
He gives me a disbelieving look and shakes his head.
Then he projects his voice to call, “Excuse us,” and plunges into the crowd, tugging me along by my hand.
The crowd parts to let us through, and dozens of people raise their phones to record our progress.
I stare straight ahead and try not to cringe.
Finally, we reach my family, who are not quite front and center—more like slightly to the left, which was always my mom’s preferred spot.
I squeeze in next to my sisters and Jack and let out a slow breath as my shoulders drop down from my ears.
Dash wraps his arm around me and whispers, “It gets easier.”
As if she’s been waiting for us to get there, the instant we take our spots, the town manager lifts her microphone.
“Are you ready to kick off Merriment Month in Mistletoe Mountain?” She pauses for the cheers and shouts before continuing.
“This year, Enrique Morales hauled our beautiful twenty-eight-foot-tall tree back from White Pines Tree Farm.”
Dawn gestures toward the tree and then toward the far right of the square, where Enrique and his retriever, Bear, stand. Enrique acknowledges the shouts of thanks with a nod. Bear wags his tail.
She continues, “Frosty Brewery has once again graciously sponsored the beer and root beer garden. Look for the heated tent near the chapel. This year the Sober Sleigh rides are courtesy of The Inn at Mistletoe Mountain and Quintessentially Quinn. And, we have special guests to light our tree—Dash Pine and … um … our very own Ivy Jolly!”
Dash and I exchange surprised looks. He shrugs, “Brody probably set it up.”
“And didn’t tell you?”
“I’m sure he sent me a text or something that I ignored. Or Lia’s team arranged it.”
“Lovely.”
“Doesn’t matter now—let’s go.”
He leads me to the platform and shakes hands with Dawn while I blink out at the crowd.
When I start to hyperventilate, I remind myself that I know almost every single person looking back at me, and the ones I don’t know are vacationers and tourists whom I’ll likely never see again. I take a slow breath.
The Mapleville Merrymakers steel-drum band plays the opening bars of “Rocking Around The Christmas Tree,” and Dash and I reach out together to flip the switch that powers the display.
The massive tree lights up with a burst of color, followed by the twinkling white reindeer that prance on the light posts along square, and finally the lights strung on Santa’s gazebo.
He squeezes my hand and cranes his neck to take in the tree. I watch my family’s faces light up with joy and pride at the magic that is a Mistletoe Mountain Christmas.
After a moment, he turns his attention to me. “Now what?” he asks, his breath hot on my neck.
“Now we have a beer.”
My dad and Noelle beg off to head back to the inn to tend to their guests.
But the rest of us follow the flow of the people across the square and into the heated beer tent.
The tables are packed in close together and filling up fast. Holly, who ran cross-country and track, sprints across the tent and scores an eight-top.
She stands on her toes and waves to her best friend, Delphina, and Delph’s boyfriend, Titus, who maneuver through the crowd to join us. They sweep up Quinn along the way.
After shouted introductions, Titus and Jack head to the bar to get a round of drinks while my sisters and our friends join the interminable line for the ladies’ room.
Dash and I are alone at the table, our heads close together so we can hear each other over the pulse of the DJ’s music and the noisy crowd.
I lift my chin when I feel someone watching me.
Or more accurately, lots of people watching me.
A cluster of my friends and neighbors hover near our table. They elbow one another, whisper behind their hands, and smile at us—at me, actually—like proud parents watching their toddler take her first steps. If it weren’t so wholesome and heartwarming, it would be insulting.
Dash notices, too. He takes my hand to his lips and kisses my palm.
“I think they’re more interested in you than in me,” he smirks. “I didn’t know you were a local celebrity.”
“Trust me, I’m not. This is small-town life. Everyone knows everyone, and people get heavily invested in anything even remotely interesting. And the two of us as a couple is the hottest gossip since Holly found her ex in the closet with their boss at the DA’s Christmas in July office party.”
He leans even closer, stares into my eyes, and smolders. There’s no other way to describe the intensity of his gaze. I’m melting under the heat of it—until I hear the photographers lurking at the edge of the dance floor snapping pictures and remember that this look is for them, not for me.
“Did you just say Christmas in July party?” He asks the question in a normal, non-smoldering voice despite the fact that his eyes are still locked on mine.
I attempt to answer in a similarly casual tone.
My voice wavers only a tiny bit when I say, “I did. It’s one of my favorite traditions.
This month is so busy for everyone living here—with all the visitors who come for the festivities—so we do a second celebration in the summer.
What’s your favorite holiday tradition?”
He tents his eyebrows and the smolder fades. He opens his mouth to answer but before he gets a word out, Jack and Titus return to the table, both carrying two pint glasses in each hand.
Dash jumps up and relieves them of some of the beers while I place cardboard coasters in front of each seat around the table.
Farah Aboud, home from college for Thanksgiving break, seizes the opportunity to ask Dash for an autograph.
He not only signs a coaster for her, he offers to pose for a photo with her.
I snap the shot with her phone and she floats away, grinning, as my sisters and Delphina return from the ladies room.
“Did you get lost?” I crack.
“The line was out of control. Merry wanted to use the men’s room instead of waiting, but I convinced Marley to open her office up for us,” Holly responds to my joke as if it’s a legitimate question.
I eye her for a moment. She’s been … off … tonight. I thought she was acting spacey at the cottage, too. Maybe it’s jet leg. Although Florida to Vermont isn’t exactly a long-haul flight.
She pushes her beer away from her, and Jack leans over and whispers something I can’t hear in her ear.
“You’re sure?” She whispers back.
He nods, and she picks up her glass.
“Are you okay?” I ask her in a low voice.
She lowers her beer from her mouth, leaving a foam mustache. “Of course. Why?”
“You just seem weird.”
She pulls a face. “She’s probably tired,” Jack interjects. “We had a whirlwind trip and a long day today.”
Merry and I exchange a look, waiting for Holly to tell her boyfriend she can speak for herself. Instead, she rests her head on his shoulder and says, “That’s probably it.”
I blink at this uncharacteristic softness but forget all about my older sister when Dash runs his hand up my arm and purr-growls, “Wanna dance?”
I take a long drink of my frosty Frosty’s ale and then wipe my mouth. We have a job to do.
I hold out my hand. “I’d love to.”