Chapter 6 #2
I let him lead me onto the floor as they play something slow and dreamy and clearly intentional. Mac's hand settles at the small of my back, and I try to remember this is just part of the act.
"You're good at this," I say, surprised by how naturally we move together.
"Lily made me practice with her before every summer dance at the club. Said I needed to know how to treat a lady properly."
"She was smart."
"She was a lot of things." His voice goes quiet. "She would have loved this. All the romance and fairy lights and happily ever after nonsense."
I tighten my arms around his neck. "It's not nonsense if it makes people happy."
He spins me out and back, and when I'm pressed against his chest again, he's looking at me with something that makes my breath catch.
"Doesn't it bother you?" he asks. "All the performance? The pretending? What happens when people stop believing in the fantasy?"
I nibble on my bottom lip. Is he talking about our date or Sarah's wedding? "What if it's not fantasy? What if some people really do get their happy ending?"
His head tilts. "And what if they don't?"
The song ends, but we don't separate immediately. We're standing too close, staring at each other like we're the only people in the room.
"Delaney!" Sarah appears beside us, radiant in her wedding dress. I'm shocked she's acknowledging us at all. "I'm so glad you brought Mac. You two look perfect together."
"Oh, thanks, Sarah,” I mutter awkwardly. “Congratulations! Everything's been beautiful." My arms stretch outward, gesturing to the fairytale environment around us.
Sarah beams and leans closer. "Can I steal him for a dance? I want to thank him properly for the gorgeous flowers you sent."
I blink. "Flowers?"
"The white roses for my dressing room? Mac called the florist personally to make sure they matched my bouquet. So thoughtful!"
I turn to stare at Mac, who's suddenly very interested in adjusting his cufflinks.
"You sent flowers?"
He shrugs. "It seemed like the right thing to do."
Sarah drags him away for her dance, leaving me standing there with a warm, fluttery feeling in my chest that has nothing to do with our bet.
He sent flowers. Without being asked. Without it being part of our arrangement.
"You're in trouble, aren't you?" Maya appears at my elbow with two glasses of champagne. I haven't seen her this whole time.
"What do you mean?"
"That look on your face. Like you just realized the fake boyfriend might not be so fake after all."
I watch Mac dancing with Sarah, making her laugh at whatever he's whispering. He catches my eye over her shoulder and winks, and my stomach does a complete somersault.
"Absolutely not. This is Date One, Maya. We have nine more to get through," I say, taking the champagne. “I'm not stupid.”
"Mmm-hmm. And how many of those dates are you planning to spend pretending you're not falling for him?"
My answer is quick. "All of them."
Maya raises an eyebrow. "Good luck with that. Everyone here has already started placing their bets."
Before I can question her, the bouquet toss is called, and I find myself pushed toward the front of the crowd of single women. Sarah grins at me from the stairs, bouquet in hand.
"This one's for you, Delaney!"
The flowers sail through the air in a perfect arc. I catch them instinctively, white roses and baby's breath soft against my palms.
The crowd cheers. Someone shouts, "You're next!" and everyone turns to look at Mac expectantly.
He's watching me with an expression I can't decipher, standing perfectly still while chaos erupts around us. For a moment, the noise fades, and it's just him and me and the weight of all these expectations.
Then he smiles—a real smile, not his practiced charm—and everything inside me goes liquid.
"Guess that means I'd better start shopping for rings," he calls out, and the crowd explodes in laughter and applause.
It's the perfect thing to say. Exactly what a smitten boyfriend would joke about at this moment.
So why does it sound like a promise?
We drive back to town in comfortable quiet, wedding music fading behind us. I cradle the bouquet in my lap and sneak glances at Mac's profile in the dashboard light.
"That went well," I say finally.
"Your family likes me." I don't miss the happy lilt in his voice that wasn't there before. This might be much easier than I thought if Mac proves to be a marshmallow on the inside.
"They do. You were... surprising."
He turns toward me. "Surprising how?"
I consider my words carefully. "Gentler than I expected. When my Uncle Pete was telling that long story about Vietnam, you actually listened. Most people just nod and wait for him to finish."
Mac's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "My grandfather was a veteran. He used to tell similar stories. I know what it's like when people stop listening."
"And the flowers for Sarah. That was thoughtful."
"Like I said, seemed like the boyfriend thing to do. My mother taught me that."
"Right. The boyfriend thing."
He pulls up in front of the bookshop, and we sit there for a moment with the engine idling. The town square is quiet except for the fountain and the distant cars driving home from the manor.
"So," Mac says, turning to face me. "First date down. I know how you think I did with the crowd. How'd I do as your fake boyfriend?"
I pretend to tally off a checklist on my hand. "You exceeded expectations."
"High praise from a romance expert."
"I'm not an expert. I just know what I like."
His voice drops. "And what's that?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with meaning neither of us is ready to acknowledge. I look down at the bouquet, white roses perfect and fragrant.
"This is just the bet," I say quickly, reaching for my door handle. "Research. Testing the tropes."
His brows twitch before pulling together. "Right. Research."
But neither of us moves to get out of the car.
"I should go," I finally whisper.
"You should."
"Thank you. For tonight. For playing along."
"Thank you for..." He pauses, like he's searching for the right words. "For making me remember what it feels like to be part of something good."
My heart does flips in my chest. "Mac..."
"Nine more dates," he says, and his voice is rough around the edges. It sounds like he's reminding himself more than anything, just as I reminded Maya. This is only the beginning.
"Nine more,” I agree.
I get out of the car and walk to the bookshop without looking back, but I can feel him watching until I'm safely inside. Only then do I hear him drive away.
I lean against the closed door, still holding Sarah's bouquet, and admit the truth I'm not ready to say out loud.
One date down, and I'm already in trouble.
Deep, dangerous, heart-racing trouble.
The kind that might prove Mac Sullivan was right about love being dangerous after all.