Chapter 9
Nine
Mac,
I can't stop thinking about last night. Not just the kiss—though we definitely need to talk about that—but everything. The way you built up the fire without being asked, how you shared your sister's mug with me, the stories you told about your rookie year when we were trying to stay warm.
You said I make things feel easy, but you're wrong. Nothing about you is easy, Mac Sullivan. You're complicated and guarded, and you have this way of looking at me like you're trying to solve a puzzle you're not sure you want the answer to.
But last night, when we finally kissed… I saw something in your eyes that wasn't guardedness or fear. It was want. Raw and honest and completely unfiltered.
I know you're scared. I know letting someone close feels like setting yourself up for more loss. But here's what I learned last night: you're worth the risk. Whatever walls you've built, whatever reasons you have for keeping people at arm's length, you're worth pushing past all of it.
I'm not asking you to bare your soul or declare undying love. I'm just asking you not to run. Not from this, not from me, not from whatever this thing between us is becoming. Even if the town is insane. Even if the media grows out of control.
Maya says I'm crazy for getting attached to someone who's made it clear he doesn't believe in happy endings. Maybe she's right. But Lily believed in them enough for both of us, didn't she?
— D.
P.S. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Armstrong asked if you're "courting" me yesterday. I told her we were conducting a scientific experiment. She laughed for five minutes straight.
Delaney
I arrive at the town square at seven in the morning with two steaming cups of coffee and a mission.
It's been three days since our little snowed-in, forced proximity date, and things have been tense since I drove my truck away from his cabin.
Mac is already here, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else as he stares at the chaos of half-assembled booths and tangled Christmas lights.
His dark hair is messy from sleep, and there's a scowl etched into his features that would intimidate lesser mortals.
Not me, though. I've seen him laugh now. We've kissed. I know there's something softer underneath all that brooding.
"Your caffeine, Scrooge," I announce, holding out the extra cup.
He takes it without looking at me, but I catch the way his mouth almost quirks up at the corner. "Let me guess. Today's romance lesson is about the magic of Christmas spirit?"
"Close. Today's about grumpy-sunshine dynamics and how opposites create irresistible attraction." I gesture grandly at the festival setup around us.
When Maya suggested swapping this as our next date, I protested. Hard. Especially after the town meddled so deeply in our last one. Chet received a very angry visit from me on my way back home from the cabin and was forced to replace my battery. After Mac jumped my dead one.
But with a little thought—and a lot of pestering from Maya—I realized she's right. It's the perfect setup.
"You get to be grumpy. I get to be sunshine. Together we volunteer for Winter Carnival prep and see if proximity plus shared goals despite our personality differences equals sexual tension."
After our snowed-in adventure the other night, I'm pretty sure I know the answer. I'm still buzzing from it.
Mac nearly chokes on his coffee. "Damn. You don't pull punches, do you?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
Before he can respond, Mrs. Birch from the hardware store bustles over with a clipboard and a gleam in her eye that spells trouble. She's been firmly Team Delaney since day one of our bet, mostly because she thinks Mac needs "a good woman to soften his edges."
"Perfect timing, you two!" she chirps. "I'm putting you in charge of the main gazebo decorations. It needs to be absolutely magical for the tree lighting ceremony."
Mac opens his mouth to object, but she's already moving on to terrorize other volunteers. I hide my grin behind my coffee cup.
"Magical," Mac mutters. "Of course."
"Come on, Sullivan. Where's your holiday spirit?"
"I left it in Boston, along with my will to live."
The banter comes so easily now, I almost forget we're supposed to be testing a romance trope instead of just... being us. Almost.
We make our way to the gazebo, which currently looks like a Christmas decoration tornado hit it. Boxes of lights are tangled into impossible knots, garland is scattered everywhere, and there are at least three different types of bows that don't match.
"Okay," I say, rolling up my sleeves. "Game plan. You handle the structural stuff because you're tall and strong and probably good with your hands." I catch myself before that sentence goes somewhere dangerous. "And I'll handle the artistic vision."
Mac raises an eyebrow, never one to let things go. "Good with my hands?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "I meant construction. Building things. Not... other things."
"What other things?" He smirks, enjoying this too much.
"Wouldn't you like to know," I shoot back, then immediately busy myself sorting through ribbon spools before I spontaneously combust.
“Isn't there a festival next month?” He asks, holding up a string of twisted garland with a grimace.
“That's the Christmas festival,” I explain slowly. “This is the Winter Wonderland festival. Two completely different things.”
Mac scoffs. “Of course, they are.”
Over the next hour, we work in surprisingly comfortable synchronization.
Mac untangles lights with the patience of a saint while I debate the merits of gold versus silver accents.
Every so often, our hands brush when we reach for the same decoration, and the little spark that shoots up my arm is becoming impossible to ignore.
"You know," Mac says as he climbs a ladder to hang lights. "Most people would have given up on those knots by now."
I look up from my ribbon-sorting to find him watching me with something like admiration. Or pity. I can't really tell. "Most people don't have a grandmother who taught them that patience is the secret ingredient in everything worth having."
Something shifts in his expression. "She sounds like she was special."
"She was. She believed in taking time to do things right, especially when it came to love.
" I tie a perfect bow and hold it up for inspection.
"She used to say that the best relationships are like Christmas lights.
They take forever to untangle when they get messed up, but the end result is always worth the effort. "
Mac is quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if I've pushed too hard with the love metaphor. But then he says, "Lily must have liked her."
My heart drops into my stomach. He rarely mentions his sister without that wall of pain slamming down. It's a pain I'm familiar with. But right now he just sounds... wistful.
"I think they would have been good friends if she had gotten to know her better," I agree softly. "Lily had a romantic streak."
"Yeah, she did." He climbs down from the ladder and stands closer than strictly necessary. "She also had this way of making everyone around her want to believe in impossible things."
"Like what?"
"Like happy endings." His voice is rough around the edges. "Like the idea that good things happen to good people."
I want to touch him, to somehow absorb some of that pain. But before I can figure out how, Trina Mayberry from the bakery appears with reinforcements.
"How's our prize couple doing?" she asks with a grin that suggests she's winning money on us somewhere. Behind her, at least six other townspeople have found excuses to wander over and check our progress.
"Prize couple…" Mac mutters, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, honey, you didn't know?" Trina claps her hands together. "The whole town's got bets going on you two. Biggest pool we've had since the Henderson's divorce proceedings."
He sobers quickly, looking mortified and fascinated in equal measure. "What kind of bets?"
"Well, let's see." She ticks off on her fingers. "There's a bet running on whether Delaney can crack that grumpy exterior of yours, Mac. A bet on how many dates it'll take before you two stop pretending this is fake. A bet on who'll break first and admit they're catching feelings."
Mac looks like he's been hit by a truck. "The entire town is gambling on our love life?"
"Fake love life," I correct quickly, but nobody seems to be listening.
"Oh, and my personal favorite," Trina continues with obvious glee. "We're betting on whether you'll propose before Valentine's Day, or wait until next Christmas."
"Propose?" Mac's voice cracks slightly.
This is spiraling out of control fast. I grab Mac's arm and start pulling him toward the supply shed. "We need more... uh... garland. Lots more garland. Excuse us."
I practically drag him behind the shed before he can recover from his shock enough to say something that'll crush the town's romantic dreams and my carefully laid plans.
"Breathe," I tell him, my calm voice a contradiction from the storm brewing in my chest. "Just breathe."
"They think we're going to get married," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I've hardly even touched you, Delaney. I’m trying so hard to be respectful toward you, and it’s just–” He stops himself, shaking his head. “This has turned into way more than I realized. What have we gotten into?"
"A small town with too much time on their hands and a serious investment in other people's happiness?" My voice rises in question with each word.
"This is insane." He starts pacing in the small space between the shed and the fence. "They're planning our wedding. We're not even actually dating."
"I know it's overwhelming, but–"