Chapter 10
Ten
Mac
The Rusty Anchor smells like stale beer and decades of fried food, but it's packed tighter than the Garden during playoffs.
I slouch deeper into my baseball cap as conversations quiet when I walk in behind Delaney.
Her hand brushes mine in what's supposed to look like casual intimacy, but sends electricity straight up my arm.
It's been four days since the cabin. Four days since I kissed her by firelight and lost my goddamn mind. Four days of pretending that moment didn't happen while we debate stars and angels and this whole town signs our wedding certificate.
If I let myself think about it too long, I get sick from stress. I’ve never had a relationship with so much pressure on it at all times, and this one isn’t even technically real.
My phone buzzes constantly with texts from my agent.
Public opinion is shifting. Keep doing whatever you're doing. The hometown angle is gold.
Ratings are up 300% since the bet started. Don't screw this up.
Foundation wants to discuss endorsement deals. Small town romance sells.
Christ. What started as a simple wager has turned into a media circus, and I'm the main act, whether I want to be or not.
"Mac!" Old Pete waves from behind the bar, his Boston Howlers jersey stretched tight over his beer gut. "You ready to get schooled by our girl here?"
Our girl. Like Delaney belongs to this whole town. She probably does, if I'm honest.
Everyone's watching us with the kind of anticipation usually reserved for overtime periods. Maya mentioned the betting pool has reached four figures, with odds shifting daily based on our "chemistry readings.”
Whatever the hell that means.
"Depends," I say, forcing easy confidence into my voice. "What's she got that I don't?"
Delaney shoots me a look that could melt ice. "A functioning brain?"
The crowd laughs, and I can't help grinning. Even when she's insulting me, there's this spark in her green eyes that makes me want to push back just to see what happens.
"Ouch. And here I thought we were friends after I saved you from hypothermia and rescued your town from an angel oligarchy."
Her cheeks flush pink. "You mean after you complained the entire time about small-town girls not knowing how to dress for the weather?"
"I never said small town girls. I said ‘stubborn romance addicts who think wool sweaters are adequate winter gear.’"
"Same thing," someone calls out, earning another round of laughter.
We're playing to the crowd and we both know it, but the banter feels natural. Too natural. Like we've been doing this dance for years instead of a couple of weeks.
Maya appears with a clipboard and a shit-eating grin. "Alright, lovebirds, time to split you up. Can't have you two working together right off the bat. Where's the drama in that?"
The trivia host—some college kid with an unfortunate goatee—waves us toward opposite sides of the room. "Team assignments are random," he announces, but his wink at Maya suggests otherwise. "Mac, you're with the Millbrook Misfits. Delaney, you're with the Book Worms."
Perfect. Of course, they'd put her with the romance book club.
The Misfits turn out to be three guys from the hardware store who know more about sports statistics than should be humanly possible. They slap me on the back like we're old friends, immediately launching into strategies for crushing the competition.
Across the room, Delaney settles in with her team of romance readers, their table already covered in wine glasses and what looks like a plate of homemade cookies. She catches me staring and raises one perfect eyebrow in challenge.
I'm so screwed.
The first few rounds are standard trivia fare—history, science, pop culture. My team dominates sports questions while Delaney's crew destroys anything literature-related. We're neck and neck, trading the lead with each category.
"Current standings," the host announces after round four, "Millbrook Misfits and Book Worms tied at 85 points each. But don't get comfortable. We're switching things up for the final rounds."
Here we go.
"Tonight's theme is Love and Romance!" He gestures dramatically, and half the bar groans while the other half cheers. "And we're reshuffling teams. New partnerships will be randomly selected."
Maya's already walking toward our table with folded papers, her smile way too innocent. I draw my slip and read it twice before the words sink in.
Delaney Caldwell.
Of course.
She appears at my elbow moments later, sliding into the chair beside me with fluid grace. "Guess we're stuck together, Sullivan."
"Lucky me," I mutter, but my pulse kicks up when she leans closer to strategize. Her perfume reminds me of the other night and makes it hard to concentrate on anything else.
"Alright, Romeo and Juliet," calls out Martha from the diner, waving her beer. "Show us what you've got!"
The questions start simple enough. Famous literary couples, romantic movie quotes, Valentine's Day traditions. Delaney knows most of the answers before the host finishes asking, but she waits for my input on each one, creating the illusion of partnership.
"Next question," the host grins. "What classic romance trope involves two people pretending to be in a relationship for mutual benefit?"
"Fake dating," we say in unison, then look at each other in surprise.
The bar erupts in whistles and catcalls.
Someone shouts, "Method acting!"
Heat climbs up my neck.
The host smirks. "Very good. Now, this trope often leads to what romantic complication?"
Delaney's hand finds mine on the table, her fingers intertwining with mine for show. "Catching real feelings," she says softly, but her eyes are locked on mine instead of the host.
My throat goes dry. The night in the cabin floods back. Her face tilted up toward mine, firelight dancing across her skin, the moment when pretense fell away completely.
"Correct again!" The host's voice seems to come from underwater. "You two are naturals at this."
The questions get more personal, more pointed. Relationship deal-breakers. Most romantic gestures. Signs you're falling in love.
It's honestly bullshit how obvious they've become.
"What's the biggest difference between lust and love?" the host asks, and the entire bar falls silent.
Delaney's thumb traces across my knuckles, and I know she's thinking about the cabin too. About all the things we didn't say.
"Lust is about wanting someone for yourself," she says quietly. "Love is about wanting someone to be happy, even if it's not with you."
Something twists in my chest. The words hit too close to home, too close to the truth I've been trying to avoid.
We're not just playing trivia anymore. We're having a conversation in code, saying things we can't say out loud with the whole town watching.
"And what about you, Mac?" the host prods. "Any thoughts on love versus lust?"
Every eye in the bar is on me. Delaney's fingers tighten around mine, and I can feel her pulse racing through her wrist.
"I think," I say slowly, "love is what makes you willing to risk everything, even when you know it might destroy you."
The silence stretches for heartbeats. Then Delaney squeezes my hand, her smile soft and understanding, and I realize I just admitted more than I meant to.
"Beautiful answer," the host says, but his voice sounds distant. "Final question of the night, worth double points. According to romance novels, what's the most important element of a happily ever after?"
This time I answer first. "Choosing each other, every day, even when it's hard."
Delaney stares at me like she's seeing me for the first time. "That's... not what I expected you to say."
"What did you expect?"
"Something cynical about it being fantasy."
I should give her the cynical answer. Should stick to the script, maintain the walls I've spent months building. But sitting here with her hand in mine, surrounded by people who've somehow started to feel like family, the cynicism feels hollow.
"Maybe I'm learning," I admit.
"We have our winners!" the host announces. "Delaney and Mac with a perfect score in the romance round!"
The bar explodes in cheers and applause. Someone starts chanting "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" and others pick up the rhythm until it's deafening.
Delaney laughs, her face flushed with victory and something that might be hope. "What do you say, partner? Want to give the people what they want?"
It would be so easy. Lean in, kiss her for show, let everyone think it's part of our act. But after that answer about love and risk, after the way she's looking at me now, I know a kiss wouldn't be a performance.
It would be real. And real is terrifying.
"Rain check," I say instead, bringing her hand to my lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Don't want to give in to them too early."
The crowd boos good-naturedly, but Delaney's eyes flash with something that might be disappointment. Or maybe relief.
Later, after we've collected our ridiculous trophy (a plastic heart with "Millbrook's Most Romantic Couple" engraved on it) and endured countless congratulations, Maya corners me in the parking lot on my way out.
"You're an idiot," she says without preamble.
"Good to see you too, Gatlin."
"She wanted you to kiss her in there. Hell, the whole town wanted you to kiss her. What's your damage?"
I lean against my car, suddenly exhausted. "It's complicated."
"No, it's not. You like her. She likes you. The rest is just noise."
If only it were that simple. "And what side of the bet are you on to be making such assumptions?"
"Screw the bet," Maya interrupts. "This stopped being about winning or losing the minute you two got snowed in together. Everyone can see it except, apparently, you."
My phone buzzes with another text from my agent, and I glance at it reflexively. Maya notices.
"Ah," she says, understanding flooding her voice. "Your people are breathing down your neck."
"It's not that simple. This whole thing has gotten bigger than either of us planned. There's media attention, endorsement deals, my career to think about–"
"Your career?" Maya steps closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "Your career will be fine whether you're with Delaney or not. But you know what won't survive? Your chance at happiness if you keep sabotaging it with bullshit excuses."
She's right, and I hate her for it.
"What if I hurt her?" The words come out rawer than I intended. "What if I'm not capable of being what she needs?"
Maya's expression softens slightly. "Then you figure it out together. That's what people who care about each other do."
She starts to walk away, then turns back. "For what it's worth, I've never seen Delaney look at anyone the way she looks at you. And I doubt anyone has seen you smile the way you do around her. Maybe stop overthinking and start feeling."
She disappears into the night, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the weight of that plastic trophy in my hands.
Through the bar windows, I can see Delaney still inside, surrounded by well-wishers and probably fielding a dozen questions about our performance tonight. She catches sight of me through the glass and waves, her smile bright enough to power the whole town.
Maya's words echo in my head. This stopped being about the bet the minute we got snowed in together.
Maybe it stopped being about the bet even earlier than that. Maybe it stopped being about the bet the moment Delaney stormed into that coffee shop, fire in her eyes, ready to fight for something she believed in.
My phone buzzes again. Another message from Rebecca, another reminder of everything riding on this carefully constructed narrative we've built.
But looking at Delaney through that window, seeing the way she lights up the whole room just by being herself, I'm starting to think some things might be worth the risk.
Even if they might destroy me.