Chapter 3
Chapter Three
AVA
The first thing I notice is the smell of coffee, rich and dark, winding its way under the door followed by the sound of pans clattering and low humming. My brain takes a few seconds to catch up. I’m not in Boston. I’m not in my shoebox apartment. I’m in Liam Carter’s bed.
Well, not his bed exactly. I mean, yes, technically it’s his bed, but he’s not in it.
Throwing the blanket off me, I swing my legs off the mattress, grab a sweater from my suitcase and pad towards the kitchen.
The cabin feels warmer in the daylight, the fire just embers now, sunlight spilling in through frosted windows.
Liam stands at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping something in a pan.
He’s barefoot, hair a mess under that stupid beanie he clearly slept in, and the sight sends a flutter through me I have no business feeling. He’s —
“Morning, sunshine.”
I startle, his voice sounding entirely too cheerful for someone awake before eight on a holiday week. “You cook now?” I ask, arching a brow.
He glances over his shoulder with a grin that makes my heartbeat stutter. That’s weird. “Don’t sound so shocked. I’ve been feeding myself for years, Reynolds.”
“Debatable,” I mutter, but my lips twitch.
He gestures with the spatula toward the table. “Sit. I made pancakes.”
I hesitate, eyeing the plate already stacked high. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” he shrugs, sliding another fluffy pancake onto the pile. “Just figured if you’re stuck with me, I should feed you.”
Something about the casual way he tells me he’s stuck with me twists in my chest. I slide into the chair anyway, watching him move around the kitchen like he was made to cook. When he finally sets the plate in front of me, steam curling into the air, I mutter, “Thanks.”
He smirks. “See? You can be nice before noon.”
I stab a pancake with my fork just to keep from smiling too hard. We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the kind that feels dangerously like routine. Like the kind of morning I’ve never let myself picture with anyone, especially not Liam.
When he leans back in his chair, mug in hand, his eyes catch mine. “So,” he says lightly, “you gonna let Mrs. McAllister sign you up for the Mistletoe Match? Or do I have to drag you into it myself?”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Absolutely not.”
He just grins wider, like he knew I’d say it. “We’d win, you know.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse does this traitorous little jump anyway. “Not gonna happen,” I repeat, setting my mug down with a thud. “I did not come back to Vermont to compete in small-town holiday shenanigans.”
Liam leans back in his chair, lazy grin firmly in place. “Shenanigans? You wound me. It’s tradition.”
“I hate traditions.”
He lifts his brows. “You hate losing.”
I narrow my eyes, stabbing another bite of pancake just so I don’t have to respond. He knows me too well.
Before I can redirect the conversation, there’s a knock at the front door.
Liam opens it to Mrs. McAllister who breezes right in, arms full of flyers.
“Morning, dears!” she chirps, cheeks pink from the cold.
“I’m here to remind you about the Mistletoe Match sign-up.
Today’s the last day and I know you said you wanted to participate this year, Liam. ”
“Perfect timing,” Liam says, way too pleased with himself. “We’re in.”
I glare at him before pasting on my best polite smile. “Thanks, Mrs. McAllister, but I’m not—”
“Oh, nonsense!” she interrupts, thrusting a flyer at me. “It’s good, clean fun. And everyone’s been waiting to see if the Carter boy will give it a go this year. Now that he’s got you back in town, it’s fate!”
I sputter. “We’re not—”
But Liam cuts in smoothly, “We’ll think about it, Mrs. M. Thanks for stopping by.” He ushers her back toward the door before I can argue.
When it shuts behind her, I whirl on him. “Think about it? You just tried to volunteered me for—”
“Come on, Ava. It’s a few games, a little holiday spirit. And there’s a prize.”
I cross my arms. “What prize could possibly—”
“Two thousand bucks.”
I blink. Okay, that’s not nothing. I’ve been eyeing a new tablet for months, but I can’t exactly justify it on my freelance budget. Still, pride has me hesitating. “That’s bribery.”
“Motivation,” he corrects, eyes dancing. “Besides, you’ve got another reason.”
Suspicion prickles down my spine. “And what’s that?”
“Your ex,” he says simply. “You can show him that you’ve moved on. That you don’t need him and never did.”
The words hit like ice water. Of course, Liam knows what I went through.
Everyone did. Derek didn’t just break up with me—he broke something inside me.
The way he’d flirt with other girls, even friends of mine, and laugh it off like I was being dramatic left me raw and humiliated.
There were rumors, whispers that maybe it had gone further, that he’d crossed lines with more than one girl when I wasn’t around.
I was never certain if he actually cheated, but the doubt was poison enough.
It made every corner of this town feel smaller and meaner, like everyone was in on the joke but me.
I started to question my own judgment until I couldn’t trust anyone—not even myself.
Leaving Vermont wasn’t just about school.
It was about getting out before I disappeared completely.
I exhale sharply. “I don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all, him.”
“Fine,” he says, leaning forward, grin softening into something steadier. “Do it for me then. We can have fun like old times. Pretending we are together to win the prize money will be easy. I’m offering to win.”
Something in my chest stumbles. I stare at him, at the challenge in his eyes, and before I can stop myself, I mutter, “Fine. But only because I want that prize money.”
He leans back, victorious. “Whatever you say, city girl.”
And that’s how I end up fake-dating Liam Carter for Christmas.