Chapter 3 Hope
HOPE
“Why did you not want your sister at your place by herself?” Marshall asks as he pulls into a parking spot in front of The Bloomin’ Rose. It’s first up on Ruby’s very long list of vendors to check in with for the upcoming party.
A party I’m having a hard time focusing on because my lips still buzz with his unexpected kiss that turned into a mini make out session on my front porch.
But it’s easier to simply answer his question than pick apart this surprise fake relationship. Maybe Ruby came up with the idea after I left the party and forgot to clue me in. Maybe Marshall misunderstood the assignment.
Whatever the reason, it’s impossible to be upset about it.
It’s not only the way my entire body still tingles at the memory of his very capable lips turning me into a puddle of goo.
It’s the shocked, slightly horrified look on Hillary’s face that’ll make me take this lie to the grave.
Never mind that my sister married some rich B-list actor whose name I can never remember.
She’s always wanted my new, shiny toys for herself just because they were mine.
This might be the best passive-aggressive revenge yet.
“If you knew my sister, you wouldn’t trust her in your house unsupervised either,” I finally answer Marshall as he cracks the back window for Gram and promises him we’ll be right back.
“She a thief?” he asks. “Are you hiding a wad of cash under your mattress or something?”
“My sister married rich. If I had a secret cash stash, she’d just see it as pocket change. She’s just a nosy pain in my ass.”
I push open the passenger door and meet Marshall on the freshly shoveled sidewalk.
It’s warmer than usual today, but not warm enough for the fresh inch of snow to have melted.
Downtown Daisy Hills has that Winter Wonderland feeling I can never get enough of.
While most of my friends prefer the summer months, I could live in this holiday season forever.
“Maybe you have some poor man tied up in your basement? Or a secret sex dungeon?”
I stare at Marshall in disbelief for a few seconds before busting out in pure, unadulterated laughter that I can’t seem to tame. I laugh so hard my abs get a solid workout and tears spring to the corners of my eyes. “Serial killer to sex addict. That’s quite the range.”
“Just covering my bases,” he says, nudging my shoulder. As though we’re close friends who always joke like this, right here on Main Street where anyone can see us. It feels natural in a way it has no right to.
This is all for show.
We dropped Hillary off at Dresses for Days only a few minutes ago. The shop is a block and a half away. It’s possible she’s spying on us from the storefront window, looking for any sign of trouble in paradise. It’s better to lean into this facade than resist it.
“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a serial killer,” I admit.
“I was thinking the vigilante type,” Marshall points out, holding the door to the florist shop open for me. “You know, like you take out guys who had it coming.”
“Who me? The lover of Christmas, fuzzy blankets, and Hallmark movies?”
“I bet you have a secret badass side,” he says, studying me a little too intently for my comfort.
As though he really sees me. Which is just ridiculous.
If Marshall McCray got to know the real me, he’d lose interest in a heartbeat.
That Hallmark movie comment isn’t a joke.
He’d probably run for the hills if he saw what was on my DVR right now.
“Hey Hope!” Rose Snow greets us as we approach the florist counter. “I heard you and Marshall are taking over the New Year’s Eve party. How fun!”
“Just helping out Ruby,” I say.
“I heard your sister’s in town,” Rose says, as though in apology.
“That news traveled fast.”
“Ruby gave us all the heads up.”
“Us?”
“All the vendors. That way no one will blow your cover on accident. Your sister didn’t sound like the sit-still type.”
“Thanks,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. “She’s really not.”
If Hillary hadn’t decided to drop in for an unplanned visit, the last thing I would volunteer to do is head the town party committee. I’m much too introverted for a role like that.
Solo work is where I excel the most. But it’s doubtful my sister would see my small business as anything more than a cute, slightly sad hobby. A business I don’t plan to tell her anything about. Which is why I agreed to Ruby’s plan in the first place.
That, and the chance to spend time with Marshall—a man who is now apparently my fake boyfriend.
We should probably clue Rose in about that too so she can spread the word before Hillary discovers the lie.
The idea of sharing a house with my overbearing sister should she find out my boyfriend is a fake is too much.
I’d rather sleep on a bed of nails than be subjected to her judgmental lectures on the matter.
“Whether it’s you or Ruby running the show, I know Adrianna is grateful for your help this year.”
Local event planner Adrianna Carter—also one of the Turner sisters who run the local B&B—was put on bed rest a couple of weeks ago. It was the reason Ruby stepped up as party chair in the first place.
“How’s she doing?” I ask Rose.
“Good as can be at thirty-nine and a half weeks. She’s ready to get that baby out! Thankfully Harrison’s taking really good care of her, even if he’s acting like a nervous, first-time father.”
“It’s their third,” I point out.
“Right?”
“I’d be nervous too,” Marshall said. “A baby’s a big deal. Whether it’s number one or number ten.”
“Ten?”
Marshall shrugs. “I like the idea of a full house.”
I stare at him as though he’s someone else entirely.
I’ve only known Marshall to be the flirty, playboy type.
It’s one of the reasons I’ve shut down any attempts he’s made to ask me out.
I didn’t want to be just a notch on his bedpost. I was convinced the man didn’t have a single settling down gene in his body.
“You want kids?” I ask, forgetting we have an audience until Rose plants her elbows on the counter and waits for his answer almost as eagerly as I do. The only difference is she has no shame in showing it.
“Yeah, of course. Don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do,” I answer hesitantly, convinced this is some kind of trap but having no idea what kind.
“How many?” he asks.
“I don’t know. A few?”
“Good answer,” he says, winking at me.
My lady bits buzz with anticipation—anticipation of what, I have no idea.
They probably think we’re going to board that baby-making train any minute.
Not all body parts have registered the very fake nature of this arrangement.
All this having kids talk is probably preparation for some conversation we’ll have in front of Hillary to better sell this farce.
At least I think so.
Because there is no way Marshall McCray is actually interested in making real babies with me.
Making fake ones could be fun…
“You two are too cute!” Rose teases.
“Right?” Marshall agrees, draping an arm over my shoulder and tugging me tight against him.
My nipples harden into peaks, and dammit if I don’t have the animalistic urge to turn all the way into him, until my breasts are smashed up against his hard chest. Even from the side, I’m hit with the same woodsy spice scent I noticed on the front porch when he had his tongue down my throat.
Would it be weird if I asked him to roll around my sheets so I could keep that scent close to me at night?
Yes Hope, that’s very weird.
“You two stay out of trouble,” Rose teases, and finally what she said earlier registers.
“Wait, you know?” I ask her.
“Know what?” Rose asks.
“That Marshall and I are—”
“Oh,” Rose says, cutting me off. A knowing expression falls over her face. She gives me a wink, pulls out her phone, and adds, “I’ll spread the word about that too.”
“Good,” Marshall says, his gaze snagging on mine. My heart leaps into my throat. Damn the man for looking so sexy it should be illegal. “I want all of Daisy Hills to know we’re madly in love.”
I know this fake.
But certain body parts—particularly of the baby-making variety—are struggling to process that very important distinction in this moment.