Page 16 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

“B-But…”

“Do not look at the costs,”he stressed gently, holding her gaze. “Look at the house and see what you like – or don’t like – and imagine what Christmas would look like there. Picture cooking in the kitchen, winter in front of the fireplace, or a foggy morning. When I picked this place, all I could see in my mind was waking up, having a cup of coffee, and seeing the fog over the bay before the sun cleared it. That was my deciding factor,” he said softly, seeing the understanding in her eyes, and turned to point at the screen where the living room was pictured. “Can you see a Christmas tree in there?”

“No,” she whispered guiltily, giving him a side look of apology. “I like the bathroom but hate the living room. There are no windows.”

“Perfect,” he nodded. “Then we look for a place with a big window in the living room – and Jeannie? If none of these are good, that is okay too.”

“They’reexpensive,” she drew out painfully.

“I want a safe, nice area – and a condo in a metropolitan area can be just as pricey or more, so please stop looking at the numbers and…”

“You might as well tell me to stop breathing,” she retorted under her breath, making him laugh easily as she continued. “It’s not funny, and obviously, you have no inkling at the cost of a dollar. I mean, you are talking about getting rid of the Bentley – which was too expensive to begin with – and just buying a car or two when we get to Quebec. Now you are looking at massive houses with all these bells and whistles and we need a place to sleep and live. That’s it. You need to watch your money so it lasts, Matthieu and…”

He held up a hand, smiling at her.

“Obviously, in this pretend marriage – you’ll keep the checkbook,” he said gently, admiring how worked up she got about finances. That was a good sign that she wasn’t after him for money and once again – felt better about this whole farce. “I’ll tell you what,” he offered, “You help me pick a place for us to live so we can get started in Quebec – and then you are in control of the money.”

“What?!”

“I don’t want you fretting like we’re broke, so if it makes you better to see the finances, you can keep the checkbook and veto everything else.”

“That’s not necessary, but you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do – and I respect the fact that you are looking out for me already. It shows that we’re going to work well together as roommates and partners. You have my back; now let’s house yours.”

“Can we look at something with a little more character? A little smaller than seven bedrooms?”

“Of course – but remember, we need a guest room for when my family or yours come to visit.”

“Won’t be mine,” she muttered under her breath, causing him to hesitate in surprise once more. “But I understand. We need a bedroom for each of us, a guest room, and I’d like an office – if we are picking from a wish list.”

That surprised him, too.

“Perfect,” he said sportingly, watching her profile. “An office for you – and I’d like a fireplace.”

“Two full baths.”

“Two-car garage…”

She opened up a different tab, selecting features, and then moved to adjust the dollar amount range – only to have him playfully swat her hand as it hovered over the keyboard, and Jeannie jumped, glaring at him.

“Leave it and let’s see what comes up in the search before you start ‘cheaping-out’ on me,” he chided.

“I’m not ‘cheaping-out’. I’m being realistic.”

“I’ll tell you if we can’t afford something.”

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s do this your way, Mr. Moneybags,” she retorted and clicked search. Less than a second later, the screen loaded, and it was almost comical, the way they both turned slowly toward each other, their eyes locking the instant the first listing appeared on the screen.

Matthieu felt something shift in the air between them, an unspoken recognition that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. The house was stunning—almost surreal—with a stone façade that exuded old-world charm and a striking red front door framed by a graceful archway. It looked like something pulled from the pages of a fairytale, the kind of home where whispered secrets and stolen kisses might linger in the walls.

His fingers twitched, drawn to the screen, compelled to click—but before he could, Jeannie’s hand shot out, stopping him.

“I don’t want to like that one,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. There was something nervous, almost fragile, in the way she said it. “Skip it.”

“No.”

Her frown deepened, a furrow forming between her brows. “Matthieu, it’s too expensive.”

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