Page 42 of Acting Merry
“Don’t say it,” she says. “We’ve got this.”
“Yes,” I agree, like the world’s best fake boyfriend. That or the world’s best enabler of fantasies. “We do.”
She grabs my hand again and leads me upstairs.
A search of the bathroom and hall closets yields nothing.
“Maybe it’s in our room,” she says, opening the door. She stops short on the threshold.
I hear it too. It’s whispering, and it’s coming from behind the closet door.
We share a quick glance, then she leads us over to it, turns the knob, and slowly opens the door.
I hadn’t realized there was a closet in our room, but it’s a lot bigger than I’d have thought even if Ihadrealized it.
Big enough to fit six adults—barely—most of whom are smiling in delight at us.
Hanging from the silver bar above their smiling faces is a sprig of mistletoe, a little, harmless horticultural representation of the holidays that has my heart thumping.
“Reese finally loses,” Hannah says with glee.
“And it was in your very own room the whole time.” Tess points two fingers upward at the mistletoe. “Time to pony up, you two. Remember: four seconds—at least.”
I’m ridiculously nervous, but I can’t lose sight of the goal here. If I have to kiss Reese, and if I have to do it infront of the guy that broke her heart, I’m gonna kiss her right.
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” I turn to Reese and pray she’s not dreading this.
She’s smiling, but there’s a little glimmer of something in her eyes as she faces me. Uncertainty, maybe?
I want to take my time, to decide exactly where to put my hands, how to come in for my first time kissing her—something I literally dreamt about last night.
But I can’t. People are waiting—waiting for me to kiss a person they assume I’ve kissed a bunch of times already.
Instead of time slowing down, it seems to speed up, demanding I act. I scramble to think how a guy who gets to kiss Reese Cameron on a daily basis would do this.
I cradle her face with my hands, pausing for a millisecond to make sure she’s okay.
Eyes fixed on me, she wraps her hands around my forearms, then pulls me gently toward her.
That little show of readiness from her is all I need. I press my lips to hers like a man who’s stumbled upon a cool stream in the desert.
Her lips are soft, and her hands squeeze my arms, her fingertips pressing into my skin. It’s a simple detail, but it lights me up.
I slide a hand into her hair. It’s soft in a different way than her lips, and I wonder if everything about her is different shades of soft.
A throat clears.
We break apart, remembering our audience.
I glance at them, and a few eyebrows are raised. Brady looks like he just swallowed a wrench, while Megan’s watching him from the corner of her eye.
Hannah’s looking at a non-existent watch on her arm. “You really took thatat least four secondsand ran with it.”
I chuckle, a sound that’s a total mismatch with the thudding of my heart and the pulsing in my veins. “Did you say four?” I ask as I slip my hand out of her hair. “I thought I heard forty. So, where’s my sweater?”
ten
Reese
