Page 96 of Going Viral for Christmas
I’m blurring the hell out of that line for Ava, and I can see her tryingdesperately to stitch the boundaries back together, to decide where the performance ends and the truth begins.
What’s left is her fear—feral, stubborn. But armorcanbe broken. When it does, she’ll finally see what I’ve known all along: none of this has ever been pretend.
I’ll show her. And I now know, after everything—me laying my cards out on the table like I did this morning— that I need to be strategic with Ava. Cautious as fuck. I have to do it through the role she’slettingme play.
Game on, Bells.
A beat of silence ticks between us, then she’s stomping toward the SUV.
I follow.
The rental smells of stale coffee and cheap car spray when I open the passenger side door for her. She hesitates. I catch the unease in her eyes as she climbs in without a word.
After rounding the front, I open the door on the driver’s side, and slide into the seat.
Now, it’s just me, her, and enough awkward tension to power a Tesla.
Let’s do this.
Ava fiddles with the hem of her sweater while I check the GPS. It’s suddenly the most interesting thing on the planet.
My pulse thuds as though I’m about to face a firing squad instead of a girl with a brazen tongue and a wounded heart. But damn if I don’t want to be in this small space.
Alone.
With her.
Even if she stabbed me multiple times the whole way there, I’d welcome the pain. We might be playing two different games here, but I know, without a doubt, I’m going to win mine.
“And we’re off.” I grin. She doesn’t.
Salem in late autumn is a postcard come to life. Damp cobblestones shine beneath the sun, and amber leaves swirl in tight little tornadoes at every corner.
Colonial houses wear their history, proudly weathered shutters, creaky porches, garlands of dried corn husks and burnt-orange ribbon.
Storefront windows glow with soft light, fogged up from inside where baristas pull espresso shots and locals huddle over mugs. A brisk breeze cuts through it all, sharp and clean, carrying the scent of cold earth and a savory sweetness from the bakery two doors down.
I park near the town square, and I’m barely out of the SUV before I’m gawking like a tourist.
“You’ve got this dreamy gleam in your eyes. It’s almost cute enough to make me forget how insufferable you are.” She exits the car once I open her door.
“Insufferable’s one way to put it,” I say, brushing my thumb over the doorframe before she passes. “But if you think I’m letting go of thedreamypart, you’re out of luck.”
“Delusion does look mildly good on you.” She pulls her long hair over to one shoulder.
“Bells, is that a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it.” She’s trying to hide that smile, but I see it. “So, this is your first time in Salem then?”
“Yeah, but I’ve always wanted to come here,” I admit, my gaze zipping around.
The buildings look as though they might hypnotize me if I stare long enough. “Seeing it with you, though, might be the best part.”
She rolls her eyes, but her blush betrays her.I’m going to wear you down, Ava Bell. And then you’ll blush for a completely different reason.
We walk down Essex Street, her voice slipping into tour-guide mode. She tells me about the original Puritan settlements, the trials, the accusations. About Bridget Bishop—the first person to be executed in Salem for the crime of witchcraft. About the way fear twisted justice into spectacle.
She points to historic plaques, tugs me into the graveyard where moss-covered headstones lean with time, and pauses to buy us cider donuts she insists are the best in the state.
