Page 26 of Snowed In
“I’d fake date him.”
Oh my God. “You said you were—”
“I’m going,” she says, as Christian grins at her. “I’m gone. You two kids have fun.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Christian says. She waits for him to turn back to me before motioning somethingverylewd and then disappears through the door, slamming it shut behind her.
“That’s Frankie,” I say lamely.
“She seems fun.”
“She is.”
“You told her about my plan?”
“I figured it was okay since she wasn’t from home.”
“And because you’re considering it.”
“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask, choosing not to answer.
Christian examines one of the many handfuls of roses I’d filled the apartment with. I ran out of vases, so these ones are in an empty wine bottle. “It’s a surprise,” is all he says.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“It’s a nice surprise.”
“Well, am I dressed appropriately for the nice surprise? Do I looknice?”
“You look great,” he says like I’m his sister, which just isn’t going to cut it. Not if he wants me to go along with this.
“Okay. No.” I drop my purse on the counter and take a step back.
Christian looks confused. “What did I say?”
“It’s not what you said. It’s how you said it.” I cross my arms under my chest, pushing the girls up slightly. “You’re trying to convince me to be your fake girlfriend? That you’re madly in love with me? Then right now? In this dress? With these shoes? I do not lookgreat. Try again.”
He doesn’t do anything for the longest moment, and I’m surprised how disappointed I feel. For all his talk, I thought he might—
I stiffen as he steps toward me, the movement slow and purposeful. All of a sudden, it’s difficult to meet his eyes, and I feel my face heating with every pulse of blood as his own gaze gentles into something approaching reverence.
“You’re right,” he says, and my eyes widen as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry. You look incredible, Megan. You look…” His fingers skim over my cheek, sending a tingle down my spine, and I can’t breathe. My stomach is doing somersaults, and my mouth is drying up, and I—
Oh my God.
“Get the hell away from me,” I snap, and he laughs, the spell instantly broken.
“Good, huh?”
That’s one word for it. “How do you do that?” I press a hand to my heart, pretending to exaggerate my reaction even though the thing is going a mile a minute.
“It’s a skill,” Christian says, opening the door. “And there’s plenty more where that came from.”
* * *
I trail behind him as we wander into town, our pace slow because of my shoes. But Christian doesn’t seem in a hurry, content to stroll when I say no to a taxi. I’m glad he is. I always think you can see so much more of a city walking through it. And I love Dublin at this time of year. There’s an extra buzz in the run-up to Christmas, one that brings everyone out despite the cold. That means roaring fires in pubs and busking choirs and just a little extrasomethingthat makes you smile that bit brighter. A sense of anticipation that’s even nicer than the day itself.
The streets are busy, and I grow more and more curious as we pass restaurants and bars, trying to guess where he’s taking me. But Christian just keeps moving.
