Page 47 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“You know,” Eden lifted her head and whispered to Davis. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first party I’ve been to that’s ended like this.”
He grinned at her.
She looked away, not sure she could withstand the affection she saw in his face, and noticed Rubin wasn’t crying anymore and Aurora was holding his hand.
Reaching over, Eden prodded Davis and pointed at the kids. She saw his lips lift at the side. And then his pinky finger was linking with hers on the rug. And she wasn’t stopping him. She just held her breath and then hummed along.
* * *
BEAUTIFICATION COMMITTEE GUIDELINES
SECTION 432 B: CLOSING THE DEAL
Committee members can and will be called upon to help matchees “close the deal.” The match is not officially successful until both matchees publicly agree that they are in a committed relationship. Matrimony is not a requirement for a match to be considered a success.
To help matchees to the finale (their happy lives together), the Beautification Committee’s resources—manpower, budget, and creative energies—can be deployed in any manner seen fit by the Beautification Committee president. This includes but is not limited to: providing support for grand gestures, obstacle removal, and the swaying of public or private opinion on any necessary matters.
19
The inn settled into shadows and whispers behind closed doors for the winter night. Davis found it oddly comforting to have people around. He hadn’t noticed how isolated he was tucked away behind the winery every night, his only companions the owls in the trees. Here at the Lunar Inn, there was a constant ebb and flow of people after dinners eaten and adventures had.
He was restless tonight. After Aurora’s birthday party, he’d worked late in his office fine-tuning the media kit for the spring wine trail events and scheduling for winter pruning. He’d have a hand in that as well. For him to do his job well, Davis needed to know every grape, every vine, and every step to vintage.
His mother and father had divided and conquered. She in the vineyard and he behind the desk. But there was only one of him. And only one of Eden, too. He wondered if she ever felt it. The loneliness of being in charge.
There was a scratch at his door. From the chair at the foot of the bed, Davis stared at the closed door wondering if—or was he willing—it was a certainly beautiful innkeeper on the other side. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a lanky brunette who scowled at him every time he entered the room. It was a short, fluffy blond. Chewy sat down in Davis’s open doorway and grumbled.
“What’s the matter, Sir Chewsalot?”
Eden stocked healthy dog treats in every guest room should her visitors be so inclined to feed the fluffy beasts that roamed the property and Davis handed over the requisite snack.
Chewy gobbled it up and looked over his shoulder down the hallway. “Do you need to go out?” Davis asked.
As if in understanding, the dog’s fat tail thumped on the hardwood.
“Are you allowed out at night?” He was having a conversation with a dog at 11:30 at night. He really needed to start dating again. Davis pocketed another dog treat just in case and let Chewy lead the way. Eden’s door was closed, which wasn’t unusual. But Chewy’s insistence that Davis follow him was.
He glanced down at his gray sweats and moccasins and shrugged. Everyone around here had seen him in much worse the last few days.
Chewy led the way down the hall stopping every few steps to make sure Davis was still behind him. Someone had obviously given the dog a complex. It was probably his sister, Vader. Davis had seen her chase Chewy around Eden’s huge dining table only to duck underneath with a satisfied doggy smile on her face while her brother continued his laps.
They entered the lobby at the center of the house, but instead of dancing at the front door as he’d seen the dog do every morning, Chewy trotted into the next wing, still casting apprehensive glances over his fluffy shoulder.
Davis followed him to the library. “You want me to read you a bedtime story?” he asked, stepping into the room.
“I can read all by myself, thanks.”
The dry voice coming from the direction of the fireplace startled him. Chewy, with a dopey smile on his furry face, hopped up on the window seat next to his sister. Their tails thumped in unison.
“Sorry for the interruption. Your dog insisted I follow him,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Eden glanced around the wingback of her chair and sighed. “He likes to collect people at night and herd them into one room.”
One of the dogs let out a not-so-dainty snore. Eden shot them an affectionate look. Davis didn’t feel unwelcome, exactly, so he tested the waters, wandering down a long wall of book shelves. He heard her turn a page. A thriller jacket caught his eye, and he pulled the book from the shelf.
“You can stay if you promise not to talk,” she said without looking up from the binder she was studying.
Davis hid the curve of his lips. He crossed to the fireplace and dropped the book in the chair next to hers and held up a finger to her. She raised her eyebrows, and he left the room. He half-jogged the distance back to his room, collected what he needed, and was back at the library door only slightly out of breath.
