Page 1 of Fake Christmas Date
1
EMMA
It’s a basic rule of fashion: better to be a little overdressed than underdressed. On the other hand, didn’t Coco Chanel always say to get completely dressed for an event, and then take off one thing?
Ugh. No matter which guideline you follow, I’m totally out of place.
Every time I see a police cruiser roll by the window, I worry it's the fashion police coming to get me. That would certainly be the cherry on top of a fantastic evening, wouldn’t it?
Tearing my eyes from my second cup of decaf, I look around at the other customers in Ray's Diner. A man with his broad back to me might be wearing a black button-down shirt, but I can’t really tell. Everyone else is dressed extremely casually: jeans, hoodies, baseball caps. Yes, the sweet old gentleman reading the paper is sporting a blazer…but looking at how worn the brown corduroy is, it’s been in heavy rotation for decades.
The only person dressed crisply is Claudia, in her blue and white uniform. She’s always such a chatty ray of sunshine; it’s comforting. With no real friends yet here in Kingsville, I’ve been coming to Ray's Diner fairly frequently over the past fewmonths. I discovered it because it's conveniently close to my office, and sometimes I want a quiet spot to work late away from coworkers.
A few teenagers in the back leave, and after Claudia wipes down their table, she pauses in front of me. "You look really pretty with your hair up like that. And that dress is gorgeous."
My gaze drops for a second. "Thanks. It was hard to find one in a proper Christmas red."
"Well, it's a great color on you." Claudia cocks her head. “But I'm sure you didn't dress up so nicely just to cruise by for coffee. It's none of my business, of course, but if you need an ear…well, I'm right here."
The lump that’s been building in my throat for the past half hour grows.
My work stress isn't really a cheerful topic, so I tend to avoid it. Instead, Claudia and I have chatted often about the courses she's taking in school, and how she loves working here just a few nights a week, and I've mostly stuck to tales about my new life in Kingsville, living alone without roommates for the first time, and how much I love the diner’s food.
“It's really not worth talking about." My voice is shaky. I've been so frustrated for so long that it’s becoming harder to hold back the tears.
When I look back up at her, Claudia examines my eyes. "Oh no – bad date?" she murmurs. "Because if you need help?—"
I blink in surprise at the sudden movement directly behind her.
The guy sitting across the aisle in the maybe-a-button-down must have overheard us, since he has leapt to his feet. He towers over Claudia. And holy geez…the size of his shoulders and back… He's built like a tank. His dark scruff of beard makes him look tough and mysterious, which I find surprisingly appealing.
His deep eyes burn intensely into mine as he clears his throat. "If this is a bad date situation, just let me know what I can do." His voice is rough and gravelly. "If someone hurt you, I will kick his butt into next week?—"
Claudia smiles, tapping him on the arm. "Stand down, Dylan." She turns to me with a grin. "Dylan's been coming here for ages. Good guy. If you do need help, I would definitely let him assist you." A crowd of people come through the front door, so Claudia nods to me, excuses herself, and hurries back to the front.
"May I sit?" the huge man asks.
"Sure."
As he settles himself on the teal vinyl bench across from me, I take a good look at him. Wow. Every single detail about him begins to trigger…things. Long-ignored things that swirl deep in my lower belly and make my spine feel slightly electrified.
Physically, this man is the total poster boy for a lumberjack training camp. Huge, rugged, with large hands, thick forearms, and a square jaw. I’d guess that he’s in his early to mid thirties. And his deep, moss-green eyes feel like they're scanning my brain like a sci-fi x-ray machine.
I’d bet my boots that he’s the owner of the pickup truck out front.
"I'm okay. Really."
He arches an eyebrow. "If someone stood you up without even sending a text?—"
"No. No, that's not it at all."
He shakes his head, then runs a hand through his thick, nearly black hair. "Let's start over.” He holds out his hand. "Dylan Cutler."
"Emma Gillis."
I love his grin, not to mention the way he holds my hand for a few seconds longer than necessary. "And tell me, Emma Gillis,where were you headed tonight that led you to seek refuge here at the diner instead?"
I sigh heavily, making him frown. "Ugh. It's so childish you're going to laugh at me."
