Page 3 of Fake Christmas Date
I take a deep breath, forcing my hand to stop shaking. This is the most important shave of my life, for the most important date of my life. I’m not about to walk into a room with Emma on my arm and bits of red-flecked toilet paper stuck to my face.
I've never been one to believe in destiny or fate or any of that stuff. But from the second I saw Emma come into the diner, I was begging the universe with my entire soul to have a reason to talk to her.
As I drag the razor across my face with the focus and precision of a surgeon, I find myself wondering how soft her skin is. The woman is positively luminous. Rich, chestnut hair. I love the way half of it is tied up in a fancy twist and held by a glittering silver clip. Her eyes are a soft, medium blue, like a lake in the early morning.
And her lips…good Lord…
I've never genuinely lusted for a woman's lips before, but the thought of kissing her fills my entire body with longing.
When I'm done my shave, I run damp fingers through my hair, then change into my suit. Thank goodness I’d forgotten to take my dry cleaning out of the truck for the past few days. Two reminders keep flashing through my mind:Treat her like a princess. Watch your language.
Once I’m presentable, I shove my other clothing into the shoulder bag, wedge it under my arm, and leave the bathroom. Emma emerges from the ladies’ room at the same time, and we cram together in the minuscule hallway. Her lipstick is freshly reapplied, and I notice her hands are trembling.
I take them in mine and kiss the back of them. "This is your work function, Emma. I'm going to follow your lead in everything. You can brief me on the way there."
Her eyes trail up and down my frame, and she nods wordlessly. I think she likes my new look.Good.We go back to the table, where I help her into her coat. As soon as we're outside and I’ve stashed my bag in the truck, a cab pulls up. "I figured we couldn’t show up in a pickup if we didn’t know what kind of story we're going to spin," I explain.
She flashes me a stunning grin as I help her into the cab. "Good point. Thank you."
She gives the driver the address, then I turn to her. "Okay. Give me the rundown on everything I should know if we've been dating for…let’s keep it vague…a few months? Yes?"
"Perfect."
Eight minutes later, we've concocted a charming yet believable story of how we met in the Christmas craft aisle of the local art supply warehouse. I was looking for beads for my mom that she can't get in the small town of Holly Valley, where she lives. Emma was looking for little red notebooks for work. We love going to restaurants and bookstores together, are both into sci-fi movies, and are hopeful for our future together.
She’s also given me the story of Lacey's jealousy – Emma is the new girl but still seems to get the best assignments. Her manager Natalie, and her coworkers Brandy and Angie, all sound like they’re bored with their lives, and they enjoy getting a shot of excitement from Lacey’s drama.
The cab pulls up to the address she gave the driver, and I get out first to take Emma's hand. Once we’re standing on the sidewalk, I pull her gently into my arms for a moment and whisper in her ear. "If we’re going to sell this, I might have to hold your hand, put an arm around you, get a bit cozy. Is that all right?"
My breath falters as she looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. "Of course. Whatever you like."
I slip my arm under her coat to caress her lower back through her dress as I murmur in her ear. "I'm going to try very hard to behave myself. Unless it would look even better if I didn't."
She giggles softly. "I'm not sure if I’d know the difference. I guess I'll have to trust you."
Does Emma realize she just implied she hasn’t dated much? The pressure to impress her is suddenly almost more intense than the pressure to make her work problems disappear.
We leave our things at the coat check and step into the main room, where everything is decorated in an elegant winter wonderland theme. They’re trying to be subtle about it, but I spot everyone in the room taking turns staring at us as we enter.
A petite woman with choppy blonde hair glares daggers at us. She's wearing a leaf green dress that looks less Christmassy and more rave-appropriate – wait, do they still have those? Her hand is latched firmly onto the arm of a skinny guy in an ill-fitting gray suit.
“Is that Lacey in the questionable green?” I murmur.
“Yes. Oh wow – she looks deeply offended that I brought someone.”
I gently kiss the top of her hair. “Good.”
A quick survey of the eighty or so guests confirms that Emma is by far the classiest and most beautiful woman here. And I'm certainly the largest, fittest man,andwearing the most expensive suit, if I do say myself.
We accept champagne flutes on our way into the ballroom, pausing at the donation table. “Oh, you don’t have to,” Emma murmurs. “I’ve already?—”
I wave away Emma’s protests, turning the keypad to me and tapping my card. “It’s the holidays. Believe it or not, I follow traditions.”
A middle-aged woman in a white and silver dress comes racing over. "Emma!" she beams. "We were afraid you weren’t coming!"
"It’s my fault we’re late." I flash a brilliant smile, extending my hand. "Lovely to meet you. Dylan Cutler. I wanted to make sure Emma ate a little something before we got here. Low blood sugar plus champagne means she might not be up for dancing, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?"
"Natalie Jones, manager of Emma’s department." She’s still beaming. "Such an attentive, thoughtful boyfriend. Do come and meet everyone."
