Page 9 of Fake Christmas Date
Dylan takes my hand to help me out of the car, pulling me into a hug. "If this is all too much, you can change your mind at any time."
I poke him in the chest. "Are you kidding?" I whisper happily. "I've never had a big family Christmas. This is going to be amazing."
His eyes light up. "Perfect. Because I've never had anyone to share the holidays with."
There it is again. That twinkle of sentimentality mixed with a touch of hope. I wonder if a couple of holiday dates are where this fake dating thing is going to end, or if it will go further.
If the heat between us is any indication, this relationship has more than a drop of potential. Maybe, with a dash of holiday spirit, might it turn real?
6
DYLAN
Iwatch Emma carefully while bringing our luggage inside. At her company party, her cheerfulness felt a bit forced. I already know that she’s a quiet, slightly shy person, so I hope she’s not overwhelmed here. I'm going to make a point to construct some quiet time for her to recharge.
"Dylan!" My dad squeezes the life out of me in a bear hug, then turns to Emma and steps back, clutching his heart. "Good gracious. Did a Christmas angel just appear in my living room?"
She laughs, shaking his hand. "I'm Emma."
"Mark. So happy you’re here." He waves his hand around the living room and toward the kitchen. "You're not a guest here, you’re family. Make sure you help yourself to everything." He glances toward me. "Oh, and your mother made up the downstairs suite for you two."
"Perfect. Thanks."
Mom is already puttering in the kitchen, and I know a round of cinnamon cocoa and cookies is imminent.
Emma studies our Christmas tree, then looks down to where a bottom branch is moving.
"That's Sharky," I explain. "Mom's cat. She doesn't really like people very much."
Emma drops to the floor, sitting beside the tree with her hand lazily stretched toward the corner, as if she has no idea a gray cat is anywhere around. It only takes a few minutes of her fingers lazily swishing against the wood floor for a little fluffy face to nuzzle her palm.
By the time Mom arrives with the cocoa, Sharky is in Emma's lap, getting her ears and back gently scratched.
"Well," Mom laughs. "That temperamental cat seems to have a weakness for nice girls." She leans in to whisper to me. ”Sharky loved Sadie immediately, too. It's a sign, honey."
A sliver of hope runs through me. I think back to two years ago, when Josh brought his girlfriend Sadie home for Christmas. I got the impression they’d barely started dating and were kind of implying they were more serious than they truly were. But that changed over the course of the holidays, and they were married last year.
Is this yet another sign that Emma could be the one, no matter how our relationship began?
Emma had clearly been stunned that I hired a car to take us to the airport, whisked her through to the first class lounge, and given her the comfy window seat once we boarded. I’m not sure where her surprise came from: has she never been treated like a princess before? Never had a man tell her how unbelievably beautiful she is? And funny, and sweet, and clever? There’s a quickly growing list of things I adore about Emma.
The flight gave us some time to get to know each other. The most important thing I learned is that I can't wait to know a lot more. We click on so many levels. Even basic things like work ethic, making time to read every week, and setting a timer so we don't doomscroll for more than ten minutes right before bed.
She’s only twenty-one, but our age difference doesn't seem to matter. Still, I need to be careful. Emma is sensitive. I'm not sure if her life plans include having a six foot three contractor as her partner – even if he is already so obsessed with her he wants to worship her from head to toe.
Every time I think about the fact that we might be sharing a bed tonight, my pulse begins to pound in my ears.
After a final round of cocoa and cookies, and Emma insisting that it's too late for her to eat sandwiches, we finally slip downstairs to the guest suite.
"Wow, this is fantastic," she says, looking around the bedroom done in various shades of green. “Most people have a guest room as an afterthought. This is really nice."
"Emma." My arm automatically circles her waist, pulling her close. "We haven't discussed sleeping arrangements. I'm fine taking the couch upstairs. Or if we want to sell the story that we've been together for a few months, I’m happy to sleep in here, but on the floor. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
She reaches up to lightly drag her palm along my stubble, and her eyes sparkle as she smiles. “I don't know why, but I'm very comfortable with you. I'm sure we can share a bed and just…you know. Be comfortable together. You know?"
"Sure."
She goes into the bathroom to change, and I strip down to my black boxer briefs and slip into bed. When Emma returns, my heart begins to slam roughly in my chest. She's wearing a pink tank top with no bra underneath, and baggy shorts in a pink and white rose print. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and her face is still faintly flushed from washing it.
