Page 11 of Fake Out Forever

I take a drink of orange juice, gob smacked that he can read my mind. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Easy.” He pushes his plate away, folds his hands on the countertop, and leans forward. “I pay attention to what matters to me.”

A swarm of butterflies rushes through my chest. My hands start to shake. I feel like I’m sixteen all over again. Nervous, scared, and excited all rolled into one, I stare at my plate.

Cade reaches over to tip my chin up. “I am your friend, duchess. You can trust me.”

“I’m buying land,” I blurt.

“In Thunder Ridge?” He sits back. “That’s great news. We’ll be neighbors.”

“I really like this town. It’s beautiful, and the people are honest and hardworking. It’s the perfect place to live.”

“You won’t miss the big city?”

“No.”

“How much land are you looking at?”

“A thousand acres, to be exact.”

“What are you going to do with all that land, duchess?”

“I’m going to build myself a home.” I take a deep breath. “And I’m going to build a ski resort.”

“Ambitious.” He grins. “I’m not surprised.”

“You think I can do it?”

He gets up from the table and takes our dishes to the sink. “I think you can do anything you put your mind to.”

“You do?” I whisper.

“I do.” He brings over the coffee pot to refill my cup. “Except for one thing…”

I knew it.

“You can’t drive in the snow.”

He walks away, chuckling, and I burst out laughing because he’s right. I can’t drive in the snow. I laugh until there are tears running down my cheeks and my sides ache. I laugh until I realize Cade’s staring at me.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re even more beautiful when you laugh.” His gaze drifts down to my lips, then quickly shifts back up again.

Tingles swim under my skin. He thinks I’m beautiful.

“I’m going to do the dishes while you finish your coffee. Then, if you’re up to it, I could use some help with the Christmas decorations.”

“I’d like that.” I smile. “But you need to know I’ve never decorated a tree in my life.”

“Me either.” He smiles back.

He gets down to business, cleaning up the kitchen while I sip my coffee and watch. With every move, his muscles flex and bunch. He starts whistling “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” and I realize I’m not in trouble… I’m in quicksand.

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