Page 72 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
“I told you; you don’t want to know. Just enjoy the flavor and forget I mentioned it.”
He places his bite in his mouth and chews. “That’s good advice.”
Every bite is delicious, and I am determined to meet this German family who shared their meal and thank them before I leave.
I eat my plate clean, even after I’m near bursting. I don’t know when I’ll have an authentic German meal again.
I lay my fork and knife across my plate. “Thank you.”
“You already thanked me.”
“And I will keep thanking you because twice is not nearly enough.”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunities because thecelebration is just beginning.” He stands and waves to the tree in the corner. “Up next, the fake German tradition of finding a pickle hidden in the Christmas tree.”
I’m in awe. “I can’t believe you found a pickle ornament on such short notice.”
“I didn’t, so I had to make my own.”
I move to stand in front of the tree. I can’t spot the pickle with a cursory glance. “What did you make it out of?”
“A pickle.”
I turn to look at him, wondering if I understood correctly. “You hid arealpickle in the tree?”
With a shrug and a lop-sided grin, he says, “I had an ornament hook, and I had a pickle. It wasn’t hard.”
I laugh. My chest warms, my thoughts turn to mush. Owen is a good, good man. The best of them all and I’m lucky to have him as a friend. Going against my better judgement, I reach out and pull him into a hug. It’s only meant to last a few seconds, but I’m enveloped in the spicy scent of his cologne and a second later, the tight embrace of his arms. Any desire to end this moment flees. I feel secure and safe. He gives the best hugs.
The only thing that gets me to draw back is the thought of Spencer. I should not have instigated this, and I unlock my arms from around his neck and take three large steps back. It’s best if I pretend that didn’t happen and forget how nice it felt to be held in his arms.
I clear my throat and look at the tree. “Will you time how long I take to find the pickle? I have this down to a science.”
He grabs his phone from his back pocket with jerky movements, and I wonder if he’s as affected by the hug as Iam. I still feel the warm press of his arms around my back. The tickle of his beard against my cheek.
I appreciate how he doesn’t comment on the last thirty seconds and instead opens the stopwatch app on his phone. “On your mark, get set, go!”
After mentally separating the tree into blocks of space, I give each square all my attention, one at a time. My other trick is to always look at an angle and not straight on.
Nana hid the pickle at around her eye level. I’m not sure if it was to make it easy for me or easy for her, but I look at Owen’s eye level.
Owen has done the same as Nana. I make out the green blob hidden behind another ornament. Tricky, but not tricky enough.
I unhook it from the branch and once it’s free of the pine scent, I’m hit with a pickle smell. Ironically, I hate pickles, and I wrinkle my nose and hold it out.
He whistles. “Impressive. One minute, fifteen seconds.”
“It’s your turn to search.”
That grin of his has my heart racing.
“Really? I didn’t know I’d get a turn.”
I ignore how his eyes dance. “Turn around so I can hide it.”
Once he’s facing away, I try to find the perfect spot. If I wanted to make it hard, I’d hide it in the bottom branches and near the trunk, but I decide to be nice and put it on the end of a branch at waist height.
“It’s hidden. See if you can beat my time.”
