Page 24 of The Accidental Honeymoon

I shoot him a look. He has the kind of confidence only the truly delusional possess.

"Define 'fun,'" I say. But Jay has already turned his attention elsewhere. We pass through the big intersection that dumps us out into the packed Greater town square. Festive lights hang around all of the shop doors, twinkling madly. There are comical wood cutouts of groundhogs on window displays, and a giant inflatable groundhog hiding his eyes from the sunlight. The crowd is already loud. They’re all dressed in various levels of groundhog-themed ridiculousness.

One woman in a full fur suit waves a paw at us, making me flinch. She may intend to be cute, but the fur glued to her face is pretty startling.

Before I can say anything to Jay, someone on the far side of the town square shouts something that I can’t make out. Everyone lets out a cheer, making me even more confused.

Jay whoops like a college freshman and grabs my hand. “The crawl has begun!”

I adjust the furry ears on my head and glare at him. "These things itch," I complain.

He looks down at me, his blue eyes sparkling with something I can only describe as mischief. "I think you look cute. Almost as cute as my whiskers."

He strokes the drawn-on lines with a mock-vanity that would make a peacock blush.

I snort. "You look like a deranged cat."

"A dashingly deranged cat," he corrects, then grins. "You know, you look hot as a groundhog. I've never been so attracted to furries before."

My cheeks heat as I gently hit him on the arm. “Shut up.”

“Relaaaaax,” Jay purrs.

I look away, focusing on the historic brick buildings that line the square. Greater is beautiful in a quaint, small-town way. The kind of place where everyone knows your business. Which, of course, is why I’m here, playing along.

As a small business owner, my reputation depends on being reliable, professional, and community-minded. The last thing I need is a rumor that Calla Nikolakis refused to support a local charity event.

"Come on, Calla," Jay says, elbowing me. "This is for a good cause. Put a smile on your face."

I know he’s right. The Tin Shed Pub donates a portion of the crawl’s proceeds to the animal shelter. As a business owner in this community, I should be all in. But spending an entire evening with Jay Rustin, even in the context of a fake marriage, feels like playing with fire.

"We're only doing this until the first stop," I remind him. "I have to work in the morning."

"Whatever you say, crawl wife.” There’s a teasing lilt to his words that makes me want to either punch him or kiss him. Probably punch.

The crowd starts to move. We shuffle along with them. Someone hands Jay a plastic cup of something brown and frothy. He takes a swig, coughs, and then offersit to me.

"Want some courage juice?" Jay wiggles the cup enticingly. I shake my head. "Suit yourself.”

He drains the rest in one gulp. His exaggerated sigh of satisfaction is so absurd, I almost laugh.

We’re almost to the first bar when Jay pulls out his phone. He holds up the camera, and I can see our reflection on the screen. My groundhog ears are lopsided, my expression a mix of resignation and horror. His stupid whiskers are already smudged, and he’s grinning like an idiot.

"Just documenting the fun. Say hi to my followers."

"Hi, followers," I deadpan.

That’s not enough for Jay. He nudges me with his shoulder, causing me to almost lose my balance. "Come on, Calla. Where’s your spirit?"

"Groundhog Day isn’t even a real holiday!” I protest. I force a smile at his phone and wave. "Hope you’re all enjoying the crawl as much as we are."

Jay laughs, deep and melodic. It makes my fake smile falter. He kills the video and pockets his phone. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

I don’t respond because I don’t have a clue what I am supposed to say.

We reach the first bar, which is the Tin Shed Pub. The crowd surges inside. Jay looks down at me, his handsome face serious for once. "You can bail if you want," he says. "I’ll understand."

I hesitate. If I leave now, I’ll watch reruns of my favorite TV shows for a few hours before falling asleep. My fluffy duck jammies are calling me. But something in his eyes stops me. A flicker of… what? Vulnerability? Hope?

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