Page 17 of Faking It with My Bossy Ex

“You’re all set. Enjoy your stay at Cozy Haven Inn!” Mrs. Parker chirps. I can’t bring myself to respond. Dylan leans in close as he turns me around and we head toward the door.

“Don’t worry, I promise to be a gentleman. Scout's honor,” he whispers into my hair. My heart jumps and I shove it back down.

“You were never a scout,” I jab my elbow into his ribs, and he can’t react other than a silent oomph or Mrs. Parker would see and would probably demand to give us a refund and save the room for a more deserving couple.

“Oh! Don’t forget to make time for the Christmas Couples Contest. I’m signing you up now, and I’m sure you have a great chance at winning.” Mrs. Parker’s words send a thrum of anxiety through me.

Couples Contest? What is happening? First, we are riding together, then working together, sharing a cabin, and now we’re supposed to participate in a couple's contest? I can’t, not for a warm bed, not to save face, not for …

I try to turn back to Mrs. Parker to tell her as much, but Dylan keeps his arm around me, guiding me out into the cold.

“Come on, Ames. Don’t be a stick in the mud. It’s just a Couples Contest,” he says once we’re outdoors.

“Just a Couples Contest? Do you even know Snowfall Springs? This contest is what people talk about for weeks. Everyone watches it. People are going to think that we’re an actual couple, and then we either get to pretend we are or we get to look like liars.”

My parents won this contest way back when it first started. My dad proposed at the end. It feels more serious to me than he’s making it out to be.

I start to pace, rubbing my hands up and down on my arms. Of course, I left my thick coat in Laura's car. Those seat warmers and toasty heater tricked me into thinking I'd be fine without it.

“So, we pretend we’re a couple. It’s ten days, Ames, not a six month sentence.” His grin widens and he pulls off his coat. He steps in close, his breath making a cloud of steam in the air.

He twirls the coat around me until it falls over my shoulders, his hands staying by my neck for an unnerving couple of seconds too long. The sudden warmth spreading through me is definitely just from the coat. Definitely not because of how his fingers brushed against my neck. Or how good he still smells.

“You’re going to catch a cold standing out here and arguing.” My teeth chatter in agreement.

His coat is like wearing a sleeping bag, and I’m pretty much a walking marshmallow at this point. At least I’m a warm marshmallow. The scent of cedar and warm leather tickles my nose. He looks like he might smell like an office building, or not at all, but I love how homey and comforting his scent is. It makes me want to …

No, I’m not going there.

“I left my suitcase in the lobby.” Apparently, my brain can't think of anything smarter to say.

“Don't worry about it. Clearly, you didn't notice me taking your suitcase. Come on. If you want to keep arguing, let's at least do it indoors. Now I'm the one without a coat.”

I fume. Who does he think he is, offering me his coat and then complaining about it? For a hot second, I'm tempted to dramatically fling his coat back at him. But ... yeah, no. My pride can take a backseat to not turning into an icicle. Pretty sure my fingers have gone on strike against this weather, anyway.

Dylan’s big coat keeps swallowing me up as we trudge down the path to the cabin. When number twenty-eight finally comes into view, my heart does a little happy dance in my chest.

I can see how temperatures and sleep deprivation are used as torture devices. They make you forget all your inhibitions, as I’m actually looking forward to getting inside, regardless of whether Dylan is going to be there or not.

When he turns the key in the door and pulls me inside, the sight in front of us makes my stomach queasy and I almost pass out.

Chapter 8

Dylan

“You've got to be kidding me.” My hand freezes on the doorknob.

The room beyond isn't just romantic—it's like Cupid's entire arsenal detonated in here.

A queen-size bed sits in the middle of a decently sized room, made up of white blankets scattered with red rose petals. Little electric lamps made to look like fake flames cast shadows over the whole scene, which is complete with little silver chocolates on the pillows.

The sight hits me like a punch. I’ve dreamed of moments like this with Amy. We would've laughed at how over the top it all is and kissed like we’d never want to stop.

Now there's just this wall between us. Every apology I think of dies before it reaches my mouth. I broke what we had. And maybe I lost the right to try fixing it.

But we're here now.

“Well, would you look at that five-star romance scene!” I force a laugh, taking her hand before I can overthink it. “And look up,” I add, my voice softening as I lean closer.

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