Page 103 of Fumbled Into Love

Deon sent me flowers once when I agreed to be his fake girlfriend, but he hasn’t since. There’s a giddy sensation pounding around my chest, one that demands to be felt.

Deon bought these for me.

And the colors…fuck, the pinks and oranges.

The colors of the sunrise. The colors that remind him ofme.

I tap Declan's head.

“I would like to get down now.”

Declan groans in annoyance as I leap from Declan’s shoulders and into Deon’s arms.

“They’re beautiful,” I say, and his chest rumbles as he holds the flowers away from our bodies. “Thank you.”

I take the flowers, and Deon’s green eyes see straight into my soul as though he understands my every emotion and hears my thoughts.

One of them is more concerning than the rest.

I’ve fallen in love with you.

“I love them,” I say, dropping them into a vase in the center of the kitchen island. “Are you ready to help decorate?”

Declan groans, and I smack his arm.

“She turns Christmas cheer into Christmas fear,” he mutters, “She’s one of Santa’s elves but theoneelf you avoid because they take their job too seriously.”

Deon cackles, and I smack them both as I bite back a smile.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

I stomp away and begin to dig into my storage tubs when my two goofballs inch into the living room with guilt-ridden faces. So, so easy. All it takes is a few pointed words, and they’re putty in my hands.

“What do you need?” Deon asks, bumping my hip. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, but I swat them away.

We have work to do.

“One of you can hang the wreath on the door, and the other can help me untangle the string lights.” I lift the massive, knotted ball of string and watch as the light flickers out of Deon’s eyes.

“I can put up the wreath!” Declan yells, bolting out the door.

“Traitor,” Deon mumbles, and I giggle as he sighs and grabs the lights.

“I’ll feed you a pretzel for everyone you untangle,” I bribe him, and he rolls his eyes but smiles.

“Deal.”

“Incoming!”

I barge into the bathroom, the room full of steam. I held it as long as I could. I did. But it was either pee my pants or go while Deon is showering. Declan is in the guest bathroom, and I don’t thinkanyonewould want me barging in on him.

This is less embarrassing than peeing my pants. For me, at least.

I snicker when the story of Deon peeing his pants in fear pops into my mind.

“Agh!” Deon yells, dropping a bottle on the shower floor. It lands with a thud, and I sigh in relief.

I was about to implode.

---