Page 156 of The Holiday Fakers
Then read it again.
Is this a joke? A prank? A mistake?
My heart is racing, and I’m burning up under my layers. The email has an attachment, and I click to open it, terrified it contains a virus that’s about to drain what little is left in my bank account.
But it’s just more text, pages and pages of it that I don’t have the expertise to understand.
I call Brody again, but once more it goes to voicemail.
Glancing around the street, as if the answer lies nearby, I recognize someone inside Making Whoopie—Jack Lourd, Amanda Willis’s agent.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I say as I cut to the front of the line and enter the bakery.
Jack’s standing behind the counter, and I suddenly don’t know what to say.
“Help!” I shout, then cringe as everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at me.
“I need your help,” I say to Jack.
He glances behind him, then points at himself. “Me?”
“Yes, it’s an emergency.”
I tug my hat off as sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I’m creating a scene in my hometown that’s going to keep the gossips going for days.
“I’m not a first-responder, you know.” He leans in as if sharing a secret. “I’m a lawyer.”
“Yes.” I nod. “That’s exactly what I need.”
Smoothingmy hands down the sides of my red satin dress, I scan the crowds. For the past hour, I’ve been two people in one body—the smiling, chatty daughter of Mayor Locke on the outside, and someone freaking the fuck out on the inside.
Where is he?
It’s now seven o’clock, and the town dance is in full swing. Christmas tunes play over the excited chatter, and people are enjoying drinks before digging into the food.
Everything’s picture-perfect, but I’m a bundle of nerves and excitement. Mom keeps reassuring me that everyone’s all right, but she doesn’t know what’s on my mind. No one except Jack Lourd does.
Mia’s set up a photo booth with a snowy backdrop and holiday-themed props so she can take fun pictures of people as they arrive. Harper’s admiring the Christmas tree with Martha, and Mom and Eileen are introducing Marv to people like he’s a debutante in his first season.
Every second feels like an hour as I wait, constantly moving to get the best view of the door.
Then, just as I’m about to push through the crowds and go out onto the street, Brody enters the main room. Dressed inblack tie, he’s so devastatingly handsome, I have a mini-orgasm on the spot.
His eyes are searching the room, his forehead furrowed, but when his gaze catches on mine, the tension in his face dissolves.
Brody. My Brody.
My feet move me forward without any input from my brain, and we meet in the middle of the floor under the sparkling lights, holding each other’s arms as if we’re lost at sea.
I can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. There’s a lightness in his expression, a relief, as if he’s just unloaded a heavy burden from his shoulders.
For a moment, we just stand there, grinning like fools. Then he takes me in his arms and holds me tight. I can feel the love pouring off him. I’ve never felt so cherished before. This is a hug of heart and soul, of the past, present, and the future. It’s a promise, and it’s home.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I reply, then pull back. “And I need to talk to you.”
“Me too.” His forehead creases again. “I’m not taking the job.”
