Page 30 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"For the gala? Perhaps. For the long term?" Delia shakes her head. "The loan committee will see through this immediately."
"Vote!" Giuseppe shouts. "All in favor of love?"
Several hands go up, including Teddy's both hands somehow.
"All opposed to this fake love, because that’s what I believe this is… fake?" Delia asks.
"You can't be opposed to love," Teddy protests. "That's like being opposed to puppies."
"I'm opposed to deception," Delia clarifies.
The room erupts in crosstalk about love, deception, therapy, and somehow the Millbrook trivia team. Delia raises her hand for silence and remarkably, gets it.
"Enough!" She stands, towering over us despite being five foot two. "Three weeks. You have three weeks to convince not just the loan committee but the entire town. If even one person doubts this relationship at the gala, the loan committee will know."
"That's ridiculous," Wren says.
"That's Snowfall Creek," Delia responds. "We support our own, but we don't support deception, which is what I think this is.” She hesitates then adds, “Unless it's about property lines. We're very flexible about property lines."
"And speed limits," Teddy adds.
"And technically who owns the town square," June contributes.
"But not about love," Delia says firmly. "Never about love."
She dismisses us with a wave that suggests we've been judged and found wanting. As we leave, she calls out, "Oh, andMr. Clark? Next time, try to look less like you're running from something."
"I'll work on that," I say dryly.
"Work harder," she suggests.
Outside, Wren and I stand in the snow, still processing what just happened.
"That was intense," she says.
"That was insane," I correct.
"Same thing in Snowfall Creek," she sighs. "Think we fooled them?"
"I think we confused them, which might be better," I say.
"Confusion buys us time," she agrees, then looks down at our joined hands. Neither of us remembers deciding to hold hands. It just happened. "We're getting better at this."
"At what? Lying or hand-holding?" I ask.
"Yes," she says simply.
The scary part is she's right. We are getting better at both. The scarier part is I'm starting to forget which one we're practicing.
"Your place or mine?" she asks suddenly.
"What?" My voice cracks like I'm thirteen.
"We need to practice. Being a couple. Your hotel room or my apartment?" she clarifies.
"Yours. Mine still smells like motor oil and broken dreams," I say.
"Broken dreams?"
