Page 18 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"Like just now recently?" Iris asks suspiciously.
"No, before now," Wren says quickly, "but after then."
"When's then?" Iris demands.
"Earlier than now but later than before," Wren explains unhelpfully.
Even I'm confused, and I'm part of this conversation.
"We met at the tree lighting," I cut in, returning to the established narrative. "Things developed from there."
"Developed," Iris tastes the word. "How much development are we talking about ?"
"We're taking things slow," I say firmly.
"But not too slow," Wren adds, then looks horrified at herself.
"The perfect speed," I conclude, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
"Well," Iris says, already pulling out her phone, "this is the best news I've heard all week. Wait until June hears about this. And Mrs. Connor. And Delia. Oh, Delia is going to have OPINIONS."
She rushes out, presumably to alert the media, stepping carefully over the spilled coffee like it's a crime scene she's preserving for documentation.
"That went well," I say dryly.
"That was a disaster," Wren corrects, pulling her hand free.
"A memorable disaster," I point out.
"The worst kind," she groans.
"Hey," Finn interrupts, looking at the coffee-covered floor, "which one of you is cleaning this up?"
We look at each other.
"The boyfriend?" Wren suggests sweetly.
"The one who dropped the tray?" I counter.
"Rock, paper, scissors?" she offers.
"You're already couple-arguing," Finn observes with delight. "This fake dating thing is going great."
"It's not fake," Wren says quickly, remembering we have an audience.
"Right. Not fake. Very real," I agree.
"The realest," she adds unnecessarily.
"Okay, you two need practice," Finn says, shaking his head. "Like, a lot of practice."
I look at Wren, who's trying to look confident but mostly looks like she might throw up. Three weeks of this. Three weeks of pretending with someone who makes contracts for fake dating and schedules first kisses with weather contingencies.
"We should go to lunch," I suggest. "Practice being a couple in public."
"Right now?" she asks, alarmed.
"No time like the present," I say.
