Page 22 of Christmas in Vines

The fucker was laughing at me. Without a word, I scooped up a handful of snow and flung it at him. It landed square in his face.

Stunned, Tyler lifted a hand to wipe it off, and the mush splattered to the ground. Revenge was bright in his eyes. “Oh, it’s… on.”

ChapterSeven

Cole

Willow won that snowball fight, or well, she thought she did. I’d humbly accepted my defeat, all of my wet hair, snow trailing down my neck and the back of my shirt, numb fingers and damp-clothed defeat—in exchange for another cup of hot chocolate and cuddling at another bonfire in the town square.

I’d won something, though. For all the times I had thought the Clarkston’s stayed away from us because of their envy of our success, I hadn’t known it was because their invitation to collaborate had gone unanswered.

That could stick something in one’s craw for real.

I made a mental note to get Ethan to look into it. I did not doubt that our dad had been so fixated on going toe-to-toe with John Sullivan that nothing else had made a mark on his calendar.

Now, laying on top of my bunk, shame and guilt were starting to curdle under my breastbone. Willow had no idea who I truly was, and now that I knew for sure how she—and her family by extension—felt about the Sullivans and me, I had a sinking feeling that if I told her who I was, she might put a 12-caliber shot right between my eyebrows.

She hated being lied to, deceived and taken for a fool—and I was doing all three of those to her. Turning on my belly, I pressed my face into my pillow and grabbed my hair.

“What the fuck am I going to do? I’m already so far down the rabbit hole,” I ground out.

Reaching for my cell, I got on social media and plugged in her name; her page popped up, and I scrolled through her pictures. There were some pictures of her and that douche Maxwell at parties, looking happy and a few of them in formal situations. She was dressed in a cream gown that hugged her curves so perfectly that my body reacted to it.

Her hair was pulled up and curled, her face—Jesus, no wonder she’d told me a few days ago she wasn’t dolled up because this was dolled up. The makeup was subtle but so powerful that Willow looked pulled from the silver screen.

“Why does she look so uncomfortable?” I asked.

When I checked the time, I realized it was during the years when Maxwell was being a dog and running around on her. My gut roiled with sadness, and a yearning to protect her—completely undue because I had strong ties with her—tightened a rope around my heart.

Dropping the cell, I spun again and raked my hands through my hair, and my thoughts circled back to the first ones. What would Willow do when she found out I was a fake?

Does she have to know?

The traitorous thought sprung up from the back of my head, and it spurred more on.

What if we just deal with each other as who we are now? Have fun, have some good hard sex and part ways with no one looking under the curtain or being any the wiser?

Willow had been doing all the work for the last couple of days. Maybe it was time to repay the favor. Grabbing my phone again, I searched for popular Christmas activities.

Endless lists popped up, and I scrolled through a few of them when I dropped on one: a carriage ride. It looked fancy and romantic. I thought I’d seen a few guys in the town square offering them. I could look into that tomorrow when it was my break time, run to the town, set it up and then pull Willow in for a ride that evening.

I hope I can pull it off. I still didn’t fully get this craze around Christmas, but I was starting to see why this time brought people that much closer.

* * *

My phone vibrated on the table just as I was stepping into my jeans. Ten minutes ago, I had sent Willow a text.

Come outside, 6:30 on the dot.

I wondered what her reply was. Swiping it off the table, I read,If I see another headless snowman, I am walking right back in.

Have a little faith.

Fifteen minutes later, she was out on the curb where my car was idling, dressed in a beige pea-coat, knee-high boots, and a cream beanie with her hair down around her shoulders.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

I stepped forward with a sleep mask in hand. “You need to put this on first.”

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