Faking Christmas(53)



I gave him an exasperated look before shaking Cathy’s excited hand.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you,” Cathy said.

“You, too.”

“Will you sign a few books really quick?” she asked, looking up at Miles imploringly.

Miles signed everything they had in stock. We roamed the shop for another twenty minutes before we found what we both deemed the perfect book for his mom. A light snow began to fall on us as we meandered back toward his truck. There were bells in the distance, and the light sound of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” humming through the town speakers. The only thing that could have made this moment more perfect was to be holding hands with somebody. Where were the eyes of my mom and sister when we needed them?

I was kidding.

Miles checked the clock in the truck when we got in. “It’s 2:30. The contest closes at 4:00. How much time do you need to make the gingerbread house?”

“Assuming I have good help, we can do it in an hour.”

“Assume away, Celery Stick.”

“Why do you ask?”

He motioned up the hill we were climbing. “I’m in the mood for a maple creme, and we’re about to pass Morse Farm.”

“Your family can sure put away the ice cream.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge or a yes?”

“No whining with the gingerbread, and you have to do everything I say. And we can only stay for ten minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Miles gave a mock salute as he pulled into the maple farm.

Forty-five minutes later, Miles dragged me nearly kicking and screaming back to the truck. It had been too much fun sampling the different grades of syrup, watching the videos on how they run their operation, and walking the beautiful snow-covered grounds. The soft-serve maple creme I held in my hands was a delightful bonus to the most magical afternoon.

We rushed back to the lodge where I discovered Miles to be a halfway decent help. Having a time limit probably motivated him more than anything. I used the hot glue gun provided to build the house and then put Miles in charge of gluing the golden grahams onto the roof, giving it a thatched look. I covered the sides in white frosting, then strategically placed our rosemary sprigs in the eaves and down the roofline. We made windows and pathways with some of the candy bars we’d bought and, at precisely 4 pm, set it on the judging table along with seven or eight other completed houses.

“Okay, over-achievers.” Chloe came up next to us, admiring our house in disgust. “You couldn’t just use the stuff in the package like everybody else?”

Miles leaned across me to address my sister. “For the record, I voted for the package.”

“Such a whiner,” I said.

“I knew I liked you,” Chloe said to Miles.

“Where are the girls?” I asked, looking around for the kids.

“We made ours at home, meaning the girls helped me for about three minutes before they began eating all the frosting, and Ben put them down for a nap while I finished.”

The judges (Jack, Sandy, and Jett) began walking around the tables, admiring the effort of their guests.

“You really are pretty good at those,” Miles said, his eyes raking over our very chic, white house that definitely stood out from the crowd.

“You don’t get talent like this by careening down a mountain strapped to a pair of skis,” I said.

“I think I’ve now successfully done both,” he teased, pulling me in for a friendly side hug while the judges deemed our house the winner.

I couldn’t put my finger on what made our afternoon feel so different. Miles was still Miles, but he’d been…sweeter. He felt more genuine. While in town, we didn’t hold hands or touch beyond Miles grabbing me and pulling me backward once so I could appropriately gawk at the store window display decked out for Christmas. I guess it was because we weren’t surrounded by people at the lodge who we needed to convince we were dating. But for a moment, our defenses had been down. My walls and his diverting humor had been put on the back burner while we made way for easy conversation and friendly stories. It felt as comfortable as it had strange—and with Miles of all people. It had only been two days since I’d arrived at the lodge, and three days earlier, I was under the impression that I strongly disliked Miles Taylor. My head seemed to enjoy this friendly direction we were headed, but my heart couldn’t help but be wary. Proceed with caution, it said.





EIGHTEEN





“To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.”

Jane Austen - Pride and Prejudice





“Hiding out, Celery Stick?” Miles appeared suddenly at my side later that night. I was sitting at a table in the lodge, looking out at the crowd of dancers. Miles waited for no invitation and settled into the chair beside me. After our big gingerbread win, I had gone back to my cabin to shower and get ready for the dinner and barn dance. They called it a barn dance, though it was located in the lodge.

“Are you just worried your dancing skills will pale in comparison to mine?” He looked at my face, and his brow immediately furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

My eyes were on Mom and Russ on the dance floor, acting like lovestruck teenagers. Russ dipping her and kissing her neck was disgusting enough, but the way she laughed like a fourteen-year-old girl with her first crush made me physically ache. I couldn’t help but wonder if my mom ever thought about all of the nights dancing in the kitchen with my dad. Though my dad hadn’t been much of an adventurous soul, he’d had a romantic heart. There were so many nights when Chloe and I would pretend to gag as he zipped her dramatically around the dining table, kisses loud enough to drown out our squeals. Did she remember that? I wasn’t sure how a person’s emotions dealt with two loves in one lifetime, if that was truly what Russ was to her. People seemed to do it all the time, but my mind couldn’t grasp the sudden change. I could feel Miles following my gaze.

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