Faking Christmas(59)
“Should I be scared to ask?” Don’t look directly into his brown eyes, Olive. Don’t!
“Maybe.”
Against my better judgment, I looked at him square on, nervous, until he broke out into a wide grin, the scope and attractiveness of his smile literally taking my breath away.
I took in some air for my lungs and shook my head. “What have you learned?”
He held up a finger. “Number one, I’m not really a fake-dating kind of guy. As in, I hate it.”
My shoulders dropped while my mind immediately began to race. Did that mean he wanted out? That would make things awkward if we broke up here—embarrassing for me, anyway. Glenn would love this turn of events. Unless Miles let me do the breakup. Maybe instead of a breakup, we could just say he was called back in for work. Well, no, we work at the same place. Maybe we could…
“Number two.”
His strong voice gave me pause in my thoughts enough to look back up at him.
“And this is something I’ve suspected for a while but has since been proven true.”
“What?”
“I’ve got a thing for pretty, uptight English teachers.”
I blinked as his words fell over me, but nothing made sense. He was staring at me calmly, almost nonchalant after this major bomb of a revelation. I stood like a statue, unable to move, though my body was a kaleidoscope of activity on the inside. There was something amiss with his words, a puzzle I wouldn’t be able to finish without this missing piece. And I needed all the pieces to make sense of his words.
I swallowed and held up a finger, mimicking Miles. “Follow-up question.”
He nodded. “Shoot.”
“You said pretty uptight English teachers.” The words were coming out mumbled, like I was in a daze, which I totally was. “Were you meaning an English teacher that’s moderately uptight, or was there a comma in there somewhere?”
He cocked his head to the side as he regarded me with an expression somewhere between amusement and a tenderness I could drown in. “The statement could probably go either way. This teacher is definitely pretty uptight, but I did, in fact, mean that statement with a comma after pretty. But now that I’m really thinking about it, beautiful would have been a better adjective.”
Suddenly, I noticed how close he was. Much too close. Much too comfortable. His eyes were roaming my face before landing on my lips. I made the mistake of catching his gaze, and it was…in a word…smoldering. Oh my gosh. I needed to remember to ask him if he had a pen name or something—for romance books he must secretly write. He didn’t put anything like this into his adventure books. I mean…from what I’ve heard…they’re not romantic.
Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.
“Well,” I said, my chin raised high, determined to keep us on track. “I’ve enjoyed my cabin, but that’s about it.”
He breathed out a chuckle. “Such a little liar.” He slowly gathered me tighter until his arms were wrapped comfortably around my waist. It was December in Vermont, okay? I was going to lock in that heat source, so I allowed him to embrace me. I was half tempted to lean my head against his shoulder. I couldn’t tell if that would be better or worse than actually looking at him.
“Who can see us?” I asked. We were within view of the lodge now, but currently, my view was blocked by his shoulder.
“Nobody.”
“What? Hey!” I pushed myself out of his arms only to have him pull me back again. I’d give myself a solid D-for effort in resisting him.
“I would never fake date somebody I didn’t already want to be dating.”
The hair on my arms stood at attention with his words. Why was he whispering?
I drew in a breath and tried again to step out of his arms. He let me go a little, but not all the way. “You can’t tell me that.”
“Tell you what?”
“That you…that you…” I was lost for words.
“That I like you?”
“Yeah. That you like me.” I whispered the words like the idea was crazy. Because it was crazy. It had to be.
His lips curled into a smile. “Why not?”
“Because it’s only Tuesday. We’ve got three more days here. I don’t want this to be more awkward than it already is. We work together.” My eyes narrowed onto his, trying to look intimidating. “Take it back.”
By this time, pure delight colored his eyes. “Take it back? Like we’re five?”
“Yup.” I folded my arms, trying to bargain with my racing heart. Heart, if you slow down, I promise I’ll try running again. Later. In the summer. Maybe.
He scoffed. “You want me to wait until the end to tell the girl how I feel? I refuse to be a cliché. Like a real man, I told you in the middle.”
“A real what?” I countered, trying to buy some time.
He pulled me closer. “I think you know.”
“You don’t really like me.”
“I do.” All the hairs on my body stood at attention. I ignored them.
“No. You can’t. And I absolutely don’t date people I work with. Been there, done that. I’ve made that very clear.”
“That’s not what you told your sister.”
“I was desperate!” I stamped my foot. A definite sign of a mature woman.