Rule number one completely obliterated.
I lie very, very still, trying to figure out how to breathe without waking her. Her hair smells like something faint and sweet — no, don’t think about that — and her breath ghosts lightly over my neck. If I die here, they can bury me like this.
I close my eyes for one more stolen second. Then …
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
A chipper voice barrels through the door. “Breakfast delivery for our Holiday Bride couple!”
Harper jolts. I jolt. We both shove away from each other like we’ve been caught doing something illegal. Her hair is wild, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and sleepy. Kill me now.
“Is that …?” she whispers.
Mayor Janice’s voice trills, “Hope you’re decent! We’re coming in!”
Decent? We are the opposite of decent. I scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over a throw pillow. Harper covers her face with both hands, making a noise that could be a groan or a prayer.
The door swings open and Janice sweeps in with two lodge staff members pushing a cart stacked with pastries, fruit, and enough coffee to caffeinate a moose.
“Good morning, newlyweds!” Janice announces.
“We’re not—” Harper squeaks.
I mutter, “Not even close.”
Janice doesn’t hear or doesn’t care. She makes a show of looking around the room like she expects to find rose petals on the ceiling.
“Oh wonderful! You two look so cozy!”
We look like two people who barely survived a tornado. Harper’s hair is sticking up at the crown. My shirt is twisted. The blankets are in disarray like we fought a bear.
Janice claps her hands. “Breakfast in bed seemed appropriate!”
Bed. Why would she say bed? Does she want me to die? Harper scrambles off the mattress, tugging down the hem of her sleep shirt. “We were just … waking up.”
I run a hand through my hair. Mistake. She stares at my arm for a second too long, then quickly looks at the pastries as though they hold all the answers to life.
The staff unloads the tray of cinnamon rolls, croissants, Danish, a tier of muffins, and a silver pot of coffee so fancy I don’t know how to use it.
Harper inhales. “Oh. My. God.”
She reaches for a cinnamon roll the size of my hand. I take the coffee pot and pour for her first. Janice sighs dramatically. “Already acting like a real couple!”
Harper turns twelve shades of pink. I nearly spill coffee on myself.
“We have a busy schedule today,” Janice continues, flipping through her binder. “Tree lighting ceremony at St. Nicholas Chapel at six! Couples’ photos! And the Christmas Market stroll before all of that.”
Harper nearly chokes on her cinnamon roll.
“Photos?” she squeaks.
Janice beams. “Of course! The town is buzzing about our new Holiday Bride couple.”
Harper looks at me in silent panic.
I nod once, steady. “We’ll manage.”
She exhales in relief. Janice, satisfied we haven’t run away screaming, finally leaves, the staff trailing behind her.
