BREE
Every timeI go to Nina’s house, there’s a new decoration—another string of lights, more sprigs of holly, and the Santa figurines seem to be multiplying. The dog—still nameless—wears reindeer antlers as he lounges on a candy cane-patterned tuffet like he’s a little Christmas prince.
Now that Nina knows where Fletch keeps his hide-a-key, she sneaks over and brings the dog to her house for the afternoon after she closes the bakery.
“Thank you again for watching him while we were stranded. We really need to name him.” And find a home for him. I scratch behind his ears.
Nina flops onto the couch beside me. “What about Comet? Cupid?”
“Fletch already suggested Dasher, but that name is taken by a reindeer.”
“Fine. What about … Puck? Since Fletch is a hockey player.”
“That’s actually not terrible, but I think he wants to stick with a holiday name.”
Nina wiggles her eyebrows. “Speaking of Fletch ... How was your romantic ice storm adventure?”
Heat rises to my cheeks as I remember cuddling up together and then the kiss at the pond yesterday. “It was ... educational.”
Nina bursts into laughter. “Educational? You write romance novels for a living and the best adjective you can come up with is ‘educational’?”
“Fine. It was ...” I search for the right words, something that won’t give away too much. “Unexpected.”
“Did you kiss him?” Nina asks bluntly.
I nearly choke on my hot chocolate. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re blushing like one of your heroines. You did!”
“Not at the cabin,” I mumble, but don’t specify where or when.
“But you did smooch. I can tell!” Nina bounces.
“Maybe.”
She claps her hands. “You kissed your fake husband. This is better than in your books!”
“It’s not like that. It’s complicated,” I protest, but even I don’t believe the words as they come out of my mouth.
Nina playfully rolls her eyes. “It’s really not. Girl meets boy. Girl marries boy for weird contractual reasons. Girl falls for boy anyway. Tale as old as time.”
“I’m not—” I stop myself. Am I falling for him? The thought makes my stomach bounce like I’m on a trampoline. “It’s just ... he’s not what I expected.”
She clicks her tongue. “And what did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Someone arrogant? Self-absorbed? He’s a professional athlete. The guy who so coolly said that he’s going to marry me someday.”
Nina angles her head to the side. “And instead, he’s kind, thoughtful, and looks at you like you’re the Stanley Cup.”
I throw a pillow with a big red bow on it at her, which she dodges easily.
“You write about people falling in love all day long. How do you not see what’s happening here?”
“It’s different.”
“Is it? Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve written yourself into a perfect semi-second-chance, small-town, holiday romance.”
I groan, burying my face in the pillow. “That would be ridiculous.”
