He nods, his grin growing. “I’ll text you.”
And then he’s gone, pushing off for a swim.
I linger in the lake for just a moment, watching the powerful way his body cuts through the water, his long arms making it look easy in a way that I very much know it’s not.
I have a failed semester of swim team in high school to prove it.
After watching Dane for long enough to sell the ruse—probably longer than necessary, but I’m enjoying the view—I turn and head back toward shore.
It’s time for me to face the music.
Chapter 7
Dane
Amanda tastes like eggnog frosting on a gingerbread cookie.
It’s the only thing on my brain for the entirety of my swim. Through a shower accompanied by a boner that I rub out while tryingnotto think about her. While I handle a few emails from work and spend half an hour on a project that will be overdue at the rate I’m going. As I convince Chili to get in the car to go hang with Aunt Lorelei.
While I’m facing my sister at the rear of the small ornament shop next door to the Fruitcake Emporium.
“You should’ve told me,” she whispers.
“If it didn’t work, you would’ve had to pick sides, and neither one of us wanted you to feel like you had to.”
She rolls her eyes and tugs on Chili’s leash. “C’mon, you big old fluffy rug. I have a fan with your name on it.”
“Amanda wanted to tell you.” The fib slides off my tongue like I’m a natural-born liar. But I believe it’s likely true, so it’s close enough to satisfy the guilt weighing down my iced eggnog latte. “I’m the problem.”
Lorelei eyes me.
I stare back without blinking. “Also, she wants to keep things small with the wedding.”
“Oh, no freaking way.”
“What the bride wants . . .”
My sister pulls me into the doorway of the ornament shop and lowers her voice to barely above a whisper. “Zero chance, Dane.Zero.If you want a small wedding, elope tonight and never come back.”
I wince. If I leave town ... I might not ever come back. Which means I’d see Lorelei even less.
She doesn’t notice. “Everyone in town wants to see this wedding. There’s not a single person here who doesn’t have a story about how they’ve broken up fights between our families at some point. The people who aren’t rooting for full reconciliation between all of us are showing up with popcorn to see whose grandparents throw fists first.”
I wince again, and this time, she sees it.
“They’re not throwing fists.” She pulls a face. “Esme and I are on it on our side, anyway.”
“Appreciate the help.”
“We’re doing what we can.” She blows out a breath. “Regardless of whether or not you told me when you should’ve, I’m thrilled for you. There’s nothing I love more than two people I adore finding happiness together. Don’t let our families get you down. Concentrate on the happiness.”
Yep.
She’s going to throttle us when we break up.
Both of us.
Especially if she ever finds out this is fake.
