“I don’t have the keys.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“If you want the key, you’ll have to complete the crawl. Those are the rules.”
“I didn’t agree to any rules,” I protest.
“But I did,” Thatcher says, flashing me aplease don’t murder me in my sleepgrin. “C’mon, Blaire. It could be fun. Considering he nearly chokes on that last sentence, I’m not convinced he really thinks so.
It’s Maggie’s eager presence that forces me to skim the postcard. Several boxes contain various assignments aroundCaribou Creek.Create a snow heart using teamwork—the Caribou Creek Lodge. Feed each other chocolate dipped strawberries—Baked by Andie. Tie a ribbon on a miniature highland cow while wearing an oversized mitten—Stark Farms. Okay, that last one doesn’t suck. Iama little obsessed with those furry little cows.
“We get the key as soon as we complete this list?” I ask Maggie.
“Yep. And the first couple to complete all the tasks wins a romantic getaway for two at a remote cabin, fully stocked with everything you need to ignore the world for three whole nights.”
I glance at Thatcher, wondering which one of us will take the prize should we win. I decide it’ll be me since he roped me into this without my knowledge. I’ll tell him later, when the event coordinator isn’t hovering. She probably thinks we’re a real couple. Maybe we get disqualified if we’re not. Now that such a grand prize is at stake, I’m a little more inclined to play along.
“I’ll explain everything once we have all our couples handcuffed together. But I’d finish your drinks sooner rather than later.” With that statement and a wink, Maggie whisks off to chain another couple together.
“You lied to me,” I hiss at Thatcher.
“More like omitted some key information.”
“When we win—and I’m competitive, so we are going to win—that cabin trip is mine.”
“I figured you’d be dragging me to the door about now,” he says, looking a bit taken aback. “You’re really up for this?”
“Doesn’t really look like I have a choice unless I want to spend Valentine’s Day cuffed to you in my bed.”
Thatcher glances at me then, something flashing in his eyes. Is that…heat? I brush away the thought. It’s never been like that with Thatcher and me. Itwon’tbe like that. Even if he didturn into one of the ruggedly sexy mountain man types all my romance novel reading friends are obsessed with.
Sleeping with Thatcher, especially under the current circumstances, would be a very terrible idea. But tell that to my traitorous, tingling nipples.
“When we win, you can have the prize,” Thatcher says.
“Wait, just like that?”
“What do I need a cabin getaway for? I live in Alaska.”
“Good point.”
“Do you miss it at all?” he asks, drawing my attention away from the postcard, back to his brown eyes. I’ve never noticed before how much they remind me of fine whiskey. “Alaska? Caribou Creek?”
“Yes, although I can’t say I miss the winters.” There were only two family vacations to visit the Banks’ during the cold months while I was growing up, and that was because Mom was determined to photograph the northern lights. Something I’ve no doubt missed since I barricaded myself in the guest room and ignored everything outside those four walls.
Shit, maybe this getting out of the cabin for a day thing isn’t the worst idea.
“Would you ever consider?—”
“All right, ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to welcome you to our first of what I hope will be many Cupid Crawls. Who’s ready to get this friendly couples competition started?”
I stare at the fuzzy pink handcuff clamped around my wrist, so confused howthisis my life now. A week ago, I thought I’d spend Valentine’s Day at a two-Michelin-starred restaurant at the top of a high rise. Instead, I’m handcuffed to my best friend’s twin brother—a man I would’ve sworn hated me—about to play small town Hallmark movie.
The way he was looking at you doesn’t exactly say Hallmark movie.
“Hey, shouldn’t we take a selfie or something?” I ask Thatcher, desperate to push away these newly forbidden thoughts popping up in my head without permission. “Before she yells go?”
“Let me take it,” he insists, scooting closer. I think he means to drape his arm around my shoulder but quickly realizes it’s not possible. Instead, he leans in until his shoulder presses against mine, and a hint of cologne drifts to me as we lift our joined hands toward the camera.
