“Anyhoo,” Hank cuts in, clapping his grandson—taller than him—on the shoulder. “We’ve got you booked for a romantic sleigh ride through the hills. We’ve got a blanketand some Christmas music, and I promise it’s going to be…magical. How about a picture?”
I remember Everly’s comment after the game last night. I’ll be dead to her if I don’t get a snap. “Let’s do it,” I say, and Isla nods.
We pose for a few pics on and off the sleigh, with Hank saying, “Fantastic, this one’s great, so terrific” after each shot.
When he’s done, he makes a show of emailing them to me, then nods to his grandson. “They’re all yours.”
Noah turns to us, a scowl underneath that beard. “No funny business on the sleigh.”
I straighten my spine. “Copy that.”
I wasn’t planning on any funny business. At least, not yet.
The sleigh is shaped like a black swan with elegant curves and gleaming wood. Noah hops into the driver’s seat, tips his cowboy hat lower, then pats Honey’s haunches. “Good girl,” he says, and it’s clear he saves his affection for the animals.
Then he takes the reins in hand and says firmly, “Drive, Honey.”
“He didn’t use a crop,” Isla whispers as we settle into the red-upholstered seat. I pull a blanket over her legs.
“You think I’d take you on a sleigh ride where they hurt the horse? No way. My teammates wouldn’t go for that either,” I say, then tell her the guys gave this to me.
She smiles but her brow knits. “Was that hard though? Them not knowing the truth?”
The horse trots along a well-worn path in the woods atsunset. Golden light glitters against the snow-frosted branches of the trees, turning the whole place into a picture-perfect Christmassy scene. “Nah,” I say. “They’re so focused on making sure I don’t fuck it up. That’s literally all they care about.”
“It doesn’t bother you that they don’t know the truth?”
I’m quiet for a beat as I consider her question. But the thing is, I’m not worried. For one reason. “Well…even if we’re faking it, the dates are still real,” I say, then set a hand on her thigh.
“True,” she says, but she doesn’t sound convinced.
“Isla, I’m having a great time with you. That’s all real. You have to know that,” I say as a hush falls around us. Only the clop of the horse’s feet and the faint notes of “Silver Bells”playing from a speaker in the driver’s seat drift past my ears.
“I do,” she says, emphatic, certain.
But I want her to know beyond a reasonable doubt. I lean closer. “Even if we’re fake-dating, when it’s you and me out like this, or when it’s you and me alone—hell, whenever we’re together, know this—everything is all real.”
She seems to fight off a smile, but then fails. “Really?”
“Really. So tell me what’s wrong?”
She draws a breath, then blows it out, making a cloud in the chilly air. “I told my friends the truth today. I just couldn’t lie to them anymore.”
Oh. I hadn’t thought about how that might feel for her. Awful probably. “Totally understand. It’s different with you and your friends,” I say.
“It is. I needed them to know.”
“I hear you. Do you feel better that you told them?”
“A lot better.” Then she laughs, and it’s self-deprecating. “I mean, you know how twisted up I was about doing a thing with you when you were a client.”
I drape an arm around her. “Is that all that’s on your mind? Or something else?”
Isla seems to blink off whatever it was since she shakes her head. “I’m all good,” she says, then gazes around as if she’s soaking in the snowy hills, the endless forest, the clean air. She turns to me. “I’ve always wanted to do this again—a sleigh ride. As an adult.”
“You never have?”
She shakes her head. “Only as a kid. It’s a little different now.”
