Page 91 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“It’s all for show, but if you’d rather I hold your hand, that works too.”
“Uh…no,” I say.
“Then an arm drape it is.”
“How can you be so…casual about this?” I ask. “Aren’t you uncomfortable?”
“Yes, fake dating Satan’s mistress has caused me some distress, but I’m able to block out the anxiety and focus on what’s important—convincing the town that I’m the one who should be earning Christmas Kringle this season.” In a lower tone, he says, “And from the standings in points, looks like I’m headed in that direction.”
“Oh my God, you’re ahead by two points. Big deal.”
“Two more points than you,” he says.
“God, you’re irritating.” I try to shrug him off, but it doesn’t work as we head over to the bridge that’s lit up by what looks like thousands of twinkle lights. And those lights lead to an archway that has been erected over the riverwalk. If we were a real couple, I’d think this was the cutest, most romantic walk ever, with Christmas music in the background, snow on the ground and mountainside, and the creaking of water under the river’s half-frozen ice.
But since I’m with Cole, I find it mundane, lifeless, a boring attempt at trying to gain stardom in the town.
“You know you started all of this, right? If you hadn’t used your aunt as a pawn, or tried to sabotage my light display, we wouldn’t be here. But you had to take it to the next level. I’m just matching your energy.”
“By pretending to crush on me? Oh wait…” I smile. “I mean, resurrecting a crush from years ago.”
He scoffs. “You can’t believe everything Max says.”
“Probably not, but I believe this.” I look up at him as we cross the bridge. The lights from above highlight his sharp jawline that’s barely hidden under the guise of his beard. “Thinking back to when we were young, you always tagged along to the Myrrh-cantile with me. Youjust so happenedto be outside when I was outside, so I believe there was a crush there. Question is, why didn’t you ever do anything about it?”
“Because I caught one whiff of you and said, nope, can’t suffer with that stench,” he quickly replies.
“Hence why you’re hanging all over me tonight,” I sarcastically reply.
“You know, I’m glad you brought that up, because it’s been a gallant effort on my part.”
“Are you ever serious?”
“Yes,” he says as we make our way under the glowing tunnel arching above us. “With you…no.”
“And why is that?”
“Not worth my time,” he says.Ouch.
I know thatshouldn’tsting, but for some reason, it does. Being told you’re not worth someone’s time never is something you want to hear. But why? Am I not worth his time because of how I look? How I act? Who I am in general? Too many questions, too many thoughts.
“Aren’t you pleasant,” I finally say.
“Try to be,” he answers and then stops us, pausing under the archway.
“What are you doing?”
“Letting you enjoy the lights.”
“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
“Because you barely have any on your house—thought you might like to gather some ideas, get inspired.”
My nostrils flare as I step away from him. “Are you going to goad me this entire night?”
He drags his hand over his jaw. “I wasn’t thinking I was going to, buthell, I think you just bring it out of me. Can you not handle it? Do you want to ask each other questions, get to know each other better? Although that would fall in the lines of a real date, and I think we established this is fake.”
“This is very fake. Everything about this is fake. Trust me when I say never in a million years would going out with you be real.”
