Page 19 of Checking It Twice
“We’ll make it fit,” Karen says with the determination of someone who once raised three children and lived to tell about it.
I watch this debate unfold with growing amusement. They’re so invested in this decision, so passionate about finding the perfect tree, that I can’t help but smile.
Mitch notices. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…” I gesture toward his family. “You guys really care about this stuff.”
“Is that weird?”
“No. It’s nice.” The word comes out softer than I intended. “Different, but nice.”
His hand tightens around mine, and when I look up, the intensity in his expression sends my pulse stuttering. Like he’s seeing something in my face that I’m not ready for him to see.
“Clare!” Six-year-old Sophie appears at my side, bouncing with excitement. “What do you think? Which tree is the prettiest?”
I’m saved from having to fake expertise about Christmas trees by a voice calling out across the farm.
“Well, well. Mitchell Drake, as I live and breathe.”
We all turn to see a guy about Mitch’s age approaching, flanked by what looks like his own small army of relatives. He’s got that small-town golden boy look—clean-cut, friendly smile, the kind of guy who was probably student body president and quarterback.
Mitch goes still beside me. Not obviously tense, but I can feel the change in him through our joined hands.
“Blake,” Mitch says, his voice carefully neutral. “Hey, man.”
“Heard you were back in town.” Blake’s gaze shifts to me, and his smile takes on a different quality. Speculative. “And who’s this?”
“Clare Johnson,” I say, extending my free hand. “Mitchell’s girlfriend.”
“Blake Hoffman,” he replies, holding my hand just a beat longer than necessary. “Old family friend. So, Clare Johnson, what brings you to our little slice of paradise?”
“The promise of excellent Christmas cookies,” I say dryly.
Blake laughs. “Karen Drake’s cookies are legendary. You’re in for a treat.” His eyes flick between Mitch and me. “So how long have you two been...?”
“Together,” I supply.
“Three months,” Mitch says smoothly.
“Three months, and this is the first we’re hearing about her?” Blake’s grin widens. “You’re slipping, Drake. Usually, you can’t keep your mouth shut about the pretty girls.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or anger. There’s something about Blake’s tone—friendly on the surface but with an edge underneath—that makes me want to step closer to Mitch.
“Maybe he’s learned to keep the important things to himself,” I say, surprising myself with the protective note in my voice.
Mitch’s thumb brushes across my knuckles again, and when I glance at him, there’s something almost proud in his expression.
“Sounds like you found yourself a keeper, Mitchell,” Blake says, though his tone suggests he’s not entirely pleased about it.
“Yeah,” Mitch says, his voice dropping to that low register that sends my nerve endings on high alert. “I really did.”
The way he says it, eyes locked on mine, sends a dangerous flutter low in my stomach. For a moment, I forget this is pretend. Forget that we’re performing for an audience. The intensity in his gray eyes makes me feel like the only person in the world.
“Well,” Blake says, clapping Mitch on the shoulder. “Good for you, man. Enjoy the tree hunting.”
He moves away with his family, but I can feel him watching us. Feel the weight of small-town curiosity and whatever history exists between him and Mitch.
“Friend of yours?” I ask quietly.
