Page 31 of Checking It Twice
“Right,” I agree, but the word tastes like a lie.
She finally looks at me then, vulnerability flickering in her expression. “We need to be more careful.”
I nod once, not disagreeing.
But as we gather up the sleds and head back toward the house, I can’t shake the feeling that careful is the last thing I want to be with her.
Chapter Thirteen
Snow Angels
Clare
I’m sitting on Mitch’s tiny childhood bed, staring at my phone, trying to figure out how to explain this weekend to someone who lives in the real world.
Not the Hallmark movie of a Christmas wonderland I’m currently residing in.
Bryn’s face fills my screen, eyebrows raised in that judgmental way that only best friends can master. “You look different.”
“Different how?”
“Relaxed. Happy. Like you actually slept last night instead of staying up analyzing PR strategies.”
If only she knew how little sleep I’d actually gotten and how much of that insomnia had to do with the man whose bed I’m currently sitting on.
“It’s... nice here,” I say carefully.
“Nice?” Bryn’s grin turns wicked. “Clare Johnson, you’re glowing. Either Minnesota air is magical, or that fake boyfriend of yours is doing something very right.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It’s not like that.”
“Baloney. I can literally see the sex haze through this terrible connection.”
“There’s no sex haze. We’re sleeping in a twin bed that’s roughly the size of a matchbox. Nothing’s happening.”
“Nothing’s happening, or nothing’s happeningyet?”
The distinction hits harder than it should. Because she’s right—there’s a yet hanging in the air between Mitch and me, heavy with possibility and terrible timing.
“Bryn—”
“Oh my gosh, you like him. Actually like him. Not just ‘he’s convenient for avoiding family drama’ like him.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but the words stick in my throat. How do I explain the way my pulse kicks up every time he smiles? How do I describe the way his family has absorbed me like I’ve always belonged here? How do I rationalize the growing certainty that this fake relationship is feeling more real by the hour?
“It’s complicated.”
“The best ones always are.” Bryn leans closer to her camera, eyes bright with curiosity. “So what’s he like? Really like, not the professional hockey player version.”
I think about this morning, watching him help his nephew with the sled rope, patient and gentle. About the way he makes sure I always have coffee before anyone else gets to the pot. About the Mr. Whiskers story and the soft way he talked about that ridiculous cat.
“He’s... kind,” I say finally. “And funny. And he pays attention to things that matter.”
“And?”
“And nothing. This is temporary, remember? Monday we go back to Dallas and pretend this never happened.”
“Do you want to pretend it never happened?”
