Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
“You’re right. I’m sorry for ending things how I did and then just…well, fucking up our friendship in the process.”
Because he hadn’t kept up with me. He’d just been gone. I had to hear about his life through my parents or social media.
“It’s okay.” And it is. I’m tired of dwelling on the past. “Sounds like you figured out some things too.”
“I think we’re both where we’re supposed to be. Michael and I have had our struggles, but I know he’s the one for me.”
“Happy for you.” I thump his shoulder, feeling a weight lift off mine. “Truly.” I’m finally on the right path, even if I’m unsure where Dawson and I are headed.
His smile is melancholy. “Think we can still be friendly when you’re in town?”
“Of course.”
Once we wave goodbye, I find myself humming a silly Christmas tune the entire time I’m in the store, and as soon as I’m finished, I can’t drive back to the farm fast enough. I want to make the most of the time I have left on this trip with Dawson. And I want to be brave enough to tell him that.
He flags me down near the barn where he and Mom are laughing about something. I’m struck again by how well he fits here, not only in Bright’s Hollow, but with my family. I feel momentary nerves, but I push forward. “Hey, can we talk—”
“Want to go on a date night with me?” Dawson blurts, rendering me temporarily speechless.
Mom’s grin widens. “I told him about the steakhouse we like off Main Street.”
My stomach knots because it feels like we’re playacting for Mom again, and that’s something that no longer sits right with me. Still, I rein in my reaction. “Sure. Sounds good.”
When Mom walks away, Dawson eyes me. “Why do you look disappointed?”
“I’m not.” I shake my head and think about my conversation with Mark, how I feel like with Dawson is where I belong. “It’s just something that’s been bugging me—I don’t feel like pretending anymore.”
“I’m not pretending,” Dawson says, and my eyes spring to his. “I was asking you out on a real date.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “You were?”
He nods enthusiastically, even as his eyes seem wary. “I talked to Nathan about it. Told him I’m here with you and that…I really like you and want more—of this.”
When he motions between us, I can’t quite make sense of everything he’s just confessed. So I compartmentalize the second half. “How did Nathan respond?”
“He said he’s cool with it.”
I want to feel anger or disappointment, but it doesn’t come. Relief replaces those emotions, which only strengthens the point that Nathan never was for me. In fact, he’s probably already moved on because he’s not one to dwell. And I no longer feel that sting of hurt about it because deep down, I always knew we weren’t right for each other. But I sure as hell hope Dawson and I are.
I grab his hand and tangle our fingers together. “I absolutely want more of this. The truth is, I was attracted to you first, but I didn’t realize you felt the same. So I was glad we at least became friendly. You coming on this trip made everything more special—magical—and had we not been interrupted yesterday, I would’ve wanted whatever was going to happen between us.”
He studies my eyes as if searching for the underpinnings of truth. Seemingly satisfied, he replies, “Me too.”
Relief floods me, and I can’t help the smile that breaks over my face. “So what are we waiting for? Let’s go on that date.”
We head back to the house to shower and change.
Mom’s in the kitchen, prepping leftovers for her and Dad as we head out the door. “Have fun, boys.”
That same guilt pinches my stomach, and I consider turning back around and confessing it all, but I don’t want to ruin the night. There will be plenty of time to figure that out later.
As if Dawson can read my thoughts, he grabs my hand and squeezes it before opening the passenger door for me. “What a gentleman,” I tease, but I love it—how considerate he is, as well as how hot he looks for our date night in his dark-wash jeans and sweater. Even the puffer coat and scarf are a cute addition.
We’re early for our reservation, so we window-shop on Main Street, ending up at the enormous tree that will stay lit until after New Year’s.
Dawson grabs hold of both my hands. “Thank you for all this. For making my holiday special.”
I wink. “Asking you to be my fake boyfriend was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
His gaze intensifies as his fingers reach up to cup my cheek. He hesitates briefly, but when I lean forward, he meets me halfway. His lips are warm and soft, and I groan at the contact. I’ve been dying for this all week, and it doesn’t disappoint. He grips my waist and pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. Our tongues flick tentatively, then tangle, as the world around us melts away and I’m lost in his scent and the sensation of his scruff rubbing against my cheek. My hands drift to his shoulders, then his hair, my fingers burrowing in the soft waves.