Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“I thought that event was tomorrow,” I say to Charlotte as I tug on snow boots by the cabin door.
“The snowball fight isn’t usually for another day or so,” Wilder adds.
Charlotte shoots us a look like we don’t make sense to her. “Did either of you hear what Bibi said? The town tweaked the schedule a bit to fit in more events,” she says, and yes, Bibi did say that, but with the ‘welcome to One Bed Town, population you’ talk it’d slipped from my mind. Must have done the same to Wilder, or perhaps that apology fried the schedule right out of his brain in an out-of-character moment for both of us.
A fresh new worry digs into my chest.
What if my sister sees through us? If she learns we’re fake dating because of Brady—even though Wilder needs a plus one too—she’ll worry about me. She’ll feel responsible. She’ll think it was her fault for introducing us, and then she’ll feel like she should tell Leo, and I don’t want her to carry that guilt. Ugh. Why does Brady need to be related to my sister’s amazing groom? Family ties sometimes just suck.
I don’t want to add more stress to her plate. Not when she’s having so much fun. This is exactly what I want for Charlotte—her happiness. Her joy. She’s in her element and I don’t want to steal focus like my father did over and over, especially around the holidays.
It’s her moment to be the star. It’s my moment to blend in.
That means I need to pay attention. Not trip over little details. “It’s a good time for a snowball fight,” I say, trying to forget what just went down. Him.
“It’s going to be great,” Charlotte says as she bounds down the steps toward the driveway, clasping Leo’s arm happily, like she can’t get enough of her fiancé. “I guess the snow is particularly snowball-ish this afternoon.”
With the grin of a wildly-in-love man, Leo presses a kiss to her hair, curling out from under a red beanie with a white pom-pom bobbing on top. “It just snowed the other night, and studies show the perfect snowball consistency is two days later,” Leo says in an even tone, like he’s evaluating hedge funds for his portfolio.
Or really, putting his friend on.
Wilder seems off his game, though, and arches a brow skeptically. “That’s the ideal time for snowball consistency? That’s why the competition was moved?”
Hmm. That’s odd for Wilder not to quite pick up on the joke. Especially since Bibi’s watching us like a hawk while opening the passenger door to Caroline’s SUV.
With an amused scoff, Leo claps Wilder on the back. “Hell if I know. They moved it because they moved it. What do you think? There’s a snowball competition conspiracy?”
“Perhaps the whole town is in on the conspiracy,” Bibi puts in, her eyes meeting Wilder’s.
He seems to blink off his confusion. “Yes, the Evergreen Falls conspiracy,” he says, smoothly once again.
We slip into the car and the second the door closes, I whisper, “Are you okay? You seemed off.”
He grips the steering wheel but his expression is blank for a beat before he says, “Just…distracted. I’m fine now.”
Yup, I can’t fall back into bed with him because we’ll both be distracted then. Distraction would be very bad the week before the wedding. “Anything I can help with?”
“I was thinking about…” He takes a long beat, like he’s gathering his thoughts. “Just a deal I’m working on. It won’t happen again.” He starts the car.
“Wilder, I’m not worried about that. You just seemed…” A little lost in time.
But I don’t say that. I should probably leave it well enough alone, but I want to help him. As he backs up the car out of the gravel drive, I shift to a related topic. “Do you think they know we’re up to something? Because we were questioning the timing?”
“No. At least I hope not,” he says as he heads down the mountain road.
But that doesn’t really ease the tension between us. I’m not entirely sure it’s post-sex tension now. It feels like some other variety. “Are you irritated that the town moved the event?”
“No. It’s fine,” he answers tightly, but then sighs, relenting somewhat as we wind down the curving road toward the town. “I was just expecting it to be in a day or two, and I thought maybe we’d…”
“Practice?” I offer, though that word feels charged now, even if I know he means it genuinely, as in snowball practice.
“Yes, to be honest.” He sounds almost sheepish admitting that.
That’s sweet. “You really do want to win?”
He slows to a stop at the first stoplight in downtown. “Isn’t that the point?”
Yes, that was my goal—to beat Brady. But I already feel like we’re on a ship that’s drifted away from its destination. I’m not sure why, though, or which port we’re headed to.