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)
“One of your favorites,” I murmur.
Fable loops her arm tighter through mine. “I still love that song,” she whispers.
“I know.” I don’t tell her I already have it on a playlist for her and I’m waiting for the right moment to play it.
A few more townspeople go, then Fable’s father and his wife are up. “And it’s ‘The Christmas Song’ for you,” Mayor Bumblefritz says.
Fable’s dad crows. “Watch out Nat King Cole. The king of Christmas croon is here.”
I…cringe.
Fable winces, then hides her face briefly against my chest.
“Sorry, honey,” I whisper just for her.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, and I hold her tighter as her father and his wife sing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire while I contemplate whether there’s any way I can arrange to have a bag of sizzling-hot chestnuts waiting on his seat at dinner to burn his ass.
When they’re done, the lumberjack trio climbs the steps to the stage, forming a makeshift choir. With their deep voices and thick beards, they ooze rugged charm, then launch into a rendition of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” with such enthusiasm and gravelly gusto that it’s almost impossible not to be charmed by them. Almost. The tallest of the crew is staring at my Christmas girlfriend from the stage.
Staring like he wants to take her home.
Like he wants to unwrap her.
Like he wants her to be his Christmas present.
That won’t do.
I’d like to deliver a message to him. I slide a hand down Fable’s back all the way to her fantastic ass. I squeeze. Hard.
She jerks her gaze to me, then waggles a finger. “You have to make Christmas cookies,” she says, like I’ve been caught in the act.
Right. Our naughty and nice list. Worth it. So worth it. “Consider it done.”
“I want them tomorrow.”
“You’ll get them,” I promise.
Our moment breaks apart, though, when the wood chopping trio finishes.
Mayor Bumblefritz booms into the megaphone. “Brace yourselves, I think this competition is about to get even more interesting. I’d like to invite my darn good friend, this town’s very own Sheriff Alejandro Hardick to the stage with his so very lovely teammate, Bibi Hunter-Shipman!”
Fable cheers like she’s on the sidelines of a football game as my aunt and her new friend rock out to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” bumping hips and doing a swing dance.
“They’re too adorable,” Fable says.
I have to admit, she’s right.
When they’re done, Mayor Bumblefritz says the words I’ve been dreading. “I’d like to invite Wilder Blaine and Fable Calloway to the stage.”
As we head up the steps, I groan privately, wishing I could jump ahead three minutes in time and be done.
“And your song is ‘Deck the Halls,’” he adds.
I fight off a wicked smile. That ought to be easy enough for her to handle most of it while I fa-la-la-la-la my way flatly through the chorus.
But once Fable opens her mouth to sing the first line—“Deck the halls with boughs of holly”—my stomach drops. I can’t hide behind her voice. She’s so damn good that the contrast is only going to be more evident. Her singing is full of energy and sass because of course she’s full of energy and sass. The best I can do is make my flat delivery seem deliberate. Like I’m deadpanning my way through the chorus all while she carries us through the season to be jolly.
When we’re mercifully done, she pulls me aside behind the gazebo, out of the way. “You’re human, and I like it.”
My pulse speeds up, and this time it’s not from nerves. “Yeah?”
“I do. You can run a football team. You can launch a fantastic hotel. You can speak Mandarin, and you can give me screaming orgasms. It’s okay if you can’t hit a single note.”
The last thing I suspected was that my terrible singing voice would turn her a little sweeter on me. My stupid heart squeezes and a warm, heady feeling spreads through my body, and my mind too. But I remind myself that nothing is coming of this fake romance. Nothing can come of it.
Trouble is her adorable response does nothing to stem the tide of my feelings for her. Feelings that are getting annoyingly stronger by the day. Feelings that I’ll have to put out of my mind once this ends.
But…not yet.
I have a few more days here to savor this fake romance.
I drop a kiss to her cold lips and warm them up for several seconds that go to my head. I nearly ignore Mayor Bumblefritz’s next words as he calls Brady and Iris to the stage then assigns them “Joy to the World.”
Brady’ll botch it, I’m sure. He’ll bumble his way through it. Iris will probably sound like a screechy starling. When Fable breaks the kiss, I decide I’d like to watch them be eviscerated by my chess strategy.