He still believed in the overall merit of this dating-consultant ploy. The night of the Christmas tree lighting, he’d told her there was a woman he really liked (true) and that he wanted to keep the woman’s identity a secret (temporarily true). Shay was the one who’d given Molly a name. Shay had logically determined Shay wasn’t her. But perpetuating that untruth was making him more and more uncomfortable. He’d started this for the greater good. However, deception wasn’t in his nature, and he was starting to have doubts.
How much longer should he let this go on? Christmas was two weeks away. He’d definitely end it before then, as planned.
“When you’re on your date with Molly,” she said, “I want you two to do something that enables you to have fun, too.”
“This is not that.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m going to crawl over to the exit of the rink now—”
Another snort of laughter from her.
“—but I’d like you to skate as long as you want. That would make me feel better about dragging you all the way out here.”
“I’ve never been one to skate for hours. I’ll go for a little bit longer, and that’ll be enough.”
“I’ll wait for you, but no hurry. I have some things I need to check on my phone.”
“I’m guessing checking things on your phone is preferable to this?”
“Anything on dry land, including having surgery, would be preferable to this.”
“If you attempt any more skating, surgery might become a possibility for you.” A dimple dug into her cheek as she adjusted her scarf.
“Can I buy you coffee when you’re done, to pay you back for this debacle?”
“Certainly. I take payment for my consultation services in the form of rented ice skates and gingerbread lattes.”
• • •
An hour later, Shay let herself into her matchbox apartment and set about unwrapping her winter layers and getting dinner going. Frozen enchiladas—dinner of champions.
Connor Bryant was the worst ice skater she’d ever seen in her life. Comically bad. However, she hadn’t been lying when she’d told him that his good attitude on the ice could appeal to Molly. She knew for a fact it could, because that’s the effect it’d had on her.
He hadn’t lost his temper or his cool. He’d been able to laugh at himself and remained genuinely good-natured the whole time. With his auburn coloring, the cold had brought out red patches near his cheekbones, which had made him look extremely hot in a British rugby player kind of way.
But the most slaying thing about their date—pretend date—was that he’d been willing to subject himself to ice skating for Molly.
Dang it!
Once again, he’d proven he’d go the extra mile.
Numerous times tonight, she’d wondered if Connor was picking up on the very tangible chemistry between her and him. Each time, she’d decided that no, he wasn’t. She’d observed him interacting with the women at his school, and he’d appeared oblivious to their interest. No doubt he was equally oblivious to the electricity she was feeling.
After all, they’d known each other a long time. Nothing had changed between herself and Connor except one thing—her emotions toward him. “‘Can you feel the love tonight?’” She sang the Lion King lyric under her breath.
She’d signed up for this project so blithely. In doing so, she’d gotten herself into a predicament. She was beginning to harbor legit jealousy toward Molly, a woman whose identity she didn’t even know.
Merry Christmas to you, Shay. Merry Christmas to you.
Chapter Six
Only a day had passed since they’d gone ice skating. To Shay, it felt like a week.
She sat cross-legged on her sofa Saturday evening after returning home from a holiday dinner out with friends. Steadily, she chewed kernels of the peppermint and white chocolate popcorn a customer had given her while she watched a televised stage production of White Christmas.
It really did feel like a week since she’d seen Connor. Fine! She’d text him.
Brushing off her hands, she selected her words the way a stationery lover selects greeting cards.
Here’s another low-pressure first date idea . . . You could invite Molly to go to a party or gathering at which both of you will know people. She sent the text, then tapped her phone against her chin.
Could Molly be Bridget, who worked at the art gallery? Shay and Connor had chatted with her when they’d stopped by the other day. Shay had detected some shy interest on Bridget’s part but hadn’t detected anything unusual in Connor’s behavior. That didn’t mean Bridget wasn’t Molly. Bridget was darling in an “I’m an elf from Lord of the Rings” way. Connor and Bridget shared an appreciation of art. No doubt, Bridget would think Connor was a prodigy and Connor would be grateful to date someone who thought he was a prodigy.
She, Shay, thought he was a prodigy!
Her phone pinged with his answering text. After our ice-skating fiasco, I hope you can agree that I’m going to need more practice at selecting and executing good dates. My friend Andrew invited me to an ugly Christmas sweater party at his house tomorrow night. Is that the kind of thing you think Molly would enjoy?
I can’t speak to Molly’s tastes. But I can tell you that I think parties are a good bet, so long as she’s familiar with some of the people who are going. Is it Andrew Covington who’s hosting?
Yep.
Like her, Connor had gone through middle school and high school with just a couple of very close friends. Like her, it appeared he’d retained them to this day. Andrew had been their gangly salutatorian and now had his own small IT business. He was the one she’d hired for all Papery’s tech needs.
I don’t want to impose on your time, Connor wrote, but would you be willing to go to Andrew’s party with me for an hour or two? I’d like a chance to prove to you and myself that I really am ready for this.
She smiled, warmth circling like glitter in her chest. She had an event at church on her calendar, but she could easily miss that. Do you have to grit your teeth in order to survive ugly Christmas sweater parties?
As a rule, I don’t enjoy dressing in embarrassing clothing, as you may have noticed the day of the stretchy pants. But Andrew’s promised that there won’t be embarrassing games or forced caroling. It’ll be low-key. Just food and talking to people. So I don’t think I’ll have to grit my teeth to survive.
In that case, my answer is yes.
• • •
Once again, Shay was seeing him at less than his sexiest. His sweater read Dachshund through the snow and had a picture of a dachshund wearing a Santa hat on the front. It was the least hideous one he’d been able to find. But it wasn’t great. How were you supposed to bring your A game with a woman when wearing a Dachshund through the snow sweater?
Her sweater was much louder than his. Made to look like a Christmas tree, its bright green fabric had actual tinsel and ornaments hanging off of it. She wore matching Christmas ornaments as earrings. But, of course, the laws of the universe dictated that she’d look adorable and confident in her sweater. Which she did.
Christmas music, bursts of laughter, and the conversation of the guests ebbed and flowed around them like the tide.