Chapter 6

York

Noelle looks absolutely adorable in her pink knit cap and matching winter coat, the soft colors bringing out the flush in her cheeks from the cold. I watch as she thoughtfully peruses every tree in the lot, her brow furrowed in concentration as she searches for what she calls “the perfect tree.” There’s something endearing about the way she takes this task so seriously, her focus completely absorbed in the hunt.

I can’t keep my eyes off her. The way she moves from one tree to the next, her gloved fingers brushing against the branches as she inspects them with the same care she might use in selecting a precious keepsake, makes it impossible to look away. A big smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I continue to watch her, my chest tightening with an unfamiliar feeling.

Her parents were all too eager to let us handle this on our own, suggesting that it would be a nice little outing for us as a “happy couple.” Her father even took it a step further, calling a few paparazzi to let them know we’d be here. It’s not like I’m some A-list celebrity, but the local press loves a good story, and her dad knows how to play the game.

Sure enough, Jon, a paparazzi friend of mine, is here, snapping photos of us as we wander through the lot. I catch sight of him out of the corner of my eye, his camera clicking away as he captures what is supposed to look like a private, candid moment between Noelle and me. It’s all part of the plan, of course—something her father orchestrated to help keep up appearances.

But as I stand here, watching Noelle in her element, it’s hard to remember that this is all just for show. There’s something about her, something genuine and pure, that makes it feel real, at least to me. And maybe that’s the problem—I’m not sure where the act ends and my real feelings begin.

“Oh wow,” Noelle exclaims, her voice bubbling with excitement as she stops in front of a tree that seems to have caught her eye. “This is the one.” Her enthusiasm is infectious, lighting up her face as she gazes at the tree with a mix of wonder and certainty.

I step closer, drawn to her energy, and take a moment to admire the tree she’s deemed the perfect one. It’s full and lush, its branches strong and evenly spaced, just like you’d picture in a Christmas postcard. But if I’m honest, I’m not really paying much attention to the tree itself. My focus is entirely on her—on the way her eyes shine with delight, the way her breath puffs out in small clouds of mist in the cold air.

Without thinking, I snake an arm around her waist, pulling her a little closer. I feel her stiffen slightly beside me, the sudden contact catching her off guard. “It’s perfect,” I murmur, though I’m not really sure if the tree is perfect or not. Trees have never been my thing, but the feeling of her warmth beside me, the way she fits so neatly into the curve of my arm—that’s what feels perfect.

She hesitates for a moment, but then I feel her relax, molding herself against my body. It’s a subtle shift, but it’s enough to make my heart skip a beat. I squeeze her a little tighter, savoring the way she feels in my arms. For a brief second, the world outside this little Christmas tree lot fades away, and it’s just us, wrapped up in the moment.

The tree might be beautiful, but right now, it’s Noelle who holds all my attention. Being this close to her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against my side, makes me wish this moment could last forever—fake relationship or not.

Our eyes collide as Noelle tilts her head up to look at me, her gaze meeting mine with an intensity that sends a jolt of electricity through me. In that moment, everything else falls away—the noise of the Christmas tree lot, the clicking of the cameras, even the cold air seems to disappear. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss her.

The cameras continue to click away, a steady rhythm that reminds me of the role we’re playing, but right now, their presence feels distant, almost secondary. My focus narrows to Noelle, to the way her lips part slightly as if she’s expecting or willing this to happen.

I lean in slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wants to, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes flutter shut, her lashes resting softly against her cheeks. As I close the distance between us, my heart pounds louder with each breath.

When our lips finally meet, it’s like a spark igniting that feels both thrilling and comforting. Her lips are plump and supple, and as I kiss her, I feel a rush of something powerful and real. It’s a gentle kiss at first, exploratory and tentative, but as she responds, her lips moving against mine, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent.

The cold of the winter air contrasts sharply with the heat of the moment, but the feeling of her pressed against me, the way she fits so perfectly in my arms, makes me forget the chill. The cameras keep clicking, but right now, I’m lost in the sensation of kissing her, in the way her fingers brush lightly against my neck as if she’s grounding herself in this shared intimacy.

When we finally pull back, breathless and slightly dazed, I look into her eyes again. There’s a flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or even a hint of vulnerability. For a moment, we’re just two people caught in a moment that feels undeniably real, despite the deceit of our staged relationship. The world around us fades back into focus, but the connection between us remains, lingering in the shared silence.

What the hell is happening?

This is the coach’s daughter. She’s off-limits, forbidden. It’s a rule I need to keep firmly in mind. The reality of our situation—the boundaries and expectations—comes crashing back into focus, even as I stand here, heart still racing from the kiss.

Noelle’s smile is radiant, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and satisfaction. “We should get the tree,” she says, her voice bright and hopeful. It’s as if she’s just made a delightful discovery, and her enthusiasm is infectious.

I nod, trying to snap back to reality, to ground myself in the knowledge that this moment, this connection we’ve shared, is temporary and bounded by the constraints of our fake relationship. There’s no reality where Noelle and I end up together, no future beyond this charade. That’s a fact I need to come to terms with.

As we walk back toward the tree she’s chosen, the weight of that knowledge settles heavily on my shoulders. I can’t let myself get carried away by these fleeting moments of intimacy. The cameras clicking in the background, the role we’re playing—they’re a constant reminder that this is all just for show.

I watch Noelle as she beams at the tree, her joy so genuine that it makes me ache even more. I’m caught between the desire to savor these moments with her and the harsh reality that this is as far as it goes. The lines are drawn, and I need to keep reminding myself of the boundaries, no matter how tempting it is to cross them.