Chapter 11

11

FIA

T he library was definitely my favorite building in all of New York City. Sometimes I would go there just to sit with my laptop and stare up at the ceiling, at the incredibly intricate Gilded Era architecture that set the entire place aglow with history and made my chest all warm and fuzzy. Seeing it decorated for Christmas?

“Oh my God,” I gasped, clutching Mason’s arm as we walked through the crowded lobby. “Bury me here.”

“You’re a little young to be thinking about that.” He smirked. His cheeks were the pinkest I’d ever seen them as he reached up to tug at the collar of his sweater. “My family has a plot upstate, anyway. You and I will be buried there, side by side. Obviously.”

“You’ve really thought this scheme all the way through, haven’t you?” I whispered the words as my heart thumped out of rhythm. I took in the massive, beautifully decorated Christmas trees as we walked up the stairs. It smelled like pine and spice, and classic Christmas music blared above the hum of the crowd moving from booth to booth, from event to event.

“You’ve already killed my reputation tonight,” he replied dryly, tugging on his sweater again. “I might as well start thinking about the end of my life as I know it.”

“It’s a sweater, you Grinch! You look great. Handsome, even.” I pinched his side. He didn’t even flinch, but he did look exceedingly uncomfortable in the Nordic style Christmas sweater I bought for him last night at a department store I’d just happened to pass on the way to my parents’ house to finish decorating. It was several shades of green and red, with Christmas trees and other details stacked in tiny patterns in varying colors.

“It has puppies on it,” he practically growled, looking down at me.

“Puppies on skis , Mason. That’s a crucial detail. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Plus, we match.” I motioned to my nearly identical sweater with a mischievous smile. “I think they’re the best thing I’ve spent your money on so far. And you’re colorblind. It’s not like you can even tell what color the sweater is, anyway. Just pretend you’re back in your drab blues and grays you like so much.”

“What have I gotten myself in to?” he grumbled and turned us toward the Heritage Spirits booth, which was serving hot apple cider and fancy hot chocolate, sans alcohol, since this was technically a family event.

Mason motioned to one of the guys serving the drinks, however. A barely twenty-one-year-old intern deftly pulled a flask from under the bar and poured a dram into Mason’s cider before anyone else could see. “You look great, Mr. O’Leary. I love your sweater. My dad has one just like it.”

“Did your mother get it for him?” Mason asked dryly, shooting me a look. I grinned as the intern nodded, doing his best to smile and not tremble in the presence of Heritage Spirits’ head honcho.

We stepped away from the booth and turned to watch the crowd. I nursed my hot chocolate, impressed by it, honestly. Mason, however, scowled as he noticed the kissing booth on the far side of the balcony overlooking the increasingly crowded lobby.

I gave him a little nudge. “Smile, darling. People are looking at us.”

He turned his expression to steel instead of smiling, of course.

I sighed, tapping my fresh manicure on my paper cup. “Okay, fine, go take off the sweater. I know you hate it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You do hate it,” I pressed, then murmured into my hot chocolate. “I think you look really good in it, though.” I watched the color rise in his cheeks again, and there it was, the ghost of a slightly tender smile on his lips.

“It’s not that bad, I guess.”

“I think you look like someone who’s ready for their shift at the kissing booth.”

He gritted his teeth and glanced at his watch. “Did you sign me up for this, Fia?”

“Me? No. Of course not. I honestly hesitated before buying us matching sweaters because I knew you’d probably hate attention. The kissing booth is probably your worst nightmare as an introvert.”

“Am I an introvert? I have over five hundred employees.”

“Uh, yeah. You’re the definition of an introvert. If you look up the word in the dictionary, there’s a picture of you hiding out in your office twenty stories above the ground.”

“Is this the holiday spirit you mentioned?” he teased, giving me a hard nudge with his elbow.

“I’m not even in the spirit yet, honestly. Our scheme has been a little distracting.”

“Mr. O’Leary! And you must be Fia! Oh, I’ve been so excited to meet you all day long!” A very excited female voice split the air as a small blonde woman hurried in our direction. Dressed in a similar fashion, she had a Christmas-themed sweater and jeans on her slight frame.

Shelly Conway, the director of events for the library, clasped my free hand and shook it with enthusiasm, her cornflower blue eyes wide with excitement. “So, what do you think about the decorations? I took your advice about the flow of the booths, and I think it worked so well. You can hardly tell how many people are here right now!”

Shelly and I had been on the phone with each other multiple times over the last twenty-four hours, ever since I responded to an email about the mistletoe booth that Gabby had copied me on.

Shelly was what I’d call a Girl’s Girl. She only had eyes and ears for me right then, ignoring Mason completely as I went on and on about how warm the library felt, how it looked and smelled like every wonderful memory I’ve ever had about Christmas. She was lapping up my compliments.

“Fia, I don’t know where you came from or how you ended up here, but I don’t want you to leave. You have to come work at the library with us. We could use someone like you to help manage events throughout the year.”

I was shocked by the offer, unable to find the words to even say thank you or that I would think about it, but thankfully Mason had been paying attention to the conversation.

“We’ll be in contact,” he told her right before Shelly was called away about some calamity with the sound system downstairs where a dance competition would be taking place within the hour.

I let out a long breath, surprised by the invitation. It had been a long time since someone had complimented me on my event- planning skills. Then again, I hadn’t run too many events since things fell apart with Jake’s company. It felt good to help out and make a difference.

Mason checked his watch and closed his eyes like he was taking a moment to collect himself. “It’s almost time for my shift in the damn kissing booth. If I catch some disease?—”

“No one is going to be kissing you on the mouth!” I gave him a little shove toward the booth, where lucky old ladies would be spending ten dollars a pop to smudge his cheek with cherry red lipstick. He looked back at me with a squeamish expression. Poor, poor Mason. He was a big boy. He’d be fine. At least, I hoped.

He had a twenty-minute shift at the little booth with a strategically placed bundle of mistletoe hanging right over his head. I had a feeling standing around and watching my fake boyfriend get kisses from other women might make Mason even more uncomfortable than he already was, so I decided to make the rounds, stopping at the mistletoe-making booth his company funded for the event.

Little hands fumbled with the greenery as a group of parents with their young children cheerfully built their bundles. One couple in particular caught my attention. A man in a fine suit chuckled with his wife, who had a very tiny baby strapped to her chest as they built a bundle together. She was wearing Christmas tree earrings that lit up, but he was dressed in grey. Two total opposites madly in love.

For a moment, I felt like I was watching Mason and me. Me, with my flare and absolute adoration for the holidays, and Mason, doing everything in his power to like it too, just to make me happy.

But this couple wasn’t faking anything.

My fingers slipped over my own mistletoe bundle as I blinked, dropping out of the strange haze that had just settled over me. Why was it starting to feel like none of what we were doing together was fake anymore? I actually liked Mason a lot. I looked forward to seeing him. I looked forward to seeing his name flash across my phone screen when he called and sent me the most random texts I’d ever seen.

Earlier that morning, I had stepped out of the shower to a text from him that was nothing more than a picture of a pigeon carrying a Christmas ornament it’d likely stolen from one of the many luxury stores near his office. “You as a bird,” he’d said, and I’d laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes.

I found myself standing in line for the kissing booth without realizing my feet had brought me there. Mason did his best not to cringe as a gaggle of older women tittered around him like mice, peppering his face with lipstick. Mason was bright red but the jar on the table was so full of cash that it spilled over the rim.

“You’re going to have to wait a second,” he said, not realizing it was me now standing in front of him. He roughly wiped off the lipstick with a wet wipe and turned, raising his brows as he looked me up and down. “Sorry, lady, I don’t think you can afford me.”

I gave him a playful glare and slid his credit card out of my purse.

“Well played.”

“So do I get a kiss or not?”

“Do you want one?”

What was I doing? What were we doing, looking at each other like this? Our eyes locked and our gazes intense, like we were the only people in the library?

I did want a kiss but not on the cheek. My heartrate spiked in answer, my lips parting with the word yes dancing on my tongue, but then an announcement cut through the dizzying Christmas music, and Shelly’s voice filled my ears. “It’s time for the Mistletoe Dance Competition, brought to you by Heritage Spirits! Please join us on the first floor. The grand prize is a gift certificate to Gianni’s Pizzeria!”

We were still staring at each other as the crowd all around us started to move again, the noises and vibrations of the event rushing us both back to reality. Mason cleared his throat as another man stepped up to the kissing booth to take his place, and Mason awkwardly moved out of his way. I hopped out of line, not interested in canoodling with the new guy.

Mason stepped up to my side. With his hand splayed across my lower back, he guided me through the crowd. “We should do the dance competition,” he said, the words a bit wobbly with feeling, like he was nervous.

“Do you really want to?”

“I think you’d have fun,” he replied, his hand dropping from my back as we walked down the stairs, following the crowd.

I did like to dance but not competitively. What was I supposed to do? Throw down with a random stranger and hope my college moves still held up to today’s standards?

Now I was the one dragging my feet, but Mason charged ahead, and soon we were standing toward the center of a large group of couples while Shelly climbed on one of the library tables and tapped on her mic. “The rules are you have to remain touching the whole time.” Shelly grinned into the mic. “Whatever couple makes it through, wins! Good luck!”

Mason placed a hand on my hip and took my hand in his, standing closer to me than ever before. I had a view of the crook of his shoulder but not much else. My nose barely brushed his chest because of our height difference.

“Shelly is so happy we’re doing this.” I laughed, letting go of my earlier nerves as Santa Baby blared over the speakers, the first of what I soon realized were at least a dozen songs in the lineup. Couples started dropping out in search of other adventures, and before I knew it, Mason and I were one of only three couples left standing.

“I think we have a shot at this thing,” Mason whispered as we swayed together. His hand on my hip was warm and steady. His touch burned into my skin through my jeans.

“It’s the sweaters. They’re lucky,” I whispered into his chest, and he chuckled, tightening his grip in a way that made me suddenly, utterly heated through and through.

“Fia?”

“Yeah?”

“I feel?—”

“That’s it!” Shelly’s voice howled over the mic. We both winced as the music scratched to a halt. “Congratulations to our winners of the Mistletoe Dance Competition!”

We looked around in shock as we noticed we were the last ones standing. A light applause followed, and Shelly pranced over to slip a gift card to the pizzeria into Mason’s hand.

“Thank God,” he murmured sardonically. “I wouldn’t have been able to afford it otherwise.”

I playfully swatted his chest but he caught my wrist. “Fia, I was going to say…” His expression fell a bit, his brows pinched in contemplation.

Suddenly, it felt like we were the only people in the area. The noise of the event ceased, replaced by my own wild heartbeat.

“I kind of like you, Mason,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

“I kind of like you, too,” he replied, meeting my eyes, but then he looked up at the mistletoe hanging over our heads. He lowered his gaze and stepped closer.

I stepped closer too, like I was being pulled in by a magnet. He brushed a kiss over my lips, gentle and tender, and I shivered as his mouth ever so slightly met mine.

“I owed you one,” he said softly. “Since I missed you at the booth.”

My heart jumped against my ribs as he slowly pulled away.

I wanted so much more when I shouldn’t.