Chapter 17 Dane

Chapter 17

Dane

The minute Amanda’s text message lands, I’m done trying to work for the day.

The accompanying message says she’s excited that her mom and my sister and cousin are getting along, but I can barely look at the three women who are supposed to be the subject of the photo for getting stuck staring at the reflection Amanda got of herself in the mirror too.

Wearing a wedding dress.

And not just any wedding dress, but a dress that matches her ring and makes her look like a winter princess.

No, a winter queen .

I zoom in on the reflection, studying the way her eyes look misty, the way curls are once again falling out of her bun to frame her face, the way the dress hugs her breasts and caresses her shoulders, how it wraps around her as if it was made for her and her alone.

She’d make a fucking beautiful bride.

But she won’t be mine.

So I text back a quick great news, I’ll work on my dad , and then I do just that.

He wants help with some last-minute arrangements for my grandparents’ anniversary party this weekend.

And I need to bring every ounce of game that I have if I’m going to keep up this ruse solo.

I snort to myself as Chili and I head across town to meet him at the banquet hall.

All I really need to do is picture Amanda in her wedding dress, and I’ll look like a lovestruck fool.

Dad’s inside the banquet hall talking to the caterer when we arrive. Grandma’s with him. I kiss her cheek, then give him a hug, and then they loop me in on the final decisions that have to be made.

Grandma and Dad argue over table layouts—I take Dad’s side—and the location of the photo albums—I take Grandma’s side—and then about a last-minute substitution for the broccoli salad, since there’s apparently a nationwide shortage of broccoli suddenly.

I take the caterer’s side on that one, with a very pointed clearing of my throat and accompanying glare, mostly because Grandma starts to say something about those Andersons probably took the last of it .

Finally, everything’s settled.

But as we’re about to leave to visit the florist for final approval on the centerpieces, the caterer grins at me. “And then you’re next,” he says.

Is it possible to grimace and smile like a lovestruck fool at the same time?

That’s what I feel like I’m doing.

“Everything’s so last minute that we’re asking anyone who wants to come to the wedding to bring their own picnic dinner,” I tell him.

“Smart, smart ... if you want a backup location in case of rain, we’re keeping Monday open here. Not that we usually book up on Mondays this time of year, but we’re still keeping it open for you.”

There’s no good answer beyond “Thank you,” so that’s what I say.

He slides a look at Grandma, who’s gone stone faced, then at Dad, who’s poker faced, before pulling his shoulders back and looking at me. “And good for you for fighting for who you love. Can’t be easy. The town’s behind you.”

“His family’s behind him too,” Dad says quickly, angling away from Grandma.

“It would be nice if we knew why our families dislike each other so much,” I say.

Fuck it.

What do I have to lose here?

Grandma glowers at me. “That Anderson man always passed gas in the grocery store whenever I’d come into the same aisle with him. And no one else ever had that complaint.”

That ... is not what I expected to hear.

“And that Anderson woman was always making comments about how her boobs were better than mine, and wearing skimpy clothes to try to get your grandfather to look at her, the hussy,” Grandma continues.

“Mom, I sincerely doubt Vicki Anderson’s goal in life is to lure Dad away from you,” Dad says.

“The minute she married into those Andersons, she became a different person.” She points at me. “If you do the same, you’re disinherited.”

“Were you related to Vicki Anderson?” I ask her.

“Of course not. Who’d want that bloodline mixed with ours?” She sniffs again, then turns and heads toward the door. “If you boys want me to buy lunch, you better hurry your butts up.”

Dad sighs, thanks the caterer, and quickly follows her.

Not for the free meal, I’m certain. More to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself while she’s mad at the Andersons, or they’d get blamed for that too.

I glance back at the caterer.

He shrugs. “Only thing I ever heard was that some relatives older than your grandparents used to steal clean clothes off the clotheslines the last time they lived next to each other, but I was pretty sure that was made up. And I could never get a straight read on who was the thief and who was the victim.”

After a tense lunch with Grandma where I debate leaving at least a half dozen times over the subtle jabs Grandma makes at my taste in women—including calling Amanda Vanessa at least once, which I’m pretty sure was on purpose—Dad pulls me to the side. “I’m trying to appreciate your choices here, Dane, but there’s just so much bad blood between our families. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“ Farting in the grocery store? If that’s the level of crap that has our families fighting, then everyone needs to get over it. Until someone can tell me a real reason I shouldn’t marry Amanda, until you can tell me what the hell she’s done wrong, then she’s what I’m choosing.”

The image of her in that wedding dress is seared into my brain, and even knowing I’m lying, I believe myself right now.

“This is a big commitment—” Dad starts, but I lift my brows at him, and he sighs and stops. Objecting, anyway. “I suppose if it means you’re coming home—”

“We’re picking one of our cities and living there.”

“I heard a rumor that Amanda’s inheriting that gingerdead— gingerbread bakery.”

“That’s an issue she and I will work through together with her family.” Mental note: Tell Amanda that’s what I told him. “Lorelei’s excited. Esme’s excited. Kimberly was incredibly gracious and kind when I had lunch with the Andersons yesterday. Is it asking too much that the rest of my family let go of something that doesn’t do them or the town any good?”

He sighs. “No. No, it’s not asking too much. It’s just ... hard.”

“I appreciate you trying.” Chili flops down at my feet. He’s been trudging along like a champ, but it’s time to get him home. “We’re gonna have to bow out for the rest of the day. Old man here needs a nap. And possibly a swimming pool.”

That earns me a look that I’d say was calling me an asshole if he were anyone other than my father. “I’ll tell your grandma.”

Ah.

Right.

Breaking bad news to grandma is no one’s favorite.

It’s too bad she and Vicki Anderson hate each other.

I think they could bond over their disappointment that Amanda and I are engaged.

“We’re tasting cake tomorrow morning at Reindeer Bakes,” I tell my dad. “You should come. Get to know Amanda yourself. You’ll see.”

He looks away briefly, then meets my gaze and nods. “I’ll clear my schedule. That would be ... nice.”

One more.

One more not quite down, but closer.

Chili and I don’t go straight home.

Instead, we stop by the town hall.

I’m operating on a hunch.

The town historian isn’t in today—it’s a part-time job at best—but the administrative assistant for the mayor tells me she can let me in to look through the archives that they have about the founding of the town.

You tell someone you’re trying to understand why your fiancée’s family hates yours and vice versa in a town this small, and everyone wants to help.

Annoying as hell that our own families can’t see how much the rest of the town wants them to drop it.

Or maybe they can see it, and they don’t care.

Two hours later, I’ve combed through every record they have, and I haven’t found any letters like the ones that have been delivered to the cabin.

I’ve found letters from people not related to me or, best I can tell, to Amanda either. About things like horse injuries and bumper crop years and town elections.

Nothing about feuding families.

Nothing with any names I recognize from my own family tree.

No handwriting that looks remotely similar.

But at least it’s air conditioned.

When Chili and I head out, I stop by to see the admin one last time. “Probably don’t get a lot of people coming in to look through the archives, do you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’d have to talk to Winona about that. She’s in on Mondays.” She drops her voice. “She does get people coming to see her, but sometimes I think it’s just gentlemen who want to impress her, if you know what I mean.”

I can imagine what she means. “The wedding’s Monday. I’d love to talk to her before then. We. Amanda and I both would love to talk to her. If we can.”

“You leave me your number, and I’ll call and tell her what you’re looking for. If she can help, I’m sure she’ll give you a ring.”

Not much left to do beyond thank her for her time, so that’s what I do.

Out in the parking lot, I pull up the picture from Amanda once more.

Fuck , she’s stunning.

And as soon as I get home, I need to start dating again.

Whatever it takes to get over this growing attraction to my fake fiancée.