Chapter 19 Dane

Chapter 19

Dane

Amanda’s on the back porch again while I finish up my work for the day.

She’s been quiet since we left Reindeer Bakes with a wedding cake on order for Monday night. I don’t know if she’s feeling the pressure that comes with knowing we have to tell our families the truth soon, or the same level of guilt I’ve felt about the lies, but I know a quiet Amanda is not a normal Amanda.

I grab a slice of fruitcake from the log I got from Uncle Rob earlier today and take it out back to her in the still-stifling heat.

“Not out there catching the fireflies?” I ask as I sit down on the back steps next to her.

She doesn’t answer right away.

Didn’t expect her to. She’s too pensive right now.

She’s not even nibbling on the fruitcake, though she accepted the plate and has it on her lap.

“I didn’t realize how much it hurt that I could never be real friends with Lorelei until today,” she finally says. “I’ve always thought that was part of the reason why I’m never interested in relationships, but now I know it is. It’s the biggest part. Too much judgment from the outside world. They’re wrong or you should pick better , but multiplied because you’re getting the judgment from someone else’s family too. It’s like, I can’t look at a man and not subconsciously wonder what his family will find wrong or unworthy about me when I wasn’t even worthy of being publicly friends with Lorelei growing up, like it was somehow my fault, so it’s easier to just make my own way without anyone else’s expectations.”

“Family gets in your head in ways you don’t even realize.”

“They do.”

I scoot closer to her and loop an arm around her. “My ex leaving me was the kindest thing she could’ve done. Even with how she did it. But after I got over being called boring, I started to realize how much she’d complained about everything. Everything. Without that noise, the next time I talked to my grandma, when she started ranting about something your grandma had done, I was more or less triggered. Felt like I was back in a dysfunctional relationship with the worst kind of cynic, and that’s when it all clicked. Every single time I did something that a normal parent would’ve just been proud of, my family wanted to talk about how much better it made us look compared to your family instead. I didn’t even tell them the last time I got a promotion, because I didn’t want to hear that they couldn’t wait to rub it in your family’s faces. I just wanted to hear a fucking good job, we’re proud of you .”

“Why did they ever think this was okay?” she whispers, the break in her voice making fissures erupt in my heart.

“It’s all they knew.”

“I almost had a panic attack when I saw the cost of the wedding cake,” she adds. “I can’t pay that back.”

“Our families pushed it to this. They can pay for it.”

For all the guilt I’ve felt about lying, I don’t feel any guilt about leaving it to our families to make things right with the businesses around town who are going out of their way to celebrate our wedding.

Seeing Amanda’s pain talking about not being able to be friends with Lorelei sealed it for me.

Someone in town knows why our families are fighting. We wouldn’t have gotten the two letters we’ve received if they didn’t.

But not a single person inside either of our families will tell us what happened.

If they know.

Which means they appear to be fighting for the sake of fighting.

Fuck that noise and fuck feeling like I have no worth beyond being a pawn in their fights.

A stiff breeze whips off the lake, rattling the pines and rustling through the oak and maple canopy.

It doesn’t bring enough of a respite from the heat, though.

“Thank you,” Amanda says quietly while she fiddles with the engagement ring that she hasn’t removed once, not even when we’ve been here alone.

“For what?”

“For doing this with me. You’ve been—you’ve been the absolute best. The instant I told my grandma and mom that I was engaged to you, I had so many regrets. I thought you’d be furious. I thought Lorelei would be stuck in the middle, and obviously, she’d pick you, and then I’d be the next reason the mayor had to break up fights between our families. But instead, I feel like I’ve made another best friend.”

“I’m not really the get angry type.”

“You’re the best type.”

“It’s a phase. It’ll pass.”

Her eyes soften and her lips tip up as she looks at me. “I don’t think so.”

“Heat’s gone to your brain.”

The heat’s gone to my brain.

When she looks at me like that, I think she wants to kiss me.

I know I want to kiss her. It’s why I’ve avoided her as much as possible since the night she caught me in the shower.

I’m tired of avoiding her.

I’m tired of resisting her.

I’m not tired of wanting her.

“I really am glad I’ve gotten to know you.” She lifts the plate of fruitcake with a smile, then sets it on the porch beside her. “And not for this. You—this you—you’re the highlight of this trip home.”

Ah, fuck.

She means it.

And she’s leaning closer. Tipping her chin up. Eyes dropping to my lips.

Bad idea.

But so was pretending to be engaged to get our families to knock it the fuck off. We still don’t have a plan to get her out of inheriting her family’s bakery.

I mean, I have ideas.

But none that I think she’ll like. Inherit it and hire whoever the hell you want to stand in there with your mom.

It’s not something I feel like I can say yet.

But what I can do?

I can quit resisting her.

Giving in to kissing her is the easiest thing I’ve done all week. Angling in to brush my nose against hers, then against her cheek. Our breaths mingling. Her fingers settling on my face. My grip around her tightening.

Until our lips meet.

Soft and hesitant, but only for a moment before we’re both all in.

This kiss—it’s not because anyone’s watching. It’s not for show. It’s not pretend.

It’s real and deep and hot and everything I’ve wanted not just since she tried to crawl in through Lorelei’s window, but since I first watched her onstage in high school.

I’d see her in the hallways, knowing she was an Anderson, that she was off limits, and I wanted her. I saw her in the cafeteria, laughing with friends or arguing with a boyfriend, and I wanted her.

I took a theater class one semester just so I’d be in the same room as her.

This kiss is every dream I had in high school come true.

But better.

Her tongue touches mine, and my skin ignites. She runs her fingers through my hair, and my balls tighten. I let myself explore the soft skin on her shoulders, interrupted only by the thin strap of her tank top, and I’m hard as a rock.

I know this can’t go anywhere.

But when she breaks the kiss, I almost whimper.

I want to keep kissing her. I want to pick her up, carry her inside, and take her to the bedroom. I want to strip her. I want to lick every inch of her body, taste her skin, memorize the shape of her body, play with her pussy.

Show her I can make her feel good.

That I’m more than a nice guy playing her fake fiancé.

She stares at me, pupils dilated, lids heavy, breath coming fast, making her chest rise and fall rapidly.

Her nipples strain her tank top.

I want to touch them. I want to caress her breasts and tease her nipples and—

Stop, I order myself.

Myself doesn’t listen.

Not when Amanda’s moving again.

This time to crawl into my lap, straddling my hips and diving back into kissing me again.

Fuck, yes.

She rocks her pelvis against my hard-on while our tongues clash. I slide my hands under her shirt, stroking the hot, smooth skin of her back, my thumbs caressing her ribs.

And I realize what’s missing.

She’s not wearing a bra.

Condoms.

I have condoms in my luggage.

Have to get inside.

Get both of us inside.

Strip. Kiss. Touch. Taste. Feel.

She’s jerking her hips faster against me, breath coming in desperate short bursts while we kiss. Soft whimpers—the good kind—mix with her puffs of breath.

And I realize she’s close.

She’s close to getting off.

With me.

The thought makes my cock swell harder and puts me in the danger zone for blowing my load too.

Amanda Anderson.

Wants me.

Not just my cock swelling now.

My heart is too.

Fuck.

“Yoo-hoo, anyone home?” someone calls nearby.

We break apart, my hands shooting straight in the air like I’m not touching her, I’m not doing anything , but unfortunately, when Amanda springs back, there’s nowhere for her to go.

Except back.

Off the porch.

I jerk forward, reaching for her, while she ack! s and tumbles off my legs.

It’s only three steps down, and three shallow steps at that, but my heart is racing and adrenaline is making my legs and arms shake as I leap up and dash down the steps to where Amanda’s sprawled in the dirt.

“Are you—” I start, but I don’t finish.

She’s okay.

She’s definitely okay.

You can tell by the laughter rolling out of her.

Her cheeks are stained dark red. Her hair has completely come out of the bun she’s mostly kept it in this week—my fault—and her hair is spread in a curly mass of glory around her head.

“Hello?” Mrs. Briggs says again.

I check myself—don’t want Mr. Happy horrifying my old teacher’s wife—and look Amanda over once more. “You okay?”

She grins at me. “Well. That’s never happened before. Didn’t even know it was on my bucket list, and here we are.”

I shake my head.

Smile.

Feel the regret and disappointment in my balls that the moment is over, and not likely to repeat itself.

But I still chuckle too. “And this is why I always had a crush on you in high school.”

Screw it.

Why not admit it to her?

What’s it going to change?

She blinks once. “No.”

“Who could spend any time around you and not ?”

“Oh, dear. Am I interrupting something?” Mrs. Briggs asks.

Amanda stares at me for a hot second before pushing herself up to sitting. “Dane told me not to play the hop up the stairs with your eyes closed game, and I didn’t listen. Just making sure he can handle me.”

Mrs. Briggs smiles at both of us. “I think he’s handling you just fine. I forgot to give you a little gift to go with your dress yesterday. Given how fast the wedding’s happening, I didn’t know if you’d have time to find your something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.” She pulls a small gift box out of her handbag. “This should cover it all. And I’ll let you two get back to ... your game.”

“Mrs. B., you didn’t have to do that.” Amanda’s fully on her feet now, taking the package and hugging the older woman. “I’ll return it in pristine form, I promise.”

“No, no, this one’s yours to keep. Except the borrowed thing, and only because it’s not borrowed if you keep it. You’ll know what’s borrowed. You just promise me you’ll be happy. The way your love story is bringing some peace to Tinsel ... bah. Now you’ve made me tear up. Just be happy. Both of you.”

She swipes at her eyes, hugs Amanda quickly once more, and then retreats back around the house.

Amanda looks at me.

I look at the package in her hands.

“Oh my god,” she whispers as she pulls out what looks very much like the red velvet pouch that Mrs. Briggs has carried with her in every Jingle Bell parade where she’s played Mrs. Claus for as long as I can remember.

Inside, she finds a blue satin snowflake, an old tin cookie cutter in the shape of a Christmas tree, and a small new ornament that says our first Christmas .

To the best of my knowledge, Mrs. Briggs has never let anyone else carry her red velvet Mrs. Claus pouch.

It’s clearly what’s borrowed here.

But it’s still huge.

We might be playing with fire.

All the way around.

And I’m not ready to stop.