Chapter 28 Amanda

Chapter 28

Amanda

“You haven’t broken up with me yet,” I say quietly to Dane as we head back to the Gingerbread House. I have to concentrate on something other than my suspicions if I’m going to keep my cool.

“I don’t like to ruin fun” is his only answer.

He doesn’t parrot it back at me— you haven’t broken up with me yet either —and he doesn’t say I was thinking we should do blah blah blah to break up either.

I slip my hand into his and squeeze.

He squeezes back.

And we walk the rest of the way back down Kringle Lane looking exactly like what we’re pretending to be—a happily engaged couple who apparently forgive each other nearly everything.

No one would look at us and think we were faking this. That we’re breaking up sometime in the next twenty-four hours. That in three days, hopefully I’ll be back in New York running auditions for my play and Dane will be back in San Francisco.

They wouldn’t even know I lost Dane’s engagement ring.

“I’ll pay you back for the ring,” I say.

“No need.”

“But I—”

“It’ll turn up.”

“Dane!” someone calls from across the street.

We both look over at his uncle, standing in the doorway of the Fruitcake Emporium.

Rob winces. “And Amanda,” he adds. “Have you found the ring?”

We both shake our heads.

“Your grandpa said to tell you that your grandma lost her engagement ring once too,” he says. “She found it later inside a fruitcake.”

“If you’re offering to let me eat your whole stock to see if my ring’s in there, I’m game,” I call.

Dane looks down at me and smiles a soft smile. “You are truly one of a kind.”

“I’m pretty sure every person who’s ever bought an expensive engagement ring for another person is very grateful for that.”

“ Stop. It’ll turn up.”

He doesn’t add and if it doesn’t, it’s probably because it was stolen .

But that’s another thought that’s started lingering in the back of my mind.

Did my grandmother steal my ring during the ceremony this morning?

Did we hold hands at any point?

I can’t remember.

But I know she doesn’t want me to marry Dane. I know she’s known all week that I’m hesitant about taking over the bakery. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone in our family did something shitty in the name of winning.

Or so I’m reasonably certain I’m about to prove.

“I’m happy to get you as much fruitcake as you want, Amanda,” Rob calls. “I’ll even ship to—to wherever you are.”

Dane and I both look at him.

Have we done it?

Have we convinced him to give up the feuding too?

“I won’t make the same offer to your grandmother until she apologizes for telling me that the raisins Dad painted on our shop a few years ago looked like turds, but you’re not your grandmother. You make my nephew happy. So I—I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

“And this is why I don’t give two shits if that ring never shows up again,” Dane murmurs to me while he squeezes my hand tighter.

“Does this mean I can call you Uncle Rob?” I call back across the street.

Rob flinches.

Then squeezes his eyes shut.

I can almost hear him sigh too.

“You know what? Sure. And not because it would piss off your grandmother. Just because if it would make you happy, and you’re marrying my nephew, why not?”

“Aww, thank you! I promise I’ll send good Christmas presents. My relatives get only the best.”

Shut. Up. Amanda.

That could make it worse.

Dane snorts quietly beside me, and when I glance up at him, he’s repressing a smile.

But he can’t hide the amusement in his eyes. “Very nicely done,” he murmurs.

“See you soon, Uncle Rob,” I call across the street with a wave. “I’m glad we don’t have to uninvite you from the wedding.”

Yep, that’s me, still not listening to my orders to myself to shut up.

“Don’t make that face,” Dane calls to him. “She’s funny. The sooner you appreciate that, the happier you’ll be.”

Quieter, to me, he says, “Wave goodbye and let’s leave well enough alone now.”

I blow Uncle Rob a kiss. “Toodles!”

“I fucking adore you,” Dane says.

Oh, my heart.

For all that it’s prancing happily in a field of sunflowers while swooning over this man today, it will hurt like hell tomorrow.

But that’s why I have today.

Right now.

This moment where Dane’s smiling while he opens the door of the Gingerbread House for me, the familiar Ho ho ho! announcing our arrival.

Mom’s behind the counter, checking out some customers. “Did you find it?” she asks.

“Not the ring, no,” Dane says.

“I need to look in the kitchen again,” I tell her.

Mom looks at Dane, then back to me. “Okay.”

“Is Grandma back there?”

“She went home to get ready for the party.”

So the kitchen is empty.

Good.

I pull Dane down the hallway and into the kitchen, where I lock the door and shut the blinds.

And then I head to the desk.

I didn’t clearly see Grandma pop the secret compartment, but when I can’t figure it out on my own, I tell Dane what I’m trying to do, and within moments, he has it open.

But the recipe isn’t there.

“What the hell?” I mutter.

I lean into the drawer, peering into the corners, looking under the cover to the compartment, feeling around. “Is there another lower compartment?”

“What are you looking for?”

“A recipe.”

“Stored in a secret compartment.”

“It’s old. And ...” I pull out the folded photocopy of Lucy’s letter. “I think the handwriting matches.”

He sucks in a breath. “You think the recipe was the dowry.”

“I do. But the recipe isn’t here, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I want to see if the handwriting matches.”

“If the dowry was a recipe, and Lucy wrote it for Maud, why wouldn’t she have just written it again?”

I bite my lip and stare at him. “That’s a very good question.”

An excellent question, in fact.

My shoulders droop.

My entire body droops.

“There could be a logical explanation,” Dane says. “You could be right. And it would explain continued hostilities.”

“I don’t like this as an option,” I whisper. “It means my family did really shitty things to yours and then benefited from it for years. Decades. Generations. But—”

“It makes sense,” he says quietly.

I sigh and drop my forehead to his chest like I’ve leaned on him for years, and he loops his arms around me like he’s comforted me just as long.

How does this feel so right when it’s so new?

And when it’s ending tomorrow? If not sooner?

“I am so grateful for you,” I tell him.

His grip around me tightens. I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him back, our bodies lining up. A hard ridge presses into my belly, growing harder and thicker with each passing second.

My nipples tighten, and my panties are instantly wet.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

I shake my head, then go up on tiptoe to kiss him, holding his face in my hands. “I like it,” I whisper.

“Fuck, Amanda, I can’t resist you.”

“Same.”

I barely register that I’m pushing his jacket off his shoulders until it hits the floor. My hands slide up under his T-shirt without conscious thought. He cradles my ass in his large hands and holds me tighter against his fabulous hard-on until I can’t help myself as I hook one leg around his hip and let him pull me up so I can wrap both legs around him.

He kisses me hard, deep, his tongue hot and demanding, while he turns us to settle me on the desk.

We’re in the kitchen.

We should not do this in my grandmother’s kitchen.

But when he palms my breasts and presses his thumbs to my aching nipples, there’s zero chance we’re not doing this in my grandmother’s kitchen.

He makes me feel so good.

Not just my body.

My heart. My mind. My soul.

He makes my entire being float. Makes me believe there’s nothing I can’t do. That everything I am is perfect, just as I am.

“I shouldn’t—” he starts, pulling out of the kiss, his thumbs still working magic on my nipples.

“You absolutely should,” I gasp in response.

“Just—so—perfect.” He nibbles my neck.

I pant and try to tug him closer, but he’s bent over the desk, over me, and I can’t get him as close as I want him.

“I want you,” I whimper. “I can’t get enough of you.”

The door rattles across the kitchen. “Amanda?” my mom calls.

“ Dammit ,” I gasp.

“Fuck,” he agrees.

He lifts his head and drops his forehead to mine. “We’re going to have to stop.”

I don’t know if he means stop now , or stop altogether.

Either way, I don’t like it.

“Amanda?” Mom calls again.

“Come in,” I yell, aware that she can’t.

Can she?

Does she have a key?

Dane yanks upright and adjusts his cock, giving me a please don’t invite your mother in while I can’t control my dick look that shouldn’t make me smile, but does.

He wants me.

I like that. And I want him. I want him so badly.

I adjust my nipples, which isn’t really a thing, but it’s the closest I can think of to make him feel not so alone in being visibly turned on.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a brief second, but a smile is playing on his lips.

“Am I ridiculous?” I ask.

“In all of the best ways.”

“Amanda, I’m unlocking this door,” Mom calls.

I slide off the desk and hastily put the secret compartment back together.

The lock clicks open behind me.

Dane turns to studiously examine the worker schedule, or possibly the requisite workplace signs, on the bulletin board next to the desk.

And Mom totally catches me in the drawer.

“What are you doing?” She’s looking at me like she was afraid of what she’d find when she walked in here.

“Trying to solve a mystery,” I answer honestly.

“What mystery?”

“Why our families don’t get along.”

She sighs. “Your father always told me the only people who knew the full story were dead and buried, and I’ve never gotten anything more from your grandmother. I can’t fix this for you two, but I promise I’ll be better myself. It ... wasn’t right of me to decide to hate people just because my husband asked me to.”

“Could be worse reasons,” Dane says.

“Dad wouldn’t have asked you to hate the Silvers if he didn’t have a good reason.” Loyalty is my default when it comes to my dad.

I miss him. He wasn’t perfect, but he was my dad, and I will always miss him.

But Mom shakes her head. “He never gave me a reason. Your father was a good man, but that’s a red flag. You two are correct. There’s no reason why our family shouldn’t get along with the Silvers. No reason why we can’t start fresh with a clean slate.”

“Grandma doesn’t agree,” I say.

“My grandparents aren’t there yet either,” Dane says.

He’s being as polite as a person can be while angling his body away so she can’t see the way his pants are still bulging in the crotch.

This man.

I need five minutes alone with him in a broom closet, stat.

“That might have to be their problem,” Mom says. “I’m on your side. But I can’t work miracles this fast.”

Dane nods to her. “Thank you. Your support all on its own is more than enough.”

I would very much like to go a full hour without my eyes welling up and my sinuses getting hot and my throat feeling froggy.

But today will apparently not be the day that that happens.

“It only extends as far as you don’t hurt my daughter,” Mom says.

“Mom.”

She crosses her arms and goes full-on Mom on me. “I’d say that to any man. Even a serial killer. Are you still going to your grandmother’s party tonight?”

I sigh. Then wince at myself for sighing. Then sigh again. “Yes.”

“Then you’d better head back to the cabin and get ready. It’s getting late.”

I look up at Dane.

He nods.

He’s in.

“Mom?” I say quietly. “I’m not the best person to join you here. I’m honestly not.”

She blinks quickly as her eyes start to shine too. “I know, sweetheart. But I don’t know what else to do.”

“I need the recipe.”

“Why?”

“Just ... trust me. Please. I need the recipe. I think—I think it might be able to tell me what to do.”

“It’s not in the drawer?”

I shake my head.

“Then your grandmother must have it.” Her brow furrows. “Or it’s with your engagement ring.”

“Or both.”

“Oh, honey ...” She crosses the kitchen and pulls me into a hug.

She doesn’t tell me Grandma didn’t take the ring.

She doesn’t tell me I won’t find answers in a recipe.

She just hugs me.

And then the best-worst thing ever happens, and Dane loops his arms around both of us and hugs us too.