A soft smile lifts the corners of his lips. “Good. You deserve it.”
I glance around quickly—the choir, including Mallory and their mother, is a good twenty feet ahead of us. Which means there’s no audience to perform for.
“Was that real or pretend?” I ask softly.
Confusion flickers across his face. “What?”
“I know that part of what we’re doing for the next ten days is an act, but I need to know what’s real.”
He stares down at me, his breath misting in the cold “It’s real, Finley. You do deserve it. I had no idea what your life was like—your mom, the debt, working two jobs, and going to school?” Frustration fills his eyes. “I wish I’d known sooner.”
And if he’d known sooner? What difference would it have made? But I don’t want to get into that.
“Don’t.” I shake my head, my voice low. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“Feel sorry for you?” His brows lift, genuinely surprised. “Sure, I feel bad that your life’s been hard, but mostly I’m… impressed. In awe, honestly.”
I blink up at him, caught off guard.
He draws in a slow breath. “Don’t worry. I’m not hitting on you. I just meant what I said. I’m glad you’re getting something out of this too.”
Warmth and doubt twist inside me. His words feel real—too real—but after everything he said earlier, I can’t help wondering if this is just another layer of the act. Maybe he’s only trying to smooth things over, damage control after the way he made me feel.
I force a grin and gesture to the group. “I’m pretty sure I just crashed the wrong choir. They’re really good.”
Disappointment flickers in his eyes so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it. “Has it always been your dream to go Christmas caroling?”
I consider lying, but I already feel guilty enough about deceiving his family, and with everything blurring between real and pretend, I’m not adding to the pile. “Yeah.”
His face lights up. “Then, you’re caroling. You’re getting the full Hollybrook experience.”
His grin does funny things to my stomach.
But then he keeps looking at me, his smile fading. He lifts his hands, draping them over my shoulders. My breath catches. When he leans in a little more, and my pulse jumps.
Is he going to kiss me?
Am I going to let him?
I should stop him, but I’m frozen—lost in his deep brown eyes, softer than I’ve ever seen them. They’re like a whirlpool, pulling me under.
But I can’t forget whirlpools are dangerous.
What is this pull I feel? I shouldn’t feel anything. How pathetic is it to be attracted to a man who thinks he’s better than me?
But if he meant what he said…
He leans closer, close enough I can feel his breath across my cheek—and just when I’m about to close my eyes, he reaches up and tugs my knit hat down over my ears.
Heat floods my face.
What am I doing? I’m falling for the Alex King charm.
“Hey!” I swat at one of his hands, trying to salvage a scrap of dignity. Does he realize I thought he was going to kiss me? Worse—does he know I probably would have let him?
He drops his hands to his sides like my hat burned him. “Can’t have your ears getting frostbite. It’s about ten degrees tonight, and you’re a delicate southern flower.”
I arch a brow, still feeling like an idiot. “Delicate?”
