"Or desperation." I attempt a smile. "Hence our current arrangement."
"Speaking of which..." He hesitates, then continues. "We should discuss what happened last night. And this morning."
My heart rate kicks up. "What about it?"
"It changes things, Judy." His directness is both refreshing and terrifying. "We've crossed a line we can't uncross."
"I know." I meet his gaze steadily. "I don't regret it."
"Neither do I." He reaches across the table, taking my hand. "But we need to be clear about what this is."
Before I can respond, his phone rings. He answers with a frown, eyes still on mine.
"Wallace." He listens for a moment. "Silas. Yes, she's here." Another pause. "That's good news. When?" He nods at whatever the lawyer is saying. "We'll be there. Thanks."
He ends the call, expression brightening. "Silas has finalized the preliminary paperwork for the land transfer. Just needs our signatures on some additional documents, then it goes to the county clerk."
"That's great." I squeeze his hand. "Your land is safe."
"Not quite yet, but we're closer." He stands, pulling me up with him. "He also mentioned your lawyer called. The contested marriage claim has been officially dismissed. Your ex's father withdrew the challenge."
Relief floods through me. "Why would they do that?"
"Apparently your lawyer provided sufficient evidence of our legitimate marriage." His lips curve slightly. "Including our joint residence and witness statements from town regarding our relationship."
"What witnesses? We've barely been in town."
"This is Crimson Hollow." He chuckles. "People have been talking about us since the courthouse ceremony. Small towns run on gossip."
I laugh, the sound light with released tension. "So both our problems are nearly solved."
"Nearly." He pulls me closer, hands settling at my waist. "We still need to maintain appearances until December 26th."
The reminder of our deadline sends an unexpected pang through me. "Right. Including tonight's tree lighting."
"About that." His thumbs trace circles on my hipbones through the flannel shirt. "There's something you should know about Crimson Hollow Christmas events. The entire town will be watching us. Judging if we're really in love." His eyes hold mine. "We'll need to be convincing."
The prospect of pretending affection when my body is still humming from our morning together seems almost laughable. "I think we can manage that."
"Good." He glances at the clock. "We have hours before we need to leave. Any thoughts on how to pass the time?"
The heat in his gaze sends a fresh wave of desire through me. "I might have a few ideas."
The day passes in a haze of pleasure and unexpected conversation. Between bouts of lovemaking on various surfaces throughout the cabin, we talk. Really talk. About our childhoods, our dreams, our fears. I tell him about my ambitions in public relations, how I want to create campaigns that change perceptions rather than just sell products. He shares hisvision for expanding his furniture business, possibly taking on apprentices to pass on traditional woodworking techniques.
By late afternoon, when we finally shower and prepare for the tree lighting, I feel like I know Dario Wallace better than I've known any man, including the one I almost married. The realization is both exhilarating and terrifying.
I dress carefully in jeans, boots, and a deep red sweater that complements my skin tone. When I emerge from the guest bedroom I haven't slept in for two nights, I find Dario waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He's traded his usual flannel for a dark blue button-down that makes his eyes appear even more intense. The sight of him looking up at me, appreciation clear in his expression, sends a flutter through my chest that has nothing to do with physical desire.
"You look beautiful," he says simply.
"You clean up pretty well yourself." I descend the stairs, stopping before him. "Ready to convince a town we're madly in love?"
His eyes meet mine. "I've been thinking."
"That’s a dangerous pastime."
"Indeed." He takes my hand, surprising me with the public gesture even with no audience present. "What if we don't pretend?"
