Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Hey, squirt,” Maddox greeted, his tone instantly warmer. “Thought you were helping Mrs. Hernandez with her booth?”
“I am, but I came to tell you that Jamie can’t make it. His truck was making a funny noise, and he had to take it to a shop in Billings.” She delivered this news with suspicious cheerfulness.
Maddox’s expression darkened. “Are you serious? That’s four cancellations in a row.”
“Total coincidence,” Maya said, not even attempting to sound convincing. “Anyway, have you heard everyone talking about your most recent videos? They’re all going nuts, but one of them is killing it. People can’t get enough of you two!”
I couldn’t disagree with her. My social media channels had been flooded with comments about how “perfect” the two of us were together and how “refreshingly homey” the tree-decorating date had been. It was even getting attention from other media outlets and potential sponsors. Vic was beside himself with excitement and already working his contacts to try and pin down future projects like this one.
It was harder for me to ignore the DMs in which various men told me in graphic detail what they imagined Maddox and I had been getting up to behind closed doors. If Maddox had seen any of that, he would’ve run me out of town by now, so maybe it was a good thing he didn’t spend time on social media.
Maya tugged Maddox’s coat sleeve. “Emerson said tree sales at the farm are already up since the tree-cutting video, and Bonnie told me just this morning that yesterday’s online sales at the hardware store were double our usual! We’re sold out of Christmas tree lights! Can you believe it?”
Maddox’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t respond. I had to admit I was secretly satisfied with the result of my casual mention of Sullivan Hardware and happy that I’d been able to help the store with my reach. But it would have been nice to hear Maddox acknowledge it.
His eyes flicked to me and away. “Maybe we can get Zach Jordan to stand in. He’s a teacher at the high school, though, so he might not be allowed to do social media stuff.”
Maya frowned at him. “Mr. Jordan’s a terrible choice. Besides, he’s still upset after you shot him down last Christmas.”
I studied Maddox’s face, suddenly very interested in this Zach Jordan guy. And also interested in a little bit of petty revenge. “How can we find him? Is he around today?”
Maya looked around quickly and shook her head. “Even if he is, you can hardly kiss a schoolteacher in public. Imagine what all the parents would say.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t need to kiss him. I only need him to walk around the Christmas Market with me and let your brother capture it on video.” Then I glanced at Maddox before adding, “And maybe hold hands with the guy a little.”
Maddox’s jaw worked again.
Maya laughed. “You’re so funny, Adrian. I mean, the Christmas Market is great and all, but everyone knows we’re really here tonight for the Mistletoe Ceremony, and if you’re going to participate, you need someone you can ki—oh, I know!” Her face lit up like she’d just had a brilliant idea. “Maddox can be your stand-in again!”
“Maya,” Maddox said in a warning tone.
She grinned like she hadn’t heard him, proving that Maddox wasn’t the only Sullivan who could block out reality. “Great! I knew you’d agree. Sounds perfect!”
After watching her dart off into the crowd, I couldn’t help but ask, “Mistletoe Ceremony?”
“Ignore her,” he grumbled. “It’s a Legacy tradition. They hang a giant ball of mistletoe in the center of the square. Whenever they illuminate it, whoever’s caught underneath shares the season’s first mistletoe kiss.” He gave me a hard look. “We won’t be getting anywhere near that mistletoe.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, unable to resist needling him. “It sounds like perfect content for the video series. We should definitely capture it.”
Maddox ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I now recognized as his go-to move when stressed. “Not together, we won’t. We’re being set up. And I don’t appreciate it. We need to find you another date—”
“Or,” I interrupted, watching his expression carefully, “we could stick with what’s working and continue to watch our social media reach expand. You can’t deny what we’re doing is resonating.”
He finally met my eyes and lowered his voice. “What we’re ‘doing’ was a mistake.”
“I’m not talking about that,” I replied. His words made my chest ache, even as the memory of his touch sent heat coursing through me, and the one-two punch of it was really fucking annoying. “I’m talking about content. About the project. We work well together on camera. Why do you keep fighting this when it obviously helped boost sales at the store?”
He studied me for a long moment, and I fought the urge to fidget under his gaze. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll stand in again. But we’re steering clear of the mistletoe.”