We reach the inn just as the sky lets out a soft flurry, and Belinda, stationed behind the front desk, lifts an eyebrow as Penn and I brush past her, laughing a little too loudly, hands tangled like we can’t quite keep from touching.
Inside the suite, Penn gestures toward the bathroom. “I’m going to jump in the shower real quick. I didn’t even go into the house but I have cat hair all over me.”
“I think I might soak in the hot tub,” I reply, already peeling off my cardigan.
He pauses, hand on the doorframe. “Maybe I’ll join you after I clean up?”
“Yes,” I say sweetly, then smirk. “But only if Mr. Elf hasn’t joined me first.”
He flashes that crooked grin. “Jay. You can’t do naughty things to the elf. Santa’s watching. You will go on the naughty list.”
With a wink, he disappears into the bathroom, and I flop backwards onto the bed with a groan that comes straight from my soul. I stare up at the peppermint-swirled chandelier above me, which is aggressively festive—like it’s judging me for every life decision I’ve made that brought me to this exact moment.
Which, to be fair… is kind of a lot.
I hear the shower start and close my eyes, letting the hum of water fill the space. The idea of Penn, six-foot-plus of NHL-grade temptation, standing in that shower just a few feet away... well, it does something to my stomach. And my chest. And every inch of my overheated skin.
I invited this. I asked him to play boyfriend. I suggested we share a bed. I asked him to act like he’s in love with me—for two full weeks—in front of everyone I know.
And he’s doing it. Perfectly. Naturally. Like it’s no big deal to be completely convincing as someone who’s completely smitten with me.
What would it actually be like to be engaged to someone like Penn? Someone who makes people feel safe and seen. Someone who makes you laugh in the middle of a town meeting meltdown. Someone who can turn a fake engagement into something that feels dangerously close to real without even trying.
Would he wrap his arms around me when I’m overwhelmed?
Would he kiss me just because I looked tired?
Would he wait up for me when I got home late?
I shake the thought away. It's just pretend.
Totally, completely pretend.
I strip off everything but my bra and underwear, then lift the hot tub cover, turn on the jets, and slip into the water. Instantly, my body thanks me. Muscles I didn’t even know I had start to unwind. I lean back and let my head fall to the side, the soft sound of bubbles and the distant hum of water from the shower lulling me toward a half-doze.
Then the bathroom door creaks open. My eyes flutter open just in time to see Penn walk out, toweling his hair dry. He’s in a plain white T-shirt that clings to his chest and shoulders like it was designed by a sculptor with an agenda. His gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, and I’m suddenly very aware that we’ll be sharing a bed again.
“Nice,” he murmurs, eyeing the hot tub. He walks over and dips his fingers into the water. “Want me to order something in?”
“Yes, please,” I say, trying not to sound breathless.
“What’s good?”
“I’m so hungry I could eat a reindeer.”
“You leave those poor reindeer alone,” he says, grinning as he grabs his phone. “Pizza?”
“Nothing says holiday romance like meat lovers,” I reply, leaning my head back with a sigh.
He orders while I soak. When he hangs up, I point a finger at him. “Turn around.”
He lifts his hands in surrender, turning his back, and I step out, wrap a towel around me, and hustle into pajamas. Moments later, I crawl beneath the cozy sheets. I flick on the TV, and when the food arrives, Penn fills two plates and joins me.
We eat in bed—because we’re monsters—and it’s the best thing I’ve tasted all week. With the TV low in the background, he tells me about his aunt, about growing up in Boston, and how his favorite Christmas ever was the one he spent snowed in with no power and nothing but canned soup and board games. I talk about how my parents still make us wear matching pajamas for Christmas Eve.
Eventually, we brush our teeth together. I catch our reflection in the mirror—shoulders bumping, sleepy grins, toothpaste foam—and something in my chest tightens unexpectedly.
Back in bed, we end up watching a holiday romcom, some predictable but charming mess with a predictable but charming guy who realizes the love of his life was the girl next door all along. By the end of it, I’m blinking heavily, my body sinking deeper under the covers.