Spoiler—it did.
The twitch in his jaw tells me he knows it too.
“Clearly,” he mutters, “You’ve heard that the last Santa I saw ended up face-down on a pile of reindeer and lollipops while a crowd of traumatized kids screamed in horror. So yeah… I’m not exactly eager to hear what jolly old St. Nick has to say to me right now.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Ah, yes. The punch heard 'round the North Pole. Penn Radford. AKA Radman, the madman. The Enforcer. The man, the myth, the mitts.”
He cocks his head, something sparking behind his guarded expression. “Let me guess… big fan of viral scandals?”
“Not exactly.” I frown and glance down, that familiar ache back in my stomach. “Been the headline of one myself.”
That quiets him.
For a second, we’re both just standing in the warm flicker of firelight and peppermint-scented shame. I steal a glance at him, the sting of old wounds and public meltdowns binding us in unexpected solidarity.
Maybe he had his reasons for decking Santa.
Just like I have mine—for what I’m about to do.
I tilt my head and against all reason, pride, or lingering common sense, I blurt it out. “I’ve got a room.”
He blinks. “Great. Congratulations. Couldn’t be happier for you.”
“No, I mean.” I point to the floor. “I have a room here. At the inn. The peppermint-themed honeymoon suite.” I clear my throat. “It’s got a heart-shaped hot tub. Peppermint floaties. Mints on the pillows. A terrifying elf doll in the corner that definitely watches you sleep.”
He stares at me, brow furrowed. “And you’re telling me this because… you want a medal or something?”
“A medal would be nice. Maybe a parade. Later, though. Tonight, I’m too tired for that, but I’m willing to share.”
Something shifts in his expression. Surprise. Softness. Like no one’s offered him kindness in a while and he’s not sure how to take it.
“You’d do that for me?” His voice is quieter now, edged with disbelief. Like he doesn’t fully trust it.
I hold up a finger. “One condition.”
His gaze sharpens. “Of course, there’s a catch,” he mutters. “There’s always a catch.”
“You pretend to be my boyfriend. Just while I run the town’s Christmas festival. Maybe we could go so far as to say you’re my fiancé,” I add with a shrug. “We’ll gauge the level of desperation as we go.”
His eyes narrow, suspicion giving way to curiosity. “Why?”
I hesitate. Then I say it all in one breath. “My high school humiliation, Dylan Hayes, is back in town with a sparkly ring and a gorgeous fiancée. I’ll be damned if I let him think I’m still that awkward girl who wore light-up snowflake tights to the winter formal and was never going anywhere in life, or ever getting out of Snowberry Falls.” I thought Dylan and I were a solid team until the mayor’s daughter came along. A girl, he assumed, that would be a better fit for him going into politics. That didn’t work out so well for him.
Penn blinks once. Then his lips twitch. “You wore light-up tights?”
“They were festive.”
He laughs. Not mockingly. It’s the surprised kind of laugh—rough, a little reluctant—like he didn’t expect me to amuse him. Or catch him off guard.
“They had bulbs?”
I shake my head. Of course, he wouldn’t remember anything about my light up pants. Guys like him—and like my ex—rarely notice anyone unless there's a mirror involved. He was probably too busy admiring his reflection in a Christmas bulb to clock my illuminated fashion choices.
“Focus,” I snap.
He smirks. “So let me get this straight. You’re offering me a place to sleep, in a bed shaped like a candy cane, probably, if I pretend to date you? Like we’re characters in a bad holiday rom-com?”
“Technically, it’s shaped like a sleigh,” I correct, lifting my chin. “But yes. That’s the deal.”