by Lizzie Shane
“I got him,” Claire announced as she hauled him into the media room, finally releasing the wolverine grip and flopping onto one of the giant plush recliners fanned out in front of the mega-screen—his parents had gone all out when they remodeled the house, turning Laney’s old bedroom into a home theatre.
He saw a bevy of bikini-clad beauties cavorting around the pool—like something out of his teenage fantasies—all of them gazing up at the man in the three piece suit as if he was about to deliver the Eleventh Commandment.
“And the winner of the next individual date is…” The camera scrolled wildly over the eager faces.
“It’ll be Amanda,” Laney announced confidently.
Claire and Julia immediately chimed in, arguing for their own picks, the three of them so loud they all missed hearing the name called.
Then the camera zoomed in tight on a shocked face. A very familiar shocked face.
“Caitlyn?”
Three pairs of eyes swung to lock on him.
“You watch the show?” Laney asked.
“You know her?” Julia demanded in the same moment.
Will couldn’t quite process what he was seeing, his eyes still locked on the screen. “That’s my upstairs neighbor.”
“That’s fire girl?” Julia said.
“You’re dating the Marrying Mister Perfect girl?” Laney yelped.
“I get credit for this,” Claire crowed. “I was going to introduce them through Don.”
“You don’t get credit,” Julia argued. “You didn’t introduce them. If anyone gets credit, I do, because Dale was there when they were all flirty-flirty for the repairs.”
“No one gets credit,” Laney declared. “They met on their own.”
“We aren’t dating,” Will protested, but the words were weak. Caitlyn had been gone for months because she was on a reality television show. “What is this show?”
“It’s a dating show. Like the Bachelor. Or all those VH1 ones—Flavah of Love, Rock of Love. A bunch of girls—or guys in the alternating seasons—go on national television, competing to date the dude who has been picked as Mister Perfect. Who is sometimes flippin’ awesome—like Doctor Jack, be still my heart—and sometimes kind of a dick—like that Randall from four seasons ago. Ugh. Jury’s still out on this guy, though he seems pretty cool so far. And I will confess when he literally swept Marcy off her feet last season I about swooned.”
The guy. Her bad break-up. It had been on national television. Damn. That would be enough to make anyone gun shy.
But why would she put herself through that? Why would she voluntarily go on the show? Yes, he’d been instantly infatuated with her, but now he was realizing he didn’t know the first thing about her. He hadn’t thought she was the kind of girl who would go on reality television. Why hadn’t she said something?
This was why she’d been drinking last Tuesday. And the veil. Marrying Mister Perfect. The gag gift made sense now.
Had she really hoped to marry that guy? A complete stranger she met on national television? Or had she had some other motivation for going on the show?
Who was she?
“Will?”
His sisters seemed to have finally noticed he wasn’t responding to them.
“I have to go.” He had a lot to think about. “And we aren’t dating.” At this point, he wasn’t sure they ever would be.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you got an individual date on the second episode,” Mimi exclaimed for approximately the seven hundredth time since the host had announced Caitlyn would be accompanying Daniel on the romantic opera-and-fine-dining date, referred to among the Suitorettes as the Pretty Woman.
“They only picked me because I have a musical background and am less likely to say something on camera to offend the entire opera community.”
“Yeah, but Tosca? Your all time favorite opera ever in the history of man? What are the odds?”
The odds were pretty good because she’d filled out extensive questionnaires telling the producers what her favorite and least favorite everything was. “It was pretty amazing.”
The Puccini had swept her away, as it always did, and for the first time—but not the last—she’d forgotten she was on camera. She’d just been on a date with an insanely handsome man who seemed as happy as she was to be at the opera with her—though she’d gotten the sense he loved the spectacle of it more than the musical majesty. Still, it had been pretty close to perfect and she’d been transported.
When he’d whisked her away during the curtain call to a candlelight dinner on a rooftop overlooking the city, she hadn’t even minded missing the bows. Not when he was gazing into her eyes with his blue eyes sparkling. Dazzled, charmed, she couldn’t help wonder if he might really be her Mister Perfect. If she could possibly have gotten that lucky.
Then he’d kissed her.
“Is he a good kisser?” Mimi demanded, pausing and rewinding the kiss several times. It had been brief, but lovely. A dignified show of interest and intent. Perfect.
“Yes,” she said softly. She could feel Mimi watching her, but she just looked at the screen. Daniel leaning in, keeping that magical eye contact until she felt drugged by it. He certainly knew how to work a romantic moment. That had never been in doubt.
She’d been swept away that night. He’d made her forget the cameras, so caught up in him. But had she also forgotten herself? Had she been playing a role too? Miss Perfect to his Mister? Had she wanted the happy ending so badly that she’d forced it when it wasn’t there?
She watched for the warning signs, looking for the seeds of doubt that would sprout into the reservations she now felt about spending the rest of her life with him—but all she saw was charm and charisma and smiles and the perfect, light lingering kiss. It looked a lot like love.
She’d gone home that night and admitted to the cameras in the confessional that she might have just had her last first kiss. From the way the producers had sighed, she knew that line would make it into the show.
She waited, knowing it was coming, and when she spoke, eyes shining, smile beaming, Mimi moaned, pressing a hand over her heart. “Oh, Caitlyn.”
She shrugged, not meeting Mimi’s eyes, afraid her friend would see too much. Seeming to sense her mood, Mimi hit pause and lightened the tone. “Well, you certainly make good television. You’re going to be America’s favorite for weeks. Unless you go all psycho stalker on him next week. Tell me the truth, did you try to sneak over the wall between the mansions? There’s always at least one girl who tries to scale the thing.”
Caitlyn giggled, relieved at the change in subject. “I can neither confirm nor deny any attempts to scale the wall this season.”
“I bet it was Michele. She’s got those crazy eyes. It’s always the Micheles.”
“She’s a sweet girl. Just a little… intense.”
“Bunny-boiling intense, you mean. Be honest. She gives herself a prison style tattoo of his name on her ass, doesn’t she?”
Caitlyn giggled helplessly—a little hysterical after the emotional stress of watching the show. “You’ll just have to watch and see.”
Mimi grinned and pushed play. They watched the rest of the show—the frantic desperation of the final cocktail party and then the Elimination Ceremony—with Mimi editorializing wildly.
Caitlyn didn’t miss the fact that Mimi kept her comments thoroughly ridiculous and avoided saying anything about Daniel at all. But if her friend suspected there might still be feelings between Caitlyn and Daniel, she kept those suspicions to herself.
Watch and see. Caitlyn would do the same. Watch and see if it was love or illusion.
And now the whole world knew she’d been infatuated with him. Mimi wasn’t the only one who watched the show. She wouldn’t be able to escape the speculative looks in town.
At least Will didn’t know. She wouldn’t have to worry about the way he would look at her tomorrow on their non-date.
It wasn’t a date. She was taken.
For now.
Chapter Seventeen
Will was late. Only two minutes, but why couldn’t he just get here already? She already felt strange about the non-date. She didn’t need the waiting to amplify her uncertainties.
She’d had a good talk with Daniel today. Their relationship felt like it was on firm footing for the first time since before the proposal. Which didn’t help her emotional state at the moment.
She’d dressed simply, taking care to project an unmistakable Just Friends image. Snug dark jeans, low heeled black ankle boots, a loose-fitting cowl-necked royal blue sweater, and combs to keep her hair out of her face. Nothing fancy. Just the barest swipe of make-up.
She owed Will. She was just paying back a friend for everything he’d done for her. So what if that friend was ridiculously attractive and made her feel like her insides were carbonated? It was perfectly innocent.
She hadn’t told Daniel about the dinner. Or about meeting Will. They’d talked for nearly an hour, about everything and nothing, catching up, reconnecting, but whenever the conversation had veered toward the fire or the repairs or anything having to do with Will, she would find herself tripping over her tongue to change the subject. Until the end of the call when she had very purposely said she had to leave to get ready for dinner with a friend, as if to prove to herself that she could tell Daniel because there was nothing to hide.
But now Will was late—six minutes and counting—giving her time to question herself.
It felt like a lie, not mentioning Will to Daniel. But if she told Daniel about her feelings for Will—supposing she even knew what those feelings were—what was the benefit to him? Was it selfish to want to confess to him? Especially when there was nothing concrete to confess. So she was excited about the dinner, excited about seeing Will again. It was just because he was a nice guy and outside of the reality TV bubble. She could ignore that entire stressful chapter of her life with him and that was unspeakably relaxing. That must be why she felt this fizzy pop of anticipation in her veins. It wasn’t crazy chemistry making her rationalize things…
The knock was firm and brisk.
Caitlyn nearly sagged with relief. He was here. Finally.
She rushed to the door and yanked it open. “Will.”
He didn’t return her smile of greeting and his eyes held none of their usual amused warmth as they studied her. His hair was still damp—either from the snow or a shower—and he wore a pair of jeans that had seen better days and a faded grey Henley. A winter jacket hung over one arm. Clearly he’d gotten the casual dress Just Friends memo.
He jerked his chin, looking as tense and awkward as she felt. “Caitlyn.”
She plucked her purse and coat off the piano bench. “Ready to go?”
He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb, looking like he was settling in for a while. A slight frown creased his brow. “I saw you on television last night.”
And just like that, her bubble burst. That lovely cloud of ignorance that had kept him from looking at her like she was a reality show freak. Gone. “Damn,” she whispered.
His eyebrows arched. “Don’t you want people to know you’re a big TV star?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not a TV star. And no, I don’t particularly like it when people know. So far when people find out, they all either want something from me—usually gossip about what’s happening next on the show or what Josh Pendleton is really like—or they look at me like I’m a freak for going on a reality TV show. Kind of like you’re looking at me right now.”
He winced and rubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry. It just caught me off guard. I was with my sisters when I saw it. You should have heard the three of them crowing about how I was dating ‘Miss Perfect’.”
“What?” Panic made the word a shout. “We aren’t dating! You can’t tell people that. I could get sued! I’m not allowed to have public relationships. Not while I’m on the show. Breach of contract! If they say something—if they even post it on Facebook—oh my God. You have to fix this!”
“Hey, relax. I told them we were just friends.”
“And you’re positive they believed you?”
Will though that one over for a second and grimaced. “I’ll call them.”
Caitlyn wrapped her arms around her waist, pacing as she listened to Will call each of his sisters in turn. She couldn’t hear the other side of the conversations, but she could tell by his multiple repetitions of “I swear we’re just friends,” that they weren’t exactly buying it.
He groaned as he put his cell phone back in his pocket. “They’re all convinced we’re going to get married and have a dozen fat babies, but I got them all to vow secrecy. That’s the best I can do.” He rocked his shoulder back against the doorjamb. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to dinner.”
“I understand if you don’t want to be seen with me, but I do want to find some way to repay you.”
His expression darkened. “Caitlyn, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Not even a burger at the Lodge pub?” She told herself she was pushing because she didn’t want to be in his debt. It had nothing to do with that itch beneath her skin to spend more time with him. “You know how good those burgers are. Don’t be hasty turning down an offer that good.”
“I guess I could do a burger.” His usual grin slowly returned, though at a quarter its usual strength.
“Great.”
But it didn’t feel great.
They slipped on their coats in silence. As they departed the chalet and tramped side by side through the snow past chair lifts and ski school buildings to the far side of the resort where the Lodge sat, the conversation was non-existent and the air between them charged with a stilted awkwardness. Caitlyn pulled a knit hat and matching gloves out of her coat pockets and pulled them on to battle the chill in the air—the chill that seemed like it was coming from him. It was only a fifteen minute walk, but by the time they were half way it felt like they’d been going for hours.
If the night kept on like this, she didn’t know how she was going to choke down a burger. Even one of the famous Lodge Burgers.
Maybe if they talked about it, it wouldn’t be so weird. “How much did you see?” she asked, eyes on the ground to find steady footing in the snow. Had he seen the kiss? Her talking about her last first kiss? God, how embarrassing.
“Just a few seconds. Your face on screen mostly. They were announcing you’d won something.”
“A date,” she murmured.
“Right,” he agreed. “I suppose that’s what you win on shows like that.”
That or a fiancé.
They reached the Lodge then. It looked like an outrageously large log cabin, squatting over a small man made skating pond. It was the resort’s main building, housing restaurants, equipment rental, and a wing of hotel rooms for out-of-towners. When it was built, the owners had intended it to be only the first building of a massive, sprawling resort, but the valley Tuller Springs was tucked into was too remote and it had never caught on as a destination city for skiers the way Aspen, Vail, and Telluride had.
The Lodge had changed ownership several times over the years, each new owner struggling to make a profit where others had barely been able to break even. The ski resort survived largely as a haven for Colorado skiers who wanted to avoid the crowds at the major resorts. In the years Caitlyn had lived here, she’d never seen it busy.
But the pub always did a good business. A favorite among locals and out-of-towners alike.
They circled the main entrance of the Lodge and descended the exterior stairs just beyond it, down into the basement pub, where everything was rich wood paneling and soft Celtic music.
Tammy, the pub’s weekday hostess and occasional back-up waitress, grinned when she saw them approach the hostess stand. She had short brown curls liberally salted with grey and a round, matronly figure, but that didn’t stop her from batting her eyes at Will, even though he must be half her age.
“Well if it
isn’t Will Hamilton and Caitlyn Gregg,” she called cheerfully. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”
“Turns out we’re neighbors,” Will said smoothly, before Caitlyn could stammer out something incoherent and incriminating.
“Just the two of you?” Tammy asked, one eyebrow sliding up with the question, as they shucked their winter gear.
Will laughed. “Don’t get any ideas, Tammy. We’re just here for the burgers.”
Tammy grinned. “Can’t blame a girl for dreaming. Come on.” She led them back to a booth in the back. “Saw you on that show, Caitlyn,” she said as she handed over the menus.
Oh Lord, not another one. “Oh yeah?”
“Tell me, is that Daniel really as hot in person as he is on TV?”
“Hotter.”
Will shot her a look, but the truth was the truth. Daniel’s looks had certainly not been a problem.
Tammy sighed and fanned herself. “Be still my heart. You kids enjoy.”
Will waited until Tammy had disappeared back to the hostess stand before turning his gaze to Caitlyn. “So is that why you went on the show? Because that guy is so hot?”
He hadn’t bothered to look at his menu and Caitlyn slid hers aside without opening it as well. She knew it by heart anyway. “We didn’t know who the next Mister Perfect would be when we auditioned. They don’t reveal that until the show has already begun taping. Not since a few years ago when they had a PR issue and had to change guys at the last minute.”
“PR issue?”
“The astronaut they picked was a little more of a thrill seeker than they reckoned for. He got caught trying to take his Speedster over two hundred on a public highway. So they switched to the Dreamy Doc, Jack Something-or-Other.”
“Let me guess, you watch religiously and you were heartbroken when the astronaut was bumped which is why you call him Doctor Something-or-Other.”
“Actually, I just don’t remember his name,” she said sharply. “I’d only seen one season of the show before I went on it—and I only watched that one to prepare. But the other Suitorettes liked to gossip and I got most of the details from them.”
