Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
But I can’t let myself believe it. Not when he could have kissed me, but didn’t. Not when this whole thing is supposed to be pretend.
I toss the phone aside and bury my face in the pillow again, wishing it didn’t hurt so much.
The next morning, I shuffle into the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee pulling me in. My mother has the holiday music playing, as usual. The familiar tune of Jingle Bell Rock floats through the air, her favorite this time of year. It’s been on repeat for as long as I can remember. The house feels warm and festive, the smell of Christmas and pine mixing with the music to create that unmistakable Christmas vibe.
“Morning!” she sing-songs, her voice bright and cheerful, like she’s been up for hours already. “Want some breakfast?”
I glance toward the stove, where pancakes and bacon sizzle. My stomach grumbles, but I’m more in need of caffeine than food at the moment. “Where’s Dad and York?” I ask, reaching for the coffee pot on the counter, the need for a strong dose of it undeniable after a night of restless sleep.
“They went down to the rink,” she replies, waving a spatula in the air like it’s no big deal. “Early practice, I guess.” She shrugs, flipping a pancake with precision.
Of course they did. It’s barely eight a.m., and York’s already off being his usual superstar self. I should’ve known. He’s always been disciplined, the early bird who gets the worm or, in this case, perfects his skating before anyone else even gets out of bed. It’s probably one of the things that makes him so good at what he does.
I take a sip of coffee, the warmth spreading through me, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness from last night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, about the way York was so close, about the moment that never happened. It’s been gnawing at me, and I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t talk to someone.
“Mom,” I start, leaning against the counter, feeling a bit like a teenager all over again. “Do you think this whole thing is weird? Faking a relationship with York? I mean, it’s York Steele we’re talking about here.”
Her eyes sparkle with amusement as she glances over her shoulder at me. “Weird? Maybe. But a lot of things in life are weird, sweetie. You’re helping your dad and York with this media situation. Besides, it’s not like you’re faking it with a stranger. You’ve known York for years.”
“Yeah, but he’s York Steele,” I repeat, the disbelief still clinging to me. “He’s... well, he’s him. Famous, talented, ridiculously good-looking.” I roll my eyes, trying to make it sound casual, but the words feel heavy. “It’s just... I don’t know, it feels surreal, like I’m waiting for someone to yell ‘cut’ and tell me the scene’s over.”
Mom pauses her pancake flipping, setting the spatula down as she turns to me with a knowing smile. “Noelle, you’ve been around York long enough to know he’s more than all that. Sure, the fame and the looks might make it feel bigger than life, but at the end of the day, he’s just a guy. And from what I’ve seen, a guy who cares about you.”
I open my mouth to argue, to say something about how this is all for show, but she gives me a look, the one that says she knows more than she’s letting on. I hate when she does that. When she acts like she sees right through me.
“He’s pretending,” I say, but my voice comes out softer than I intended. “It’s all part of the deal. For the cameras.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is he?”
I don’t respond right away. I sip my coffee, the steam relaxing me slightly as I try to think. I’ve known York forever, but lately, there’s been something different. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. Last night, in the kitchen, the way he looked at me... it didn’t feel like acting. And maybe that’s what’s throwing me off. Maybe I want it to be more than just pretend.
“I don’t know,” I finally admit, the uncertainty weighing heavily on my chest.
Mom smiles gently, walking over to me and resting a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, Noelle. Just don’t be afraid to let yourself feel something. Life’s too short for that.”
I nod, her words sinking in, but I’m still not convinced. It’s easier to think of this as a job. An arrangement. Anything more feels risky, and I’m not sure I’m ready to take that kind of risk. Not when it comes to York.
Chapter 13
York
“That’s right. Give it more,” Coach’s voice booms across the ice, echoing in the cold rink. I push harder, my legs burning as I skate down the ice, focusing on the puck in front of me. Early morning drills, the same routine since six a.m. But today, it’s like my body’s working against me, weighed down by the lack of sleep. I didn’t get a decent night’s rest. My head’s been a mess ever since that moment in the kitchen with Noelle.