Chelle didn’t know where to look, her gaze ping-ponging from one thing to another as an unfamiliar warmth blossomed in her chest until it felt like she might burst. Instead, she turned in his arms, pulling back just enough that when she tilted her chin up, she could see Nash as he chewed the bottom of his lip.

“Look, I know it’s not exactly the same, and looking at it now, it’s a little creepy. I swear I’m not building a shrine to you in a basement somewhere.” He let out a hard exhale, then looked down at her. “Do you hate it?”

And just like that, everything settled in her chest, a certainty that changed absolutely everything.

“I don’t hate it,” she said. “Not even a little.”

Sure, she was talking about the double office, but deep down she knew that wasn’t all she meant.

Deep down? Really? Honey, maybe a few millimeters below skin level if we’re really gonna swing for the fences. You’re into Nash Beckett. Fuck that. You love him.

She would have argued with herself if she could—but she couldn’t. She’d completely fallen for her fake husband a few weeks before divorce proceedings were scheduled to start after New Year’s. She had two choices.

One, cry about it.

Two, pretend time could be slowed down just like in one of her books and that day would never come and enjoy the next week.

There really wasn’t a choice, though. She might regret it later—she totally would—but that was for tomorrow. Until Christmas, she had Nash and she wasn’t about to waste even a moment of the next few days. So she curled a finger in one of the belt loops of his jeans and started walking backward into her office, tugging him with her.

“In fact, I need to show you just how much I don’t hate it, right now.”

Nash grinned at her, his hands already reaching behind his head for the collar of his sweater while he kicked the door of her office away from home shut behind them.

…

Chelle hadn’t realized that laughing so hard wine went up her nose was an actual thing that could happen in real life, but here she was sitting in the den after dinner with her nostrils burning from the Bottle Rocket California cabernet she’d brought, unable to stop laughing even with the pain.