Grady gave a mental eye roll at the atrocity he’d just performed. But between his acute awareness of the part he was supposed to be playing and that goofy look on her face, Grady didn’t have the heart to rain on her parade. “Best. Christmas. Ever,” he agreed.

Her parents exchanged a look that seemed to communicate they thought both Grady and Suzanne had lost their minds. But they had drawn closer together, possibly the closest they’d been all night, which was something. He was sure Suzanne wouldn’t mind if mutual horror was a unifying factor—he certainly didn’t. Not if it meant them patching things up quickly and getting on their way.

Then things could get back to normal around here. Assuming that was at all possible. Maybe there were just some things a person couldn’t come back from. Like cat baubles and his head painted on a cherub.

“Speaking of pictures, I meant to ask earlier, Suzanne: Have you been doing any painting, darling?”

Grady watched as Suzanne’s smile stayed fixed but the light in her eyes dimmed a little. “No,” she said, avoiding her mother’s gaze.

No? The woman had practically painted herself into a fucking coma every night last week.

“I don’t…” Suzanne faltered, her voice trailing away.

Grady didn’t know what was going on, but it was obvious Suzanne didn’t want her mother to know she’d been painting and, on a rush, he leaped in to fill the space her unfinished sentence had left. “I’m sorry,” he said on a deprecating laugh. “That’s been my fault. I’ve been a little selfish, I’m afraid.”

She shot him a small, grateful smile. “He has been keeping me quite occupied,” she admitted, then flushed beet red.

“Well, now, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Albie said on a half laugh. “Come on, Simone, let’s leave these two lovebirds to their evening.”

Grady blinked. Lovebirds? It was good to know their public displays of affection had been convincing, but Grady still felt awkward as fuck being Suzanne’s fake rancher boyfriend.

General goodbyes followed as all four walked toward the back door. “I’ll take you into Credence tomorrow,” Suzanne said. “And Grady mentioned he’d love to show you around the place sometime, so we might do that tomorrow afternoon.” She glanced at him. “Is that okay?”

Grady faltered. What the fuck? He would rather shoot himself in the foot than play tour guide to two city slickers. That was not part of the deal. His hand tense on the knob, he opened the door, nodding politely as the frigid air rushed in. “Sure. As long as nothing pressing arises.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. I’d love to see around your farm.”