Page 63 of Mountain Bean Dream
If he finds out before I’m ready, it’ll ruin everything.
Chapter Twenty
It wasn’t every day that Jeremy Wentworth traded his hoodie and work boots for a tuxedo, but apparently, miracles weren’t confined to Christmas movies.
The fundraiser was still an hour away, and my spot in the musical performance was at least an hour after that, but I stood in the motel office fiddling with the clasp on my evening bag. When I looked up, he was descending the back stairs.
Handsome and stunning.
In black tie.
My heart skipped like a scratched vinyl record. He was a walking contradiction: broad shoulders that seemed too rugged for something so tailored, yet the quiet confidence that made it look like he belonged on a red carpet. The crooked bowtie, the faint glow edging his beard, and the trace of sawdust clinging to his hair—because, of course, he’d been working on some project until the last minute—made him impossibly, undeniably Jeremy.
“Wow,” I said before I could stop myself. “Who knew you cleaned up this well?”
His lips quirked into that maddening, half-smirk as he stepped off the last stair. “You sound surprised.”
“That’s because I am. The last time I saw you in anything fancier than a hoodie, it was your cosplay outfit.”
“Hey, that was classy. It had buttons and everything,” he shot back, straightening his already-perfect cuffs. “What’s your excuse for looking like you stepped out of a Bond movie?”
I waved him off, but the movement made my elbow twinge. The pain was faint—thanks to the double dose of painkillers I’d taken earlier—but enough to remind me I wasn’t invincible. Not even a black column dress and an expertlyclipped updo, courtesy of Sage, could hide how shaky I still felt inside. I was going to go without the sling tonight, and if it killed me, so be it.
“Bond movie? Please.” I tilted my chin up, playing along. “I’m clearly the femme fatale in this scenario. You know, the one with a tragic past and questionable choices.”
Jeremy’s eyes sparked with humor. “Does that make me the rugged hero with a tragic haircut and a heart of gold?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said, laughing. “Except your haircut isn’t tragic. I love it.” The way the waves fell softly over his forehead, wild and untamed, a perfectly natural and charming look. The light hit it at just the right angle to showcase the myriad hues of browns, from chocolate to a light tan shade.
He chuckled, low and warm, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared. It was just us, standing in the motel office, trading jokes that felt too natural to be scripted, too real to be fake.
And that’s when it hit me.
I’d fallen for him. Completely.
Not the way I was supposed to—not with this ridiculous fake relationship or my grand plan to win back an ex I couldn’t even remember why I’d wanted. No, this was different. He was different.
The realization was like stepping off a ledge, weightless and terrifying. My pulse quickened, heat rising to my cheeks as I stared at him, and I had to fight the urge to look away.
I opened my mouth, intending to say something—anything—but the words tangled in my throat. I wanted to tell him everything. About my past. About the cameras. About why I’d run from the life I’d built as an actress. But then I looked at his face—the way he was watching me, like I wasn’t a problem to be solved but a person to be cared for—and I knew I couldn’t do it.
Not yet. Not here.
I cleared my throat instead. “You’re actually pulling off the whole tuxedo thing, by the way. Just in case you were worried.”
“Oh, I wasn’t,” he deadpanned. “The lady at the rental shop said I’d look like a million bucks.”
“She was being generous,” I teased, though the truth was I’d never seen anyone look so devastatingly good in formalwear. Not even the actors I’d worked with.
Jeremy’s smile widened. “And you—you’re…” His voice faltered, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re something else, Molly. There’s not even a proper word in the dictionary to describe…”
Heat flooded my cheeks. My pulse thudded in my ears, but I couldn’t look away.
“Well,” I managed, trying to keep things light, “just wait until the fundraiser’s over. I have an encore performance planned for later.” It was time to show the cards in my hand and let the chips fall where they may.
His brows lifted. “Something to look forward to.”
The way he said it—like I was the only thing in the world worth waiting for—made my breath catch.