Snowed In For Christmas: A Fun Feel-Good Holiday Romance Novel - Kimberly Krey Page 0,19
there’s money in it doesn’t make it right.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it either, Easton. It’s a matchmaking show, get it? Most people have a very hard time finding their match. And thanks to a long list of Marsha Langston’s dating shows—many of which I’ve played a part in—dozens of people have found the love of their lives. You can’t just dismiss that.”
A small knot formed in his gut as he realized something very surprising. She was passionate about this. Passionate about people finding love.
He shook his head, fighting back the words in his mind. Too bad you can’t take a glimpse into the future to see what comes after those happily ever afters you think exist. Or perhaps, he thought, a level of envy washing over him, perhaps it was better if she never did. Not everyone needed to become as jaded and pessimistic as he was. In fact, he mused as she carried on, it would be a shame if she did.
“…And that doesn’t even include the number of contestants who didn’t make it to the end but still found love,” she was saying. “Since it’s all aired on TV, most contestants come out with a pretty big fan base, resulting in hundreds of marriages in the last eight years.”
He’d resigned himself to leave the first rebuttal alone, but another one rose in its place. One he couldn’t ignore as easily. “Well, if it’s so great, Ivy, why don’t you enter?”
Her mouth went from poised to pursed in a blink. “Because I don’t want to,” she spat.
The adamant tone she’d slapped onto her statement made him wonder if she, in fact, had her own jaded edge. He held her gaze for a blink, wanting very badly to know her inner thoughts. The thoughts she refused to speak aloud.
“You don’t want to?” he echoed.
“No.”
“Neither do I,” he assured.
Her eyes widened before she narrowed them into a seething glare. “You’re impossible.” With that, she pushed past him, bumping his shoulder with her folded arms.
He glanced behind him to see her stand before the fire. Seconds ago, while she was speaking with all that passion and flare, every limb was tightly locked into place. But now, as she let out a heavy sigh, all those limbs went limp. Her shoulders and knees slouching as if she’d aged a hundred years after their conversation. She was…defending something, he felt. But what?
Guilt rumbled low in his gut. She was right. He was impossible. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure how to make it right. He recalled her frantic insistence when he brought her to the yurt. She’d been determined to do the interview and go catch her flight. The poor woman was down in more ways than one, and Easton was only adding to it.
His urge to argue his points fell away. He walked over to the bench she stood beside and took a seat on the end farthest from her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gaze fixed on the fire.
“You are?” She turned to look at him, searching his face for a blink.
“Yes,” he said.
She took hold of her phone once more, pressed the power button, then looked up at him in question. “Okay, then I need you to do one last thing.”
He fought back an eye roll. “What?”
She tapped the phone screen, swiped her thumb across it, and handed it over. “Sign the contract,” she said. “It says that the station can use this interview to determine whether you move on to the next round or not. And that, if you do, you agree to show up.”
Easton groaned as he took hold of the device. His inner voice was screaming—don’t sign anything. You’ll be locked in for sure.
“If I don’t sign it?” he asked, testing.
Ivy gave him a warning glare. “Then it’s the same thing as refusing the interview. You wouldn’t be doing what you promised your sister you’d do.”
He figured that. So it was inevitable. He stared at the screen, his insides starting some sort of revolt. “Fine,” he managed. “I just sign this line with my finger?”
“Yes,” she instructed. “It will ask for your thumbprint too, to verify that you’re the one who signed it, in case you tried to deny it later.”
Geeze. “I wouldn’t.” He wasn’t a liar.
“Then we’re good.”
Easton let out a defeated huff and squiggled his name across the screen. “There,” he said, attempting to hand it back.
Ivy pulled her hand away like the phone might burn her. “The thumb print?” she prompted.