Say Yes to a Mess (Dreamspun Desires Book 103)

by Elle Brownlee

  “Last one.” It was a red-and-white-striped lighthouse. “I always liked this one.”

  “Me too. Last one down, first one decided?” Wiley took the lighthouse and held it to his chest.

  Holt nodded and climbed down, feeling like he towered over Wiley even back on the floor. It was a feeling he didn’t mind. The shelves were generally clean, but a large piece of fuzz had dislodged from somewhere and landed in Wiley’s hair. He huffed a breath at it, but it didn’t budge.

  “Just a sec.” Holt wrapped a hand around the stepladder back and leaned in. He reached for the fuzz but didn’t grab or flick it away. Wiley’s upturned gaze and blush and quickened pulse distracted him wholly.

  He traced Wiley’s eyebrow with his outstretched finger and smiled at how silky it was. As silky as he’d imagined since recognizing Wiley in the park and stopping to say hello.

  Wiley’s cheek was hot under his touch and that made his pulse jump.

  Compulsion led him to trace his finger from mole to mole on Wiley’s face. He watched fine movements under Wiley’s skin, nerves and muscle reacting to him. To his touch.

  “You have a….” Holt lost his train of thought as Wiley followed his hand to press a cheek into his palm.

  “Yes?”

  Holt licked his lips and watched Wiley do the same. “This,” he breathed, and kissed the rise of Wiley’s brow, the heat in Wiley’s cheek, and then the corner of Wiley’s mouth.

  He hovered over Wiley’s lips. Not from uncertainty. From wanting Wiley to want his kiss.

  Wiley hummed and tilted upward, shifting against his hand and pushing their mouths together. Holt grinned and let his other hand cup Wiley’s ribs, and satisfaction thundered in him at the wild flutter of Wiley’s heartbeat and breath. He came forward until his shins knocked into the stepladder. He barely noticed the painful sting because his full attention was on the feel and taste of Wiley’s mouth opening for him.

  There was no hesitancy or nerves now. Wiley had a handful of his shirt and kissed him measure for measure, tongue rasping along his and darting to trace his teeth and the bow of his lips. Holt groaned and moved so he could hook Wiley’s waist with his arm, timed with an unconscious roll of his hips.

  “Ahem.” Janet’s cough was quiet but shattering to Holt.

  He pulled away abruptly and caught what would seem like a bizarre apology to Wiley just in time.

  Wiley stared at him, one hand white-knuckling the lighthouse, the other flattened against Holt’s chest.

  Whether in denial or invitation, Holt couldn’t tell. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  Glen grinned at him as Holt lowered to sit on the windowsill. It appeared he’d stopped filming the kiss not long into it, as he was busy at the coffee table assembly of buildings and houses, focusing in on this or that.

  “Thanks,” Holt mouthed.

  Glen would think he appreciated the privacy. Good enough.

  He pulled in a deep breath and opened one arm in wide invitation.

  To his profound relief, Wiley came and sat next to him. Not quite to tuck into his arm, but not in any way that would look like Wiley was avoiding doing so. Holt leaned forward, scooted the table toward them, and tried to stop the ringing in his head and the buzzing in his lips and chest and groin.

  “How do we want to do this?”

  Wiley moved the figurines to cram together at one end of the table. “Yes at the far end, maybe in the middle, and we can leave the nos here.” He handed Holt the lighthouse. “Yes?”

  Holt nodded, showed the lighthouse to the camera, and set it at the far end.

  Wiley grabbed a quaint stone church, and they both said, “Yeah, no,” simultaneously.

  Holt laughed and watched humor blossom back into Wiley’s eyes and relax around Wiley’s mouth. Awkwardness from the kiss and stress and gladness all mixed together in a certain giddiness and made him laugh harder. Wiley curled forward into near giggles, and Holt’s laughter turned softer, fond.

  “I mean…. It’s fine but… not quite for this occasion.” Wiley caught his breath and put the church back down. They dismissed a vintage gas station and an ornate Victorian house just as quickly. He reached for a rustic barn but paused. “Okay, between yes and maybe—we need to have enough to choose from for the final settings, so we can’t be too picky.”

  “Good point. So, yes to the barn for sure.” He held it a moment and reflexively squeezed Wiley to him, remembering that alternative venue and their goat friends. “Look at this beaut,” he said to the camera while turning the barn this way and that. “Two outright yeses. We’re doing good.” Holt reached across and worked the bakery and a gazebo from a cluster of buildings. “Maybe on these two?”

  “Yes gazebo, maybe bakery.” Wiley blushed again, staring at the gazebo.

  Holt quickly looked away and distracted them by piling haystacks and fencing and an old truck at the no end. He lifted a stout tree with a treehouse built into it from the group and smiled.

  “I thought I didn’t want any from after I left for college, but this one has to be yes.”

  “Why would that make a difference?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly. Call it odd sentimentality.” Holt couldn’t explain better. He also hadn’t realized he felt that way until just now.

  “That’ll work.” Wiley bumped into him. “But that could be an early acquisition—how do you know when I got that?”

  “I don’t remember moving it or dusting it or putting it on those shelves.” Holt set the treehouse firmly in the yes pile. “And I would. Like the lighthouse and bakery and B and B.”

  Wiley bumped him again but kept pressed close this time.

  “You’re staying at the Fernleaf B and B in town, aren’t you?”

  Holt nodded.

  “Then let’s make it a maybe.” Wiley put the white B and B with the red shutters and built-on porch on the flat of his palm and gave the camera a few steady minutes to focus on it.

  Holt searched out the only other item he wanted as yes for sure. “Maybe this could be at our table.” He cradled a house that closely resembled Wiley’s, down to the cedar siding and large square-pane windows, in his hands.

  “That was one of the first Grandma got. I think it started this whole thing.” Wiley gestured at the scatter of sorted figurines. “I’m agreed—definite yes.”

  “And at our table?”

  Wiley took the house and set it down. “We’ll see.”

  Holt recognized it was ridiculous to mind Wiley being evasive, and evasion with good reason. He still minded.

  “Good enough.”

  They worked through the remaining dozen-some figurines. The yes pile stayed smallest, while maybe and no were about equal.

  “So that’s maybe on the firehouse and park, no for the beach cottage and wishing well, yes on the little cabin.” Holt scanned the table. “Anything else?”

  Wiley looked at Holt, smiled, and slid the hardware store from maybe to yes. “I think with that, we’re done.”

  “You heard the man.” Holt shifted to get his arm around Wiley again and grinned at the camera. “I hope everyone who tuned in had fun watching us bicker over house hunting. What did you think? Tell us in the comments and talk to us on our various social platforms.”

  “I think you should tell Holt the treehouse isn’t a yes.” Wiley grinned cheekily and waved, then sat forward to move the pieces around.

  Holt made a noise of mock outrage and then pretended similar busywork. They pushed the houses and figures without doing anything until Janet told them they’d stopped filming.

  “Yup, done and done,” Glen confirmed.

  Wiley immediately stood and moved away from Holt.

  “Great! That was great, you guys.” Janet stood from the sofa and typed on her phone as she talked. “Oh good, we’re already getting engagement—these livestreams are really popular. Can we help put anything away before we scram?”

  “Thanks, but no. It’s just a table and a few houses.” Wile
y dug in a drawer and pulled out a notebook and pen. “Do you want some coffee or anything?”

  “Ugh, you’re so nice. You’re the best.” Janet shook her head at Glen, who had stepped closer with an eager grin. “But we have to go and get the digitals to production. Review the footage, add in the detail shots, and grab some gauzy-lit smiley moments between the two of you to the ongoing promo reels, that kind of thing.”

  “Right. Okay, well. Thanks for coming over.” Wiley rolled his eyes and shook his head. He opened the front door for them. “Have a productive night. See you soon.”

  “Thank you for letting us barge in and all around. That was actually fun—you two just pop with chemistry. I mean, whew!” Janet fanned her face. “Wiley’s starting to gain a bit of a following—you should check it out. But Holt, don’t get jealous.” She shot a finger pistol at Holt. “Enjoy your day off tomorrow. A day not doing work or fixing something or being on set. However will you cope?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “Sleep,” Wiley said, overlapping Holt. He flushed and cleared his throat when Glen and Janet chuckled. “No, I’m serious. Just sleep and a lot of it. I don’t care what anyone else does.”

  Janet shut her eyes and leaned back. “That sounds amazing. Order in too—you can order in here, right?—whatever. You’ve earned the little break.”

  “See ya, guys.” Glen shuffled his equipment and followed Janet down the short path to the curb.

  Wiley watched them drive away and stayed standing, looking out the door.

  “Janet made a good point. What should we do tomorrow?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. Aside the sleeping thing, which I was serious about. Carla might need help at the bakery. And I have some stuff around the house I should do.” Wiley shrugged and finally closed the door. “What are you going to do?”

  Holt hadn’t considered they’d do anything separate. He hadn’t envisioned a big day of plans for them exactly, but he had taken it for granted they’d do whatever might happen together. He skipped over sleep—six hours max was a lot for him, and also it was too easy here in Wiley’s house, surrounded by memories, to imagine Wiley warm and pliant and soft in bed—and came up with “I’ll help. You. At the bakery or around here.” He added carelessly, “If you want.”

  Wiley didn’t answer immediately. He went to the kitchen and rustled around, and Holt hated the uncertainty that crept into him as the silence stretched.

  He studied the houses and figures and checked his phone. Several messages from Kit, reminding him of this and that and mentioning how cute the village selection went, some notes from Elaine, and a picture from Rick he opened without thinking about it.

  Thought you’d like this one read Rick’s message.

  Holt did, a lot, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  Rick had caught him and Wiley unguarded at lunch today, Wiley’s coffee mug held in both their hands, the two of them leaned into each other laughing.

  Holt closed the photo and moved on to his social accounts, where a heated debate on the pros and cons of the treehouse was already being hashed out. This whole brother-of-the-star-of-the-show and livestream angles were playing well and might just work. Might just give them each what they’d bargained for.

  He looked up to Wiley standing in the kitchen doorway and wondered for a moment if it was what he still wanted.

  Wiley carried two glasses of lemonade in. He gave one to Holt and sat on the sofa with the notebook and pen.

  “That would be fine. Nice. Fine.” Wiley twiddled the pen. “Let’s make our yes-but-never-happening choices, you can take pictures for the florist or whatever, I’ll talk Carla into feeding us dinner, and then we can go to the dance lesson.”

  “Oh God, that.” Holt groaned. “How do I always manage to convince myself I’ve forgotten we’re learning a dance?”

  “I LOVE breakfast for dinner. Also, I can’t believe it was only this morning we were here—feels like a year.” Wiley had another bite of the egg, bacon, and cheese croissant Carla had thrown together for them. “Anyone who disagrees is a fool.”

  “Feels like two years at least. And hooray breakfast at any hour. Good thing I’m no fool.” Holt popped the last bite of one sandwich into his mouth and grabbed another. “Well. About most things.”

  Carla thoughtfully ate a piece of bacon and leaned her elbows on the counter. “Great, so you both like breakfast food. But it’s not so easy as me making a breakfast-themed cake—which I won’t be doing, for the record. If you get my drift.”

  “Uh, so, no stack of pancakes artfully sculpted from fondant?” Wiley drew a blank. “Not that I’d want that but, no. I don’t get your drift. Do you?”

  Holt munched his sandwich and covered his mouth to say, “Not really, except being prepared is always half the battle.”

  Carla rolled her eyes. “You two are the worst. How can you run a total con job without knowing the scheme? Your favorite flowers? Don’t just think you can wing it.” She huffed. “You’re past the big-ticket items Kit has more say on, so you’re gonna have to start answering more granular questions about each other.”

  “How do you know?” Wiley sipped coffee as wariness crept up his spine.

  “Because I watch the show, dingus. I’ve studied!” Carla harrumphed at them, went marching into the kitchen, and returned with a notebook covered in sticky tabs and scribbles. She slapped it down and opened it to a spread of densely filled pages. “Holt is usually not part of these segments because he’s busy making the venue exactly right and building centerpieces and backdrops and whatnot. So while he’s probably aware they happen, I’m guessing—since you guys looked like deer in the headlights hearing this from me, you should probably do more than we like roses because roses are romantic—that we gotta give these things the proper attention given our delicate situation.”

  “Whoa. That’s some conspiracy theory level journaling. Do you have a corkboard and red string thing going in the kitchen? Holt knows the show, and Kit knows the score, so we’re fine.” Wiley glanced at Holt and didn’t like the stillness of Holt’s posture. “Aren’t we?” The delicious sandwich suddenly felt leaden in his gut.

  Wiley spun the notebook and scanned Carla’s bullet lists and asides. It was quite thorough.

  “We are. Mostly.” Holt wiped his hands on a napkin and tugged the notebook over so they could both see it. “But Carla raises some fair points.”

  “This is more than fair points. This is serious business.” Carla flipped to a different page. “We have to decide this stuff so you’re ready. What are each other’s favorite colors? Your perfectly personalized tokens of affection to swap during the reception? What flowers symbolize your love story? Kit will ask, and these are not things you want to be caught stammering lukewarm patch jobs when answering.”

  “Lukewarm patch jobs have been… sufficient so far,” Wiley said almost confidently.

  “Yes, because nothing says you’re gonna pull this off like tepidly sufficient. That might work for random couple number sixteen in a season, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, and I’m guessing you haven’t, your story has garnered a hella invested audience who are burning up comment sections and running rampant with speculation in the blogs about you two.”

  Cold nerves bolted through Wiley. “What kind of speculation? Like—they know we’re total fakes speculation? Like I’m doing a horrible job and everyone’s ironically amused? Like it’s already over and we don’t have to pretend anymore?”

  The idea should elate him. It didn’t.

  Holt’s hand covered his, sure and warm and gentle. He looked down to where he’d unwittingly started crumpling a corner of Carla’s tin-hat notebook into his fist.

  “Sorry about that.” Wiley nudged the notebook back toward Carla. With his free hand.

  “No. Quite the opposite. Which is why it’s so dangerous.”

  “Yeah, that makes me feel 100 percent not better.”

  “Then I’m doin
g my job. This ratings boost Kit hoped for is going gangbusters.” Carla waved expansively. “I can see it. There’s appeal in the whole scenario. Huge hunky Holt, famous but reserved and notoriously private and always glad to be in the background, his adorbs little hometown boyfriend always so polite but funny, the grandma connection to swoon over, the cow eyes you make at each other like getting a glimpse at the real Holt and all because of Wiley, a romance kept secret until Kit lobbied the producers to let him plan the wedding of your dreams. It’s heady stuff.”

  “You realize we’re right here. And that it’s fake.”

  Carla stuck her tongue out at Wiley. “So long as you realize what I’m reading online and vibing from the building buzz will come to bear, so you best be ready.” She ripped pages from the back of the notebook. “I made a comprehensive list. You two should study it and figure out your answers—before you’re on camera. Including how you’re going to end it.”

  Holt sat forward. “How so?”

  “I just think you’ll need more than cold feet or whatever. Think of a compound reason, something with stakes attached. Viewers are invested, so not getting married will feel like a betrayal unless you get it right. I mean, you are leaving the show, so it might not matter overall. But, well. What a bummer for the show to go out on.”

  “Good to know.” Holt’s hand tightened over Wiley’s. He took the list from Carla with his free hand. “So is this. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first.” His brow furrowed.

  Carla’s gaze bounced between them. Her eyebrows did some expressive things, but she didn’t say more.

  “We can work all this out tomorrow,” Wiley suggested. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Sure,” Holt agreed absently and let Carla’s list go. “I’m going to check in with Elaine, and then we can go?”

  Wiley nodded and totally didn’t shiver happily when Holt squeezed his hand and patted it twice before standing. Wiley had to hop from the tall stool—Holt just planted a foot and walked away. Holt peeked back at him, waved, and stepped outside, already tapping on his phone.