Mallory appears first, bundled in a pale blue ski parka, knit hat, scarf and mittens. A second later, Finley follows and I’m stunned.
She’s wearing a red wool coat that hits mid-thigh, the reindeer pin from the day I invited her is fastened to the lapel. A white scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck, and a white knit stocking hat is pulled low over her head, leaving her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. The crisp white against the bold red and her dark hair makes her eyes brighter and her cheeks flushed.
I’ve always thought she was pretty. At the airport, I thought she was beautiful. But now—layered up and glowing—she steals the breath from my lungs.
She’s wearing more fabric than I’ve ever seen her wear, yet something about her stirs a hollow ache inside me. A longing for… what? There’s no question she’s the cause, but it can’t be a longing for her.
Right?
Maybe I’m getting to the age where settling down doesn’t sound so bad. My parents were married right after college—Dad was in veterinary school—and they’ve made it work for over thirty years. The start-up’s almost ready to launch, and I’m already wondering what comes next. Is a real relationship part of that?
If so, then why has that thought never crossed my mind until now?
This is way too many deep thoughts hitting me all at once. It’s only because I haven’t been home in over a year. I’m too damn young to be having a midlife crisis.
“We’re ready,” Mallory says, looping her arm through Finley’s.
Finley beams, practically bouncing.
“Get your coat, Alex,” Mom says. “We’re already running late.”
I drag my eyes away and stalk to the mudroom, pissed at myself. Finley’s clearly not interested in me, which makes me doubly irritated. With myself, for caring. With her, for… looking like that.
I’m not supposed to be interested in someone like her. I mean, she’s an amazing person, but she’d never fit into my world.
Still, I’m irrationally irritated that she’s not interested in me. Why? Seriously. She could do worse. I bet she has done worse.
I shove my arms into my coat, grumbling under my breath. Maybe that’s why caroling sounds doubly like hell—because standing next to her, pretending I don’t want something I can’t have, is torture.
Still, I’ve boxed myself in. Tyler already suspects me of being a selfish bastard, and a good boyfriend would go caroling with his girlfriend, right?
So, here’s the plan: I spend twenty minutes, max. Then I bow out gracefully. Or, better yet, Finley gets cold, and I swoop in as the gallant boyfriend who “selflessly” takes her home. Two birds, one stone.
Honestly, maybe Tyler’s right. Maybe I am a genius.
If my family sees how attentive I am, maybe they’ll stop saying I only think of myself. And if I happen to get something out of it too? That’s not selfish. That’s efficient multitasking.
Chapter Ten
Finley
I feel like I’ve stepped straight into a Hallmark movie—the old ones, where the plot was sweet and centered on orphans or old people—not the newer ones full of cheesy love stories. Not that I’m bashing cheesy romance—I love a good one (don’t tell Barb)—but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m literally living my dream.
“You’ve really never been caroling?” Mallory asks from the front seat of her mom’s SUV.
“Nope,” I say from the backseat, seated next to Alex. There’d been a brief scuffle getting in—Mallory insisting I sit up front for the better view, while Alex insisted he wanted to sit with his girlfriend—before dramatically opening the back door for me.
I slid in dutifully, a little confused at first. But then it hit me—he was trying to sell us as a couple. His mom might be convinced, but his brother was too quiet over dinner, watching me a little too closely. Alex probably thinks sitting beside me, and even suggesting caroling, is all part of the act.
The disappointment that settles over me takes me by surprise. I thought he actually wanted to come. Is it all part of the act? How am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s pretend?
You don’t, Finley. Just assume it’s all pretend.
I turn toward the window, watching the snow blur past, and try not to wonder which version of Alex I’m sitting next to.
When Mallory and I had gone upstairs to change, she’d been practically buzzing. “This is huge,” she said breathlessly as she dug through her closet. “Alex hates Christmas caroling.”
Guilt prickled at my neck. He was doing something he hated… for me. “He’s just being nice. He knows how much this stuff means to me.”
