“That’s just it!” she said, spinning toward me. “My brother is a lot of things, but being nice for the sake of it isn’t one of them.” Her smile faltered. “At least, not anymore.” She hesitated, then, like someone had flipped a switch, her excitement came roaring back. “So, if he’s going caroling just because you want to….” Her eyes went dreamy. “He must really love you.”
Panic shot through me, and I threw up my hands. “No, Mallory. I promise, he doesn’t love me. We’re too new.”
She tossed a pair of leggings at me. “Here. Put these on under your jeans. I’ll find you a coat.” She turned toward the closet.
I unbuttoned my jeans, figuring she’d see more of me in a bathing suit. I was wearing perfectly innocent underwear which had more coverage than the bikini bottoms I’d worn at the apartment pool last summer.
“How long have you two been dating?” she asked, still rummaging.
“Not long,”
“You said that already,” She flicked another hanger across the rod. “How long?”
“We started out as friends so… it’s hard to say,” I hedged. Technically, true. Ish.
“A few months, then?”
“My cat got sick in September,” I had said, like that answered anything. At least it was true. The real problem? Alex and I hadn’t exactly compared notes. Dating timeline, first-date story, favorite couple activities—basic things a fake couple should probably get straight. But I’ve been too starry-eyed about spending Christmas here, and then we’d fought and well, here we were.
Mallory spun around holding a hanger with a tan puffy coat like she was Vanna White. I was perched on the bed, tugging on the fuzzy-lined leggings she’d thrown at me.
“Nope,” she declared, tossing the coat into a chair. “We need something that makes you radiate.” She flipped through more hangers as though on a mission. Then she let out a triumphant gasp. “This one!” She held up a short, bright red dress coat. “It’s perfect with your dark hair and pale complexion.”
“Thank both my parents’ Irish blood for that.” I said, slipping off my cardigan and leaving just my black long-sleeve T-shirt.
Mallory smiled when her gaze drops. “I love your pin!”
I glanced down at the reindeer pin. “It was my mother’s.”
Her face softened. “Even better. We’ll put it on your coat so it’s not hiding.”
By the time she was done layering and accessorizing me like her personal Barbie doll, I was swaddled in a sweater, jeans, the red coat, scarf, hat, and the shiny reindeer pin.
“You look so festive for your first time caroling,” Mallory announced, beaming like she’d just won Project Runway.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
When we’d gone downstairs, Alex had stared at me for several uncomfortable seconds, and my heart had sunk. His face was completely blank, and I couldn’t read a thing. Was he upset I was wearing his sister’s coat? He’d known I was borrowing one. He’d been the one to suggest it.
Now, sitting beside him, he keeps a careful few inches of space between us. I’m relieved he’s not pushing the touchy-feely act. We had agreed no kissing unless it was absolutely necessary, but we never talked about the rest of it. Would he expect handholding? He doesn’t strike me as a hand-holder. More like an arm draped around his girlfriend kind of guy. Like when he ushered me out of the airport with his hand on the small of my back, or when he slung his arm over my shoulders in his parents’ kitchen.
Funny how different my reactions had been. At the airport, I’d felt a flutter in my stomach and told myself to chill out. Maybe I had a crush, but I couldn’t act on it. In the kitchen though? I’d been pissed. I hadn’t wanted him anywhere near me.
So how do I feel now?
Confused.
I glance up at him, and his gaze holds mine for a few seconds. I swear I see a hint of wistfulness before he turns back toward the window.
What am I supposed to make of that? Is he feeling bad about the way he treated me on the ride from the airport? Is his offering to go caroling and to the market tomorrow his way of extending an olive branch? If so, I’ll take it—but that doesn’t mean I can forget I’m not his ideal woman.
You’re just being butt hurt. At least he told you the truth instead of leading you on like most of the guys you’ve dated in the past.
People have types, and who am I to judge what Alex wants in a woman?
But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. Badly.
“Looks like the Kramers painted their house,” he says to the front of the car.
