“So don’t go home,” Roland says.
Don’t go home. Part of me leaps at the thought. Another part panics. As much as I’ve hated going home the past six years, I’m somehow even more homesick than ever. Still, fear they’ll discover my secret outweighs everything else—even my longing to be there.
Fake Aunt Sylvia hands her credit card to Maggie, the woman who’s working the register. Sometimes Maggie makes drinks, but during the morning rush, Finley or Bethany usually work the espresso machine.
Yeah, I know all the employees by name and where they usually work. That doesn’t make me a stalker—it makes me observant. At least, that’s what I tell myself when really, I’m looking for one employee in particular. Watching everyone else makes it less creepy.
Today, Finley’s making drinks. Her mouth is twisted to the side as she concentrates on making Fake Aunt Sylvia’s complicated diabetes in a cup. Her long dark hair is pulled into a high ponytail that she’s doubled up into a messy bun with a red and white scrunchie. All week she’s been wearing a vintage-looking gold reindeer pin which has a red stone for the nose. The reindeer pin’s clipped to her red apron, the one with a snowman over her chest and her name tag above it. Maggie and Bethany wear the standard brown aprons with the Beans to Go logo, so she must’ve brought hers from home. Her cheeks are flushed from the cranked-up heat to fight Atlanta’s so-called cold spell—mid-thirties. Please. That’s light jacket weather in Vermont. Finley’s layered in a black, long-sleeve shirt under a kelly green, short-sleeve shirt.
“Tell your mom you’re too busy with work.” Roland barely glances up from his phone. “Which is true. It’s a critical time and we need all hands on deck to get this project ready to launch at the end of January.”
He has a point. It’s a bad time to disappear, but I’ve skipped the last two years. My mother had been understandably upset when I’d cancelled a week before Christmas last year. We’d hit a snag that demanded my full attention, but the disappointment in her voice nearly broke me, so I’d promised I’d stay at least a week, maybe longer, this year. Roland had agreed to it at the time, but now that the trip is looming, he’s been trying to convince me to cancel.
If I’m looking for a reason, this is a good one.
But I can’t disappoint my mom again. I hate when I make her unhappy—which has unfortunately become something of a habit. Still, why had I told her I’d come for eleven days? A year ago, this Christmas had seemed so far away.
Now I want to strangle Past Alex.
The truth is, I love my family. Despite my reluctance to go home, I miss them. Even my damn bastard brother Grant. Roland, on the other hand, can’t stand his brother and sister and barely tolerates his parents. His idea of skipping a family Christmas is equivalent to a reprieve from a prison sentence. He doesn’t understand why I want to see my family, and after three years together as business partners, it’s a waste of time and breath to try to explain it to him.
My seesaw of dread and excitement had finally found a balance, but now dread is winning by a landslide. Ten sleepless nights on a saggy, two-inch mattress, springs poking my back and ass, kids screaming in my ear while I’m trying to sleep.
It’s almost enough to risk my mother’s disappointment and my brothers’ guaranteed texts calling me an asshole for disappointing her again. Which, I’m sure, is exactly what Roland wants.
“We had a deal, Roland,” I mutter, but the intensity of my voice leaves no room for doubt. Part of me can’t believe after putting so much effort into staying away, that I’m now fighting to go.
He gives me a long look, one that makes me nervous before he says, “Okay, so you want to see your family and have your Hallmark Christmas. Tell me again why Grant bringing his girlfriend means you have to sleep on the sofa bed.”
“It’s simple. When we go home, we stay in our childhood bedrooms. Grant and I shared a room, but if one of us has a girlfriend, the other gets banished to the rec room.”
“And if you both bring a girlfriend?”
“The oldest gets the room. I’m eleven months older, so it’s mine.”
“That’s diabolical,” Roland says with a wicked gleam. “I love it.” Not a surprise. But I’ve seen that look before, usually right before one of his big ideas. Which means I should be terrified, because clearly this one involves me. “Sounds like you need a girlfriend.”
And there it is.
I laugh. “You realize I’m leaving in five days.”
“Look at you,” he says, gesturing at my … everything. “You could have a girlfriend by tonight if you wanted.”
I’m not sure about getting a girlfriend, but yeah, I could probably find a woman to sleep with me. Finding a woman willing to fly to Vermont over the holidays would take more effort, but I might be able to pull it off. I can’t help that I’ve been blessed with great genetics; I hit the gym to burn off my stress; and I know how to say things women like to hear. So yeah, there’s a chance I could find a woman who’d go along with a crazy scheme.
But just because I can do it doesn’t mean I will.
No way am I bringing a stranger home to my family—and any woman who’d say yes to that kind of a crazy scheme probably isn’t the kind of woman I’d ever introduce to my mother.
Fake Aunt Sylvia finally moves to the side, opening up the register.
Roland and I step up to the counter. Maggie flashes me a mischievous grin. “Lookin’ for a girlfriend, Alex? Because I can set you up with someone amazing.” Her eyebrows dance over her eyes.
Roland stares, fascinated. “I didn’t know eyebrows could do that.”
While I’m also impressed with her eyebrow skills, I’m dumbfounded at her question. Maggie’s an attractive woman, but I’d put her in her mid-forties. Nearly twenty years older than me. Never once in the year and a half that I’ve known her have I gotten the impression she’s interested in me. “Uh…”
She laughs. “Calm down, lover boy. Not with me. As if you could handle this.” She sweeps her hand up and down her body, then holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers to show off the small diamond on her wedding band set. “Besides, I’m very happily married and my husband’s quite good at handling me.” She winks. “If you catch my drift.”
