I’m off my game. That’s all. Coming home always messes with me. It’s a tug of war: wanting to belong and wanting to run. There’s a shadow that lingers here, waiting to drag me under. Only the shadow is my deep, dark shame.
Still, things are better than expected after our rocky start. Finley’s turning out to be the perfect distraction. Maybe I can make it through the next ten days without a single emotional catastrophe.
Mallory’s already taken to Finley like she’s a long-lost friend. She’s snapped at least a dozen selfies with her. Grant’s going to lose his mind when he shows up with Eloise on Christmas Eve—not only do I get the bedroom, but our sister actually prefers my “girlfriend.”
I know it’s petty that it makes me ridiculously pleased, but I never claimed to be a saint.
Mallory narrows her eyes at me.
“What? I ask, feigning innocence.
“I know that look, Alexander.” She drags out my full name because she knows it grates on me. “You’re up to something.”
I lean closer and whisper in mock outrage, “Why would you say that?”
She shakes her head, not buying it for a second.
Finley glances over at us with a curious look, and I offer her a harmless smile.
She smiles back, her whole face lighting up before turning her attention to the crowd gathered near the hotel.
Her full-bodied enthusiasm gives me pause about enacting my plan, but she must be cold. I’m only looking out for her—she’s not used to weather like this, and I’d hate for her to get sick on her first day here.
That’s when I notice two teenage boys near the curb—hoods up and smirking. One of them has his phone out recording. They whisper something and snicker, and one mouths this is so lame.
Something pinches in my chest. Finley looks so damn happy, happier than anyone freezing in ten-degree weather while singing century-old carols should be. I slide a half-step in front of her, angling my body to block their view. I’ll be damned if a couple of smart-ass teenagers ruin this for her.
Mallory’s still eyeing me suspiciously. That’s okay. I’ll stay five more minutes, then insist Finley’s too cold and needs to rest after her long day. There’s no way Tyler can call me out if I bring my tired, freezing girlfriend home.
Look how selfless I really am, Tyler.
We finish a rousing rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”—apparently still a hit with the ten-and-under crowd—and move to the next hotel.
Now’s as good a time as any to convince Finley to leave.
As she starts to follow the group, I catch her elbow. “How’re you doing?” I ask, trying to sound sympathetic.
The corner of her eyes crinkle with confusion. “I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” I press. “You look tired.”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re freezing,” I counter. “Your cheeks are flushed, and your nose is red. I’m worried you’ll catch a cold.” (The red nose isn’t a lie. Shawna would rather be shot at dawn than be seen like this.)
Confusion fills her eyes. “A red nose never hurt anyone,” she says, then adds with a chuckle, “Now if the tip turns black, then we have something to worry about.”
My brain immediately takes that somewhere it definitely shouldn’t—straight to the gutter. Which is more than disturbing, because she’s obviously talking about her nose. And yet my body doesn’t seem to care.
Mallory notices we’ve stopped and shoots me an evil eye sharp enough to cut glass.
Shit.
I rub Finley’s arm. “Still, hypothermia creeps up on you. I really think we should get you home.”
“I’m wearing fuzzy leggings under my jeans, a sweater over my T-shirt, and two pairs of socks,” she says, smiling. “I’m okay.”
Mallory stops next to us, crossing her arms over her chest. I’m pretty sure she hears Finley listing her layers. “What are you doing, Alex?”
