She has a hesitant look, but I see the interest in her eyes, and I can’t seem to stop myself from adding, “Hollybrook even has live reindeer, and a Santa with a genuine belly and full white beard.” I give her a conspiratorial grin. “His name’s Tom Henson. He sells insurance in the off season.”
A gleam fills Roland’s eyes. I’ve seen that look whenever he snags a new investor in our start-up. He thinks we’ve set the hook, now we just need to reel her in.
“Finley, I know you don’t have plans for Christmas,” Roland says. “A couple of days ago, I heard you tell a customer you were spending the day at home with your cat. Wouldn’t you rather have a real Christmas?”
Her smile fades. Roland’s an ass. Who reminds someone they’ll be alone for the holidays? I don’t know why she won’t be with her family, but it’s obviously a sore spot.
Roland turns to me. “What are the dates you’ll be gone?”
I resist the urge to cringe, only because I don’t want Finley to think I’m rejecting her, even if I kind of am. “December twenty-second until January first.”
“Eleven whole days in a Christmas paradise.” Roland sighs, then swings his attention back to her. “You’ll stay in a cozy family home complete with a fireplace and a real Christmas tree, experiencing all the things middle-class families in Hollybrook do at Christmas.”
Her eyes narrow. “Wait—you two are serious.”
“As a heart attack,” Roland said solemnly, pressing a hand to his chest.
I wonder what Roland told her before I started paying attention, because she seems to know she’d be going with me.
Her gaze lands on me, full of questions.
This idea’s insane. But idiot that I am, I don’t hate it. There would be a lot of upsides to someone like Finley coming. First and foremost, I’d get my own room. Second, my mother will adore her and stop lecturing me for picking “materialistic women.” Third, Finley’s chatty enough to be a good buffer between me and my family. It doesn’t hurt that I sort of know her, so it wouldn’t be as awkward as dragging home a total stranger.
Am I seriously considering this? It’s completely ridiculous, yet I find myself leaning closer and lowering my voice. “It’s a long story, but unless I bring a girlfriend home for Christmas, I have to sleep on a sofa bed and the brattiest three kids you ever met will be sharing the room with me.”
She makes a face. “It’s December seventeenth, Alex. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, let alone experienced it. So, becoming your girlfriend in five days? Not happening.”
I held up my hands. “I know, but I have a solution.”
The man next to me loudly clears his throat and says in an angry tone, “Are you gonna make my gingerbread latte or chat it up with Mr. Good-lookin’ all day?” His eyes narrowed. “Because some of us have to get to work.”
Finley cringes, and I resist the urge to grab the man by his yellow-ringed white collar and shove him against the wall for talking to her like that.
Wait. Where the hell did that come from?
“Sorry. Roger,” she says. “You’re up next.” She holds up his cup to show him, then gives me an apologetic look. “I’m not gonna lie, Alex, it’s kind of tempting, but?—”
“Hold off on that no and but.” Roland holds up his hand. “Don’t make a decision until you get more information. How about Alex comes down when you get off work and he can give you more details?”
She shakes her head and hands him his caramel latte. “I have to leave right after work.”
“Then how about during your break?” he pushes. When she hesitates, he shoots a glance over to Maggie. “Hey, Maggie. Does Finley get a break?”
“Sure thing,” she says with a smug look. “Right about 1:30.”
Roland nods, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Okay, Alex’ll be down at 1:30. He’ll explain the whole situation and then you can decide.” When she doesn’t answer, he adds, “What can it hurt to listen to what the man has to say?”
Finley hands me my drink. “Okay, I’ll listen, but don’t expect me to say yes.”
“Deal.” Roland looks triumphant. “You won’t regret it, Finley. Hollybrook snow is the finest snow you’ve ever experienced and the mountain air…” He shakes his head with a far-off look. “You’ve never smelled anything so fresh.”
Roland’s full of shit. He’s never stepped foot in Hollybrook, let alone anywhere in the entire state of Vermont.
A doubtful look covers Finley’s face, but then she focuses on making Roger’s drink. I can’t help notice that she’s not smiling and something pinches painfully in my chest.
Pissed—and not sure why—I shove Roland to the end of the counter. Bethany, one of the other baristas, hands me my Danish. “Have a good day, Alex.” She gives me a wink before she heads off to warm up another pastry.
I head for the exit, fuming. Why am I angry? While it’s impulsive, bringing Finley isn’t the worst idea. She’s a sweet, thoughtful girl. She’d fit in perfectly with my family. So why do I feel like pond scum?
