“You’re calling them by their titles, right? I know it’s weird and feels old school, but I think Oscar would die if he heard you call the young missusAbigail.”
“Yes, Dad,” I snort. “I’m doing my job. How is it working for Abraham?”
Dad shrugs, picking at the sleeve of my jacket. “Good. He’s a kind man, though he does run me ragged. Did you know he works almost all day, every day? If it wasn’t in our contract that we get weekends off, I think I’d be working right now. He sure as hell is.”
“That’s nuts,” I reply, shaking my head. “Have they mentioned what we’re meant to do for the holiday?”
“You mean Christmas?” Dad looks confused. “No… but I’m not sure what you mean.”
I shrug. “Like, I know we can’t afford to go home, but are we allowed to stay here? Or should I check hotel prices in town while I’m out?”
It’s silent for a moment before my father bursts out laughing.
“Julian, you’re killing me,” he says. “Of course we get to stay here. We’relive-inemployees. We have nowhere else to go, and they know that. Now, we’ll be bored as all hell, I’m sure, but they won’t kick us out.”
My body relaxes slightly at his words. Ever since Susie brought it up, I’ve been a little anxious about it. I know the Chastains will be spending the day together, but I wasn’t sure whatwe’dbe doing.
“We’re not doing presents this year, right?” I ask, giving my father a pointed look.
He sighs. “Not this year, no. Too much going on, and not really a bunch of shopping options.”
Nodding, I reply, “Good, good. We can just drink hot chocolate and watch movies in the theatre or something.”
“Sounds nice.” Dad grins. A moment later, he clears his throat. “Have you heard from your friends? I haven’t heard you mention them since we got here.”
I grab my jacket from the bed and slip it on, shoving my wallet in my pocket.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Susie called yesterday. I think she and Landon might come see Port Orford sometime.”
“That’s great!” Dad beams. “It’ll be good for you to spend time with someone older than nine years old.”
I laugh at that, taking the keys from his outstretched hand. “I agree. Atticus wants nothing to do with me, and Atlas—”
I abruptly stop speaking. Jesus, what was I about to tellmy father?That he barely approaches me, and when I consider approaching him, all I want to do is peel those little sheer blouses right off of him?
Dad looks at me pointedly. “I know he’s an anomaly, and you’re curious, but remember the rules. He’s our boss’s son, and we need this job.”
It’s as if he’s read my mind. I didn’t have tosayanything. Apparently, my face said it for me.
“I know,” I answer shortly. “I barely see him.”
Dad seems satisfied with this answer, standing from the bed where he stretches his arms above his head. Then, he pats my shoulder.
“Alright, Julie,” he says. “Have fun. Let me know how it goes. I’m going to take a much-needed nap.”
My father slips out of the room without another word, and I spend a few minutes adjusting the short strands of my dark hair, running my fingers over my freshly shaved face. I have a feeling that if I let my five o’clock shadow grow out, Oscar might have a heart attack.
When I’m convinced I look presentable enough to attract any young, hot singles I find in the area, I grab my phone off the nightstand and head out.
As I’m turning the corner from Hall E2 and into the foyer, I almost slam straight into Atlas. He’s wearing some variation of what appears to be pajamas, which is odd for an afternoon on a Saturday.
Silk, purple pants, and a white long-sleeve t-shirt hug his small body, and over top, he wears a puffy black coat. He’s heading toward the back courtyard, his curls slightly damp.
“Young Master Atlas,” I hear myself saying. “You shouldn’t go outside with wet hair.”
“It’s raining. I’ll get wet anyway,” he counters. I’m trying to swallow the sticky-sweet sound of his voice as he looks me up and down with slow, assessing eyes. “Where areyougoing?”
“Um, into town,” I answer nervously, still unsure if I should be calling itthe portinstead.
