Page 48 of Elf-ish

“Do you think the board believes I’m your girlfriend?” Her question startles me after nearly an hour of silence.

“Absolutely. They loved you.”

“But will it help you?” she asks.

“Definitely.” My hope was to show the board that I can commit. One woman. One profitable store. I wasn’t wayward; I was dedicated. Angelica made it easy, and she made the board members easily believe I had changed.

“You really sold yourself to Ed Marksman and his wife, Catherine. They were eating up that line you gave them about volunteering at the children’s hospital. Working with The Giving Tree.”

Catherine Marksman was practically drooling with pride when she learned that Angelica volunteered to help collect and distribute toys for hospital-bound children during the holiday season. I’d forgotten that the Marksmans had founded the program because one of their now-adult children had been hospitalized as a child.

“I wasn’t trying to sell myself.” Her tone rings with disgust while giving me a quick glance. “It wasn’t a line.”

“Well, they loved it.”

But how did I feel about her volunteerism? Her natural instinct to be so good? She was selfless even with her holiday plate full. Her brother’s wedding. Her grandmother’s shopping. The breakfast with Santa. She puts others above herself.

Even me. She attended this party, giving up two nights, last minute, to be my date. To help me show the board I’m a changed man. But am I changing? Was I turning over that leaf I promised to flip, or was I just twiddling it between my fingers?

Something cold and ugly unfurls inside me. A combination of irritation that she’s so good and a twinge of shame that I’m not.

Angelica adjusts in her seat, like she’s suddenly uncomfortable in the heated leather passenger seat. She addresses the windshield when she next speaks. “Have you ever volunteered anywhere? Does Ashford’s have community service opportunities?”

“Of course we do.” Only, I can’t recall a single event off the top of my head. As the minutes tick by while I try to think of one, the sudden chill coming from her side of the car is disorienting. That twinge of shame flares stronger, along with my agitation.

What did it matter if I volunteered anywhere or if Ashford’s had community causes?

“You should try it sometime,” Angelica says.

I grunt.

“It’s rather rewarding. To give, instead of receive. To volunteer, instead of being asked.”

“Like you were voluntold by your gran to host this godawful early breakfast?” The words are too harsh, too cutting, but the sting inside me causes me to strike back.

I risk a glance at her when I sense her shifting again. “I’d do anything for my gran.”

“Like host an event when you don’t have a child or a stake in the church.”

“There isn’t an endgame here.”

“You just mentioned a sense of giving rather than receiving. That sounds endgame to me.” My hands tighten on the steering wheel, anger surging.

Angelica is quiet another minute before she pulls out her phone. Staring at the screen, she says, “I’ve been thinking about something. About what you said last night.”

“What did I say?” I snap, knowing I said too much. Told her about my parents, then told her about that stupid angel. “You won’t tell anyone about my parents, right?” Shit. I should have had her sign an NDA. Then again, I didn’t know I’d be opening my mouth and pulling skeletons out of my closet like it’s Halloween instead of Christmas.

Her head swivels in my direction again. “Of course not. That was personal and private, and—”

“Between a fake girlfriend and boyfriend,” I interject, aware of the itchy agitation in my throat.

“I was going to say, between us. You and me.” Something about her voice turns my head one more time.

She looks down at her lap, staring at her phone once again, before adding, “It felt like something real.”

Silence fills my car, making the already tight space feel even constricting. I don’t like the growing tension.

“What did I say?” I snap. “That you’ve been thinking about?”