Page 3 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

“Paperwhite is nonrefundable.”

I close my eyes and breathe for a beat before I respond. “You didn’t mention that when I paid for my half.”

“I didn’t think it mattered. We got a big discount for booking early and going nonrefundable.”

“Fine,” I say. “It’s just money. I’ll take the loss.” That whiff of anxiety from a few moments ago becomes a full gust of panic in my lungs. My face floods with heat. I saved for five months and canceled my gym membership and reduced my takeout habit to only once a week to be able to afford this trip. Whether I stay here for the rest of the month or head home tomorrow, that money is spent. But I’m enough of a coward that I’d rather go home and be broke in my comfort zone than be broke here and enjoy what I paid for.

Maddie sits up and one of the gel packs under her eyes tumbles off. “You’re staying.”

“Did you do this on purpose?” My voice climbs an octave. “Is this some sort of elaborate Hallmarkian setup—”

“Hallmarkian?” Maddie snorts. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s like, Machiavellian, but more sinister. And I’m not a sweet and plucky heroine that people root for, Mads. I’m an unlikable protagonist. At best.” Even I’m annoyed by my own grumpiness these days.

“Stop talking about yourself like that. It pisses me off.”

“See? Unlikable. Even my best friend thinks I’m a pain in the ass.”

Maddie’s expression softens. “Do you really want to come home?”

I should be able to answer immediately, but I can’t. In the last six months, I’ve lost my job and my boyfriend of two years, so I was happy tagging along with Maddie to a beautiful city on a trip I didn’t have to plan. Being here solo isn’t what I signed up for, though. The last thing I want is to be alone in a place that barely gets eight hours of sunlight per day, surrounded by the manufactured merriment of the festive season. Especially since I don’t like Christmas even at the best of times. But there’s also a tiny, stubborn part of me that wants to try.

Maddie adds, “I’ll pay the fees for you to change your flight so you can come home, if you really want to, Ev.”

Claudia climbs into Maddie’s lap with a creaky meow that sounds like the hinges on the gates of hell itself. She makes aggressive eye contact with me through the phone, and her tail twitches from side to side, brushing possessively across the front of Maddie’s neck. Then she turns, tail lifted, so an intimate glimpse of her entire ass is the only thing visible on the screen.

“I’ll stay,” I say. “For now.”

“Yay!” Maddie lifts Claudia away one-handed. “I’ve gotta go. Call when you get to Paperwhite. Love you!” The call ends.

My belly growls, and my bra straps feel like they’re surgically embedded in my shoulders. A man in a sweater vest barks at his teenage kids to keep up, sideswiping my suitcase as he hustles by. It wobbles on its wheels before tipping over into the flow of travelers. Before I have a chance to leave my safe space against the wall to grab it, another man bends over to pick it up and wheels it back to me.

It’s the guy in the tweed coat who blocked me from getting off the plane. Now, he wears one of those Britishy flat caps. It makes the waves of his hair wing out a bit behind his ears. In his hand, a Tiffany bag hangs alongside a briefcase of velvety brown leather.

I wonder who the jewelry is for.

He gives me a head-to-toe once-over down his very perfect patrician nose. With his hand in a fist, he pops his free arm outwards to tug his coat sleeve away from his wrist, glancing at an expensive-looking watch. He meets my eyes. “You’ll want the black cabs.”

This man’s entire aesthetic annoys me, but I can’t quite pin down why. Is it the arrogance of flagrantly carrying a Tiffany bag through the crowded airport instead of tucking it inside his coat or one of his bags? Maybe it’s the pretentiousness of wearing that cap indoors, like he’s an extra on Peaky Blinders. It could be because there isn’t a single wrinkle in his posh coat or his posh slacks or his posh button-down. He looks very rested from his cushy first-class flight.

It’s his fault I’m here right now. If he’d gotten out of my way on the plane, I’d be at home in Queens right now, rotting across from Maddie on the couch, my nose in a historical romance.

“How do you know where I’m going? Were you listening to my conversation?” I say.

“Love, everyone in the immediate vicinity was listening to your conversation.” His mouth pulls sideways in a faint smile.

I shoot him a glare and wheel my bag away to put more space between us.

He steps towards me. “It’s just … ah, it’s obvious you’re a tourist.”

I get another hit of that luscious cologne. Now, it’s even more appealing because it’s been married with the warm natural scent of his body for hours.

“Is that right?” I lean away from the wall, to look past him at the navigational signs pointing to the different ways out of the airport.

“American?” he says.

I might hate him. He probably gets to head straight home, get into his favorite comfortable clothes—