Page 32 of Not Home Alone

She’s grinning at me, the she-devil.

All right. I’ll give her that one. When Merrily gets saucy, it trips me up. For a second. “So, you talked to your dad and realized I was telling the truth?”

She nods once and then leans back, resting her elbows on the counter. If I glance down at her boobs in that tight sweater, it’s only because they’re boobs and I’m a man. “I’ll help him get his filing system in order before I leave,” she says. “And I’ll get his van fixed. I don’t know when I’ll have time, but I’ll figure it out.”

“What’s wrong with his van?”

“Nothing if you’re hard of hearing and enjoy listening to Michael Bublé’s Christmas CD at an ear-splitting level whenever the engine’s running.”

I watch her lips move as she explains the situation with the CD player in her dad’s van. I know my ears can hear what she’s saying, and my brain is processing most of it, but the rest of me is wondering how bad it would really be if we did a thorough job of pretending to date. And that is why I take three steps away from her. Because I may not be the dickhead she thinks I am, but I’m still not the guy she deserves. I’ll never be that guy.

But I am the guy who can help her and her dad.

“Why aren’t you staying with your dad, anyway?”

She takes a pull from her bottle before smacking her lips and saying, “Because there’s no room for me at the house. He got remarried. To Connie. And her family is staying there for the holidays. It’s fine. I’ve always wanted to stay here, and I was really looking forward to enjoying some alone time, so…” She raises her bottle to me. “As you can see, I’m thoroughly enjoying it.”

I lean in to clink my bottle with hers again.

“Why aren’t you staying with your dad?” she asks.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” She’s staring at my hands. The hand that’s holding the beer bottle and the hand that’s resting on the edge of the counter.

“So, first of all, I can reimburse you for every cent you’ve paid to rent this house, and you obviously won’t have to pay for anything while you stay here.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m gonna go sit by the tree in the living room,” she declares. “Try not to ruin it for me.”

“I’m confident that hideous white reindeer statue will ruin it before I do.”

She gasps. “Ronald? How dare you.”

“You call him Ronald?”

“I just named him right this second. I think it suits him.”

“I think a paper bag over his head would suit him much better.”

She shakes her head as she turns on the big Christmas tree in the living room. The one with the train going around it. It’s not terrible. “If you’re going to pretend to be my boyfriend then you’re also going to have to pretend to like Christmas.”

“Nobody would buy that. They’d know this was all a ruse. You know how when you tell a lie you’re supposed to include something true to really sell it?” I put my glass down on a side table. On a coaster that says “Meowy Christmas,” with an illustrated cat face that is, I will admit, kind of cute. “People will only believe we’re dating if they see that I’m still myself in other ways and that you’re still that annoying girl who’s obsessed with the worst holiday of the year.”

She huffs. “In what world is Christmas worse than Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh, I don’t hate Valentine’s Day so much as I deny its existence.” I light the logs in the fireplace. The flue is still open because I was planning to sit in front of the fire with my scotch last night. And then the opposite of that happened. “My family already knows we’re dating, by the way,” I tell her.

“Pretending to date.”

“They think we’re really dating. I told my dad we’re dating and that he can’t raise the rent on The Christmas Barn. And he agreed.”

She blows out a breath. “Thank you.” Her tone is halfway between “fuck you” and “thank you,” but I’ll take it.

“No problem.”

“I told my dad and Connie’s family that we’re dating too.”

“Yeah? I told Ava and Todd you forgave me.”