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“Obviously, that goes both ways,” I mutter, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’ve never even met you before. I’m not even sure I’ve even seen a picture…”
A man in a business suit walks by, and he does a double-take before coming to a stop in front of us. His black luggage that matches the rest of his attire comes to a rest next to him. “You’re Cameron Michaels, right?”
My uncle sends me a pointed glare then turns back to the man. “Yeah, that’s me.”
My mouth practically drops open.
“Man, you were so good..”
Oh.Ohhh…This is about his previous football career.
Next to me, Cameron’s face falls. His next words are a little less jovial. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
The stranger suddenly looks embarrassed. He grabs his luggage again and starts to walk away while he says, “Well, have a great Christmas.”
Yeah, a great Christmas… It’s starting out swell.
“You too, man,” my uncle answers.
When he leans back against the wall, I can feel accusing eyes on me. My muscles turn to knots. I know he wants to say something about random people recognizing him but that I didn’t. “Yeah, like I care about football, okay?” I explain. I’m sure I could’ve looked him up, but I didn’t care to. He was no one my family actually wanted to know until Grandma died.
My phone rings, and I stare down at the screen to see my mom’s picture there. I glance up briefly to see that her stupid stepbrother actually looks a little nervous.
With a deep breath, I answer, putting the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mom.”
“Oh, honey,” she says, voice distraught. “Bad news. Our flight got cancelled.”
My gaze locks with my unfortunate companion.
Could this get any worse?
five
Mom promisedto get the first flight out she can. She was so frantic, I couldn’t even tell her that we should just call the whole thing off. Maybe all of this is fate. We should disregard Grandma Junie’s wishes and go about our lives without this guy in them.
But it means so much to her. Hearing the desperation in my mom’s voice only made me feel selfish as I was trying to figure out excuses why I should leave. Here she is, trying desperately to get to us, and the only thing I can think of is getting away.
Maybe Uncle Cameron was right. We’ll just pretend nothing happened. Which would be a little easier if the man was nicer. He’s just a grumpy old asshole…with a skillful tongue. That’s it.
When I told him my parents weren’t coming, his face hardened so quick I thought it would crack down the middle where a huge vein popped out of his forehead.
I look away, taking a few deep breaths because I can barely look at his face without thinking about thatthingthat I’m determined not to think about.
“I guess it’s just us,” I trudge on. “I can get another place to stay.”
He shakes his head, his jaw hard. “They’ll probably get a flight out tomorrow, then they’ll wonder why you aren’t staying with me. Just come back to the inn,” he demands, even though it sounds like the last thing he wants.
I rub a hand down my face. This is so not the way I pictured this initial meeting. I knew it would be awkward but I also imagined my uncle older, possibly with a beer belly, and of course, way less hot.
Without another word, he takes my luggage and starts to wheel it toward the automatic exit doors. I follow after, trying not to look at him the way I did last night. Large shoulders. Tapered waste. He has no business being an uncle to someone my age, that’s for sure.
And that hat. That fucking hat. It gives him such a boyish charm that still wraps me up tight. The way he’d grinned and winked at me last night. We had a connection, for sure. I just didn’t know it was wrong. So, so wrong.
He takes me right to his truck that’s parked in an open lot. My gaze immediately goes to the back door. I want to tell him I can’t get in this thing, but I can already predict his response. Something about telling me to grow up, I’m sure. So, I suck it up, watch as he throws my luggage in the truck bed, and then heaves himself into the front seat.
I stare at him discreetly for a little while. His face is pinched, obviously bothered by the circumstances, but all the little tidbits about his life that I know are coming back to me too. My grandma and his dad had a whirlwind romance that left my grandfather behind. Mom couldn’t ever forgive her, and for the longest time, they didn’t have a relationship. Grandma Junie was living it up at her new man’s inn outside of Portland, Maine with a stepson who was an NFL star, and we were just living our lowly lives in Richmond while my mother self-destructed with alcohol until she came to the conclusion that she didn’t even have to like her mother but she did have to like herself.
Grandma used to send picturesque postcards and pictures of the inn, letters and notes. If I saw them at all, it was because I dug them out of the trash. It always looked magical, and I was a jealous of her, and mad at my mom that we couldn’t visit this place that looked like one of those Christmas inns from Hallmark movies.
