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“Because you’re too okay with this.”
“Okay with what? Owning you?”
He scoffs. “You don’t own me.”
“I own yourfamilyhouse. Your mom doesn’t know you lost it. And you’re living with me for the next two weeks. I think I pretty much own you.”
“I’m going to buy this house back from you. It’s only a matter of time.” He jogs down the stairs.
I shove my feet into my boots and snag my coat from the hook before following him to his van. “You are not buying back this house. It’s not for sale. It will never be for sale again as long as I’m alive.”
Henry chuckles, throwing open his van’s side door. “So how’s this going to go down? You’re leaving me the house in your will? Or I’m going to have to…” he peeks back at me, and his gaze ping-pongs in both directions before a toothy grin steals his face while he makes a throat cutting gesture at his neck “…to you.”
I frown. “The latter.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Really? I’m going to have to …” Again, he makes the throat cutting gesture.
“Stop.” I giggle.
“See. You’re laughing.” With a load of lights in his arms, he struts to the front porch, dropping them unceremoniously on the top step. “That means you know how nonsensical it is for you to want to die in this house or die because of this house. This is a family heirloom to me.”
“Yet you lost it or let it go. How exactly did that happen?”
“I’m just sayingifmy mom finds out you’re in the attic, I’m going to need an explanation for you.”
“That was a terrible subject change.” I laugh, following him back to the van. The next thing I know, my arms are weighed down with lights. “I’m not helping you.” I dump the lights on the top step next to the rest of them. “I have work to do.”
“Writing?” he asks on his way to the garage.
I feel like a little dog chasing him, always two steps behind.
“We need to stick to discussing the things that matter,” he continues. “How I lost this house is not important. The woman in the attic is very important. You could sneeze too loudly, and my mom will hear you.” Retrieving the ladder from the wall where it’s been since I bought the fully-furnished house, Henry takes it outside and props it up against the house.
“I’m now ‘the woman in the attic?’ Gosh … just seconds ago I thought I was the homeowner.”
With a little headshake, Henry grins. “Welcome to my world.”
“I’m going inside. Enjoy decorating this house for the last time.”
“Thanks for your help, Siri.”
“Serena,” I grumble a breath before closing the front door.
HENRY
Sexy Siri is a tough one. Her lack of generosity makes it hard to think of her as sexy, but I’m willing to overlook her lack of help in the spirit of Christmas—and maybe a little because she accepted my offer. A fifty-dollar mailbox and no police report in exchange for two weeks at Hotel Afina.
I’m very suspicious of her lack of resistance to the idea, but I don’t have time to figure her out. I have to figure out how I’m going to tell my mom that I’ve let her and the entire Bechtel family down. I fumbled the legacy ball. I’m a disgrace.
“Darling!” Mom hugs me, her thick red cardigan falling off her shoulders while her purse and carry-on bag hang from her arms.
“Hi, Mom.” I squeeze her tightly. It’s been too long since we’ve been together. Even if she’ll likely disown me after Christmas, I’m not going to let it ruin our reunion.
“It’s so good to be home again.” She sighs while handing me her bag. “Have you visited your father and sister?” she asks as if they’re in a house cuddled up next to the fireplace instead of six feet under dead grass and an inch of snow from last week.
“I have not. I thought we’d go together.” Or not at all. I’m not a fan of visiting graves. That’s not where I feel close to the deceased. Dad’s ghost sits next to me in my work van, and Emily hangs out in the attic.
“Lovely idea.” She chatters the whole way to the house and waltzes toward the front door, leaving me to carry her belongings. “Where’s the wreath?” She halts several feet from the front door.
