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Not likely.
I haven’t spoken directly to my parents in… about three months. They were on a Mediterranean cruise the last time we talked and had plans to spend the month of December in Hawaii. I doubt they’ll even bother to call me on Christmas, but I don’t tell Johanna that, not wanting her pity.
“No, they’re traveling.” I keep my answer short.
“Well, you’re always welcome here,” she says, and I can tell she means it. Her genuineness makes me feel a little guilty for lying to her.
“I thought you’d be working.”
I glance up to find Presley standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She’s still in her sleepwear, a cable-knit sweater over the top, and red-and-green-striped fuzzy socks. Her hair is piled into a messy bun and she isn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. Even first thing in the morning, she’s still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.
“What’s on the agenda for today, boss?” I ask playfully.
She gives me a menacing glare when her mom turns away.
“We’re going to the Christmas market with my parents, and then we’ll come back here to make gingerbread houses with my brothers and Lola.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The Christmas market could be promising, but I’m not looking forward to hanging out with her brothers again. I’m pretty sure they’d rather watch me suffer in agony than let me spend another second with their little sister.
Sensing my foul mood, Presley stands behind me, draping her arms across my chest.
“Cheer up, Mr. Sinclair,” she whispers in my ear. “That’s two more items we’ll be able to check off my list, making you that much closer to getting out of here.”
I should be thrilled that I’ll be back in New York soon, right? So why am I disappointed that my time out-of-office with Presley is running out?
6
PRESLEY
ASPEN GROVE’S MAIN STREET IS bustling with people doing all their last-minute shopping.
A giant Christmas tree stands in the center of town, a beacon for holiday cheer. It’s decorated with glistening lights, red and white ornaments, and tinsel. It’s a long-standing tradition for the town’s residents to decorate it the day after Thanksgiving, followed by a lighting ceremony. I have fond memories of participating every year growing up, but I’ve had to miss the festivities the last few years since living in New York. I make a mental note to start brainstorming ways I can convince Jack to give me time off next November so I can be here for it.
There’s something magical about Aspen Grove this time of year. It’s vastly different from the hustle and bustle of New York City. Here, you run into someone you know on every corner, and people aren’t in a rush to get to their next destination.
The Christmas market is set up in the park across the street with dozens of merchants selling various goods, including homemade crafts, stocking stuffers, winter apparel, and ornaments. There are also several food vendors in attendance. A group of carolers near the entrance greets everyone with a cheerful version of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
We came with my parents, but they left to find the booth that sells gingerbread house–making supplies. Jack has been walking by my side since we arrived, silently taking in the festive atmosphere.
He might not talk about his personal life, but I’ve always suspected he has a strained relationship with his parents. Based on the amount of time he spends at the office and the sporadic emails from his mom’s assistant. My suspicions were all but confirmed this morning after I overheard his conversation with my mom.
I’m not paying much attention to where we’re going and nearly run into Jack when he comes to an abrupt stop. I look up to see a sign on the front of a booth that says, “Roasted Chestnuts for Sale.”
He remembered?
I only showed him my wishlist one time, when we were in his office in New York. I haven’t mentioned wanting to try a roasted chestnut since we got to Aspen Grove.
“We’ll take one, please,” Jack tells the vendor as he reaches for his wallet, but I place my hand on his.
“I can buy my own,” I say.
“I know, but I want to do this.” His tone doesn’t leave room for argument.
This man is giving me a serious case of whiplash. One minute he’s trying to kiss me, the next he’s scolding me for bumping into him, and now he’s insisting on buying me food. I’m not sure what to think.
“Thanks. It’s the first year they’ve had these at the market. I’ve been looking forward to trying one ever since my mom told me this vendor would be here.”
