Chapter 12

CYAN

On the seventh day of Christmas, I bite into sexy gingerbread men

The internet is down. More than that, something about the weather is messing with the cell towers. We have zero access to the outside world. You would not believe the chaos this incites in the family.

“How am I supposed to send Snaps to my friends?” my twelve-year old niece screams at her mom—my older sister, Helen—throwing her phone at the tree and knocking off one of the clay ornaments I made when I was a kid.

It breaks, and I sigh, putting my fingers up to my temple and trying to focus on the book I have open on the table in front of me. It’s Lovelight Farms by B.K. Borison. Totally brilliant. So good. I was always jealous of the main character’s relationship with her childhood friend, always wished I’d grown up with some nice guy who was also hot and who also was in love with me.

Alas, all I have are—

Four rockstars walking into my dining room, dressed in hats and scarves and boots, their shoulders decorated with bits of snow.

“We were filming some shots for later, but it’s too damn cold out.” Aspen flops into the seat on my right. Crispin takes the one on my left, tugging his hat off and leaning in to peer at my book. There’s a sex scene on the page that I rapidly try to hide by slamming the pages shut. “Poor Kristy is freaking out.”

“Seems like you guys might miss the Heat the Frost concert?” I say, cringing as I turn to Crispin. Vale sits on his left and Frost takes up the seat across from him. I might be the only person in this house who isn’t losing their shit over the inability to doom scroll TikTok.

Helen is desperately trying to wrangle her daughter, appeasing her by offering a brand-new Stanley cup early. It was supposed to be a stocking stuffer. I sigh. At the bookstore, I had way better uses for stockings. Grandma and I used to wrap books up and slip them into stockings. We’d hang them from the shelves with little tags, advertising the genre. Delicious fairy porn or spicy pirate romance or weird alien smut book with tentacles. Blind date with a book, holiday style.

“Whatever is going to happen will happen.” Vale rolls his head on his shoulders, leaning back to rest against the chair while my sister goes ten rounds with her son over the loss of the internet. My mom and Atticus have spent all morning taking turns on the upper deck, trying to find a signal in the storm. “There’s no point in worrying about it.”

“We haven’t had a Christmas off in ten years. I don’t give a fuck about the concert.” Frost has his arms crossed, mittens hanging from a string draped over his wrist. He notices me looking and stares right back, unashamed.

Tina passes by, pausing when she notices the tension between us. She has the audacity to laugh at me and then takes off to corral her own brats, having their particular internet-related meltdowns in the den.

“You don’t seem upset about the lack of phone service.” Crispin puts his elbow on the table, his jacket unbuttoned to reveal a blue henley underneath. The look suits him, making me remember my initial impression of him, how I’d like for him to pull my hair and fuck me hard on flannel sheets.

I could have that, couldn’t I? I bite my lip and somehow I can tell that Crispin knows my mind’s in the frozen, icicle-strewn gutter (like the one that fell off the corner of the house this morning and sent my dad into a fit).

“Nope.” I drum my fingers on the back of the book, locking down on it when Aspen tries to steal it from me. He gives me this cocky, little look, flicking his tongue against the corner of his mouth. I release the book to his charms with a sigh, letting him read the blurb. What right do I have to prevent him from discovering a Christmas classic? “There’s nobody I want to talk to. No movies I want to watch that I haven’t already downloaded. No ten-second reel that’s more entertaining than a good book or building a gingerbread house.”

“Oh.” Aspen looks up from the book, blue eyes shining. “I’ve always wanted to make a gingerbread house. It’s been on my bucket list for years. I’ve got a bunch of kits in my duffel bag. Should we break them out?”

He shapeshifts from frontman flirt to adorable puppy in an instant, and I’m here for it.

They want to date me? I made Aspen Carver come in his pants? Getting my ass stuck to that toilet seat could be the best thing that ever happened to me.

“You were only able to bring one bag in through the storm, and you packed it full of gingerbread kits?” Frost sounds appalled, but maybe a little bit charmed, too. The guys did admit that they were occasional lovers, whatever that means. I imagine what it’d be like to see them touch each other, and my skin goes cranberry sauce red in response.

“Grab ‘em.” Vale gestures with his head in the direction of the stairs, using a red marker today to scribble something on his wrist. He runs out of space and frowns, looking around for something and snagging one of my dad’s fancy placemats. Vale turns it over and frantically scrawls out whatever ideas are plaguing his artist brain. “We can make gingerbread houses together.”

Aspen shoves his chair back and takes off, skirting around Donner as she comes into the room with the sole purpose of scowling at me. Wonder if she’ll still treat me like crap if I agree to start dating the band? She’s lulled away by the smell of whatever Dad’s baking, thank God. I rub at my sore nose.

“We should bake our own gingerbread. I could show you guys how to make the perfect house. We could raid my dad’s artisanal, imported candy collection. It’s worth a small fortune.” I slide my book back and trace the edges of it with my finger. “The pre-done kits are fun, too, but they don’t taste very good.”

“You ever make those little gingerbread houses in school?” Crispin asks, shrugging out of his jacket. Then out of his long-sleeved shirt until he’s wearing a red wifebeater and dog tags. His arms are criminal, flexing as he unwinds the scarf from around his neck. “With the little milk cartons as a base, graham crackers for the walls and the roof?”

“Oh, I loved those!” I blurt out before I see Atticus walk by, giving me an odd look. I ignore him, looking up at Aspen as he comes back into the room, laying a stack of boxes on the corner of the table nearest me. True to their word, these guys haven’t mentioned the dating thing since yesterday.

I took last night to myself, lying in bed and trying not to get too excited over this. What if I agree to date them and they change their mind after the blizzard lifts? What if the storm clears tomorrow and they take off for the concert? What happens then?

I have so many questions—none of which will preclude me from saying yes.

“I only bought four, but Frost and I can share one.” Aspen pushes one of the kits my way, like an offering. I shake my head, pushing it right back.

“No, thank you. I’ve crafted many a gingerbread house in my day. You guys should enjoy yourselves.” I sit back in my chair as Aspen reclaims his seat. He nudges a kit at me a second time, giving me a look. “Oh, come on. We were just talking about those little milk carton and graham cracker houses you make in elementary school. I’ve had my fair share of gingerbread decorating. Besides, if I’m going to make one, I’d rather bake it from scratch.”

“I never made the milk carton ones,” Aspen admits with a wistful sigh, opening his kit and pulling out plastic-wrapped slabs of gingerbread. The kit comes with everything you need to build the house, including the white frosting that hardens into an impenetrable substance that only pretends to be food. “Always wanted to though. I wasn’t in school enough to participate in stuff like that. After my mom and dad died, I had some pretty shitty foster parents.”

I curl my hands into fists on the table and then stand up, chair scraping across the floor. I sprint into the kitchen, ignoring my father as he croons Christmas music under his breath and ices cookies under the watchful lens of his phone. You bet your ass the minute the internet is back, he’ll be posting it with a hundred hashtags.

I ignore him, stealing one of the small milk cartons belonging to my nieces and nephews. A box of graham crackers. A tub of white icing. Paper plates. When I’m sure my father isn’t looking, I open the cabinet in the corner and snatch several bags of his expensive candy.

The boys look confused when I cart it all back and dump it on the table. I crack the milk carton and lift it up in a toast, staring right at Aspen as I do.

“To recreating childhood memories.” I lift the milk up and chug it, spilling a tiny bit from the corner of my mouth. Crispin stands up beside me, raising his knuckle and swiping the white liquid from my jaw. He doesn’t hesitate to suck it off, and I almost choke.

With a satisfied exhale, I slam the milk carton down on the table in triumph and flick it over to Aspen who’s staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

“There. Everything you need to be twelve all over again.” I smile at him as my niece lets out a scream of rage, and her mom soothes her with the box of anti-aging creams we wrapped the other day. She tears into the paper without giving the wrapping a second thought and for some reason, that makes me feel sad. “I mean, like the sort of twelve I had. Not … not whatever that is.” I flick my fingers at the iPad-addicted preteen with an obsession with Sephora and beauty products that even I’m not old enough to need.

“I … wow, Cyan. I …” Aspen has that chagrined expression on his face again, reaching up long fingers to ruffle up that green-and-red striped hair. “Thank you.” A sweet smile spreads over his lips as he pushes his kit back at me. “I’d rather make it this way. You take that.”

“Uh-uh.” Crispin forces his kit on Aspen who tries to give it back, only to receive kits from both Vale and Frost. We’re all laughing at that point, like we’ve been transported to one of those shitty movies where everything ends in hugs and warm smiles between friends. “Aspen, out of all of us, you deserve this kit the most. Don’t be so goddamn stubborn.”

“I—” Words fail Aspen, and he turns his attention quickly down to the table, fondling the milk carton in front of him. I try to remain as still as possible and not shift in my chair like I have to pee. But I’m embarrassed. I think I just did something he really likes without meaning to. He looks up at me, and I realize I can’t resist much longer. “Sorry, I know we said we wouldn’t mention it again, but I really want to—”

Frost reaches out and covers Aspen’s mouth with a tattooed hand, his fierce eyes on mine. He makes meaningful eye contact with me and then lowers his hand from his friend’s face. Vale chuckles as he tears open and then unfolds the box his kit came in, using the backside to write.

“Leave Cyan alone. She knows what’s on offer here.” Vale licks the tip of his pen when it stops working, wetting it and slanting his eyes to mine. The color matches the decor, two spots of gold in an ornamental face. Angelic. But only from a distance. Vale is naughty, keeping that big box of Christmas condoms in his room.

“They were crap,” I say, blurting the words without meaning to. I’ve been perfectly honest with them all this entire time, so why stop now? It’s almost as if I’m being myself, and they just like that. Me. Plain Cyan is interesting to them. My inner fangirl has a red-and-white striped cheese knife pressed to my throat. Accept their offer, or you’re too stupid to live, is what she’s saying. “The condoms that you gave Frost. We had to open four just to get one that wouldn’t shatter our psyches with every thrust.”

Another bout of perfect silence, and then Vale is laughing so hard that he can’t breathe. Vale. The quiet one. Crispin is dead silent over there, brow furrowed as he stares at the table. He lifts his eyes to mine, and they’re not so soft and gooey anymore. They’re dark. An open invitation.

“You shouldn’t say the word thrust at the dinner table, Cyan.” Crispin nudges my elbow with the gingerbread box, encouraging me to open it. So I do. I open that fucking box and grin like a twelve-year-old (not my niece though) as I start to piece it together.

Ten minutes later, as I’m layering imported European ribbon candy as roof shingles, this pops out.

“Yes.” I exhale, relieved, and then feel a smile take over my face. “Sure, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Seriously?” Frost is wide-eyed, elbows on the table as he leans in toward me. “That’s how you’re going to say it? Just like that?” But then he smiles at me like he’s excited, too. I get butterflies for sure at that one. He looks at his gingerbread house, curling a bit of licorice around the chimney with inked fingers.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen anything as hot as that, Frost Manderach with his jacket unzipped and drooping down his shoulders, an ice-white tee, and a pale blue scarf still wrapped around his neck. I could bite his plush lower lip and die happy.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?” Crispin asks, like it’s important for him to hear me say that. I turn toward him and Vale, aware of everything else that usually comes with dating. Sex, obviously. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t really fucking excited to sleep with both of them.

This is my literal perfect idea of Christmas: group sex and gingerbread. Festive and deeply pleasurable.

“I would love that,” I reply, not meeting any of their eyes. “I’ve only had two serious boyfriends, and a threesome once, so you’ll have to be patient with me.”

“There’s no need for patience. You took me to the edge with only a hand. Good work, Cyan.” Aspen leans down to examine the shitty gingerbread house perched on his paper plate. He’s a much better singer than he is a decorator. His eyes lift to mine. “I have no complaints.”

Ahh. What do I say to that? That’s a lovely compliment.

“Can you just tell me where you got the Christmas condoms from?” I ask Vale, because it’s imperative that I know. A ho like him would never buy rubbers with images like that. He points across the table with his Sharpie, jabbing it in the air a few times to indicate Aspen.

How am I not surprised?

“They came in handy, didn’t they?” Aspen teases, lifting the corner of his mouth, still staring at me. I refuse to look at Frost, focusing on Crispin instead.

“Do you … want to watch a movie with me tonight? Get to know each other a little?” I sound mature and relaxed, not like the freak I am with the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. The bookstore stings a little less. My memories of my grandma always hurt the same. But Christmas is going to suck so much less ass with these men around.

“The fact that you even have to ask means there’s a problem.” Crispin reaches out and fixes a gumdrop that’s falling off the side of my house, putting it right back where it was. Sort of like he did with the tape incident when we were wrapping. “Spend the night with me, please. I won’t kick you out like Frost.”

“If I hadn’t thrown her out, she would’ve been my girlfriend two days ago. I fucked up.” Frost’s voice is mild and pleasant when he says that, like maybe his cinnamon roll persona isn’t entirely faked. “Should’ve kept her tied to my bed with festive ribbon.”

“You tied her up?” Vale sounds so disappointed that I flinch. He notices and offers a smile, eating an imported Italian mint that costs eleven dollars in one single bite. If John catches us, I could be in deep snow. Somehow, that matters less today. “No pressure from me for sex. Take your time, Cyan.”

“And you guys won’t sleep with anyone else?” I clarify, looking around as they all agree.

“Don’t want to sleep with anyone else anyway.” Frost slathers frosting across his roof, snaps a piece off, and then tries to eat it. His nose wrinkles, and I resist the urge to tease him about it. He takes another bite anyway.

“Whether we have sex or not, I’ll be faithful to the people at this table.” Vale grins when he sees my expression. “Unless you want me to be completely celibate. I’ll do it for you, Cyan, but I might be pretty cranky.” He laughs at himself which I appreciate, shaking his head and using the frosting to write something on the side of his house. Girlfriend, it says in white icing.

“Cyan.” It’s my dad, appearing in the doorway. He says my name the way he always does when I do something he doesn’t like. He won’t say anything in front of Inked Pages though. Despite his lack of warmth, he really is a big fan of theirs. He doesn’t want to show it, but I can tell by the glint in his eyes that he’s still starstruck. “Your mother needs you in the kitchen.”

With a sigh, I stand up from the table, trying to hide my smile as I walk past him. If he finds out why I’m grinning like this, I’ll hear every reason in the book why this is the worst idea I’ve ever had in my life. He won’t be an Inked Pages fan anymore. He may even threaten them with another knife.

Marisol is in the kitchen, standing next to the counter and tapping her fingers on the foil-covered pie sitting there. She looks up at me, a little sweaty, like a drug addict without a fix.

“I need you to take this over to Hunter and see if they have Wi-Fi or cell service over there.” She gestures at the pie as I gape at her.

“Nobody should be outside in this weather, and you want your youngest daughter to walk over there? You’re joking, right? If we don’t have service, why would they?” I take a step back and bump into my dad. He sighs, putting his hands on my shoulders and moving me aside so that he can pass.

“Bundle up in proper clothes. You’ll be fine.” My mom gestures at me with her manicured hands. “These aren’t large lots. It’s barely a walk at all.”

This is a half acre lot. That’s a bit of a distance in a violent, raging, once-in-a-century blizzard.

“I’m not going.” I cross my arms and stare her down. What is she going to do about it? I’m twenty-two. I’m an adult. Fuck her. “Do you know how fast hypothermia can set in? I could get stuck in the snow and freeze. I don’t like Hunter, and I frankly don’t give a shit if there’s Wi-Fi.”

I’m so proud of myself, turning and walking down the hall to the dining room. My mother catches up to me and snags me by my right arm, nails digging into my skin.

The guys all notice our interaction right away, staring in our direction as they wait to see what I’ll do.

“Am I being unreasonable, Cyan?” she pleads, like I’m the one who’s done something wrong. I don’t answer and Marisol throws her hands up like she’s exasperated. “Fine. Don’t take the pie over.” Before she walks away, she looks right at me and says: “when they’re done with you, you’ll regret it, but go ahead. You’re an adult.”

She starts to walk away when Crispin stands up from his chair, wetting his lips and pushing his hair back. He gives my mom a look to match the one on her face, like he’s an ice sculpture.

“Please don’t ask anyone else to deliver that pie,” Crispin says, smiling apologetically. Doesn’t change the ice in his eyes or the frost coating his words. “It’s negative sixty out there today—much colder than yesterday. Frostbite occurs in minutes or seconds of exposure. Pecan isn’t worth the fuckin’ trip.”

He isn’t smiling anymore, turning his attention down to me with worry clear in his expression.

“See? I could literally die. That’s a big deal.” I sound like I’m asking for help, and Crispin nods.

“Yes. Literally. There’s a reason we’re still here and not getting ready for the concert. It’s a bad storm, bad enough to knock out a cell tower. I’m glad you turned her down, but I would’ve physically prevented you from walking out that door.”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Marisol grumbles as she walks away, heels clacking loudly. My dad will talk her down and she’ll forget all about this. I won’t. Was she serious about sending me outside with a pie ?

We stand there together in silence until she’s gone and then Crispin pulls out my chair for me, pushing me in after I take a seat. He leans down, his mouth near my ear.

“I’m a very protective boyfriend,” he growls playfully, nipping my lobe, and I shiver all over.

Christmas miracles do exist. They do. Oh my fucking God, they do.

After we’ve made our gingerbread houses, baked some fresh gingerbread, made some more houses … Crispin takes my wrist and leads me to his room, pausing abruptly underneath one of the fancifully decorated arches. He turns and, with this expression of resolute determination on his face, takes my shoulders in his big, warm hands and leans down to kiss me.

My eyes shift up, spotting a sprig of mistletoe above our heads.

Yeah. It’s official. I am the shiny new girlfriend for the whole of Inked Pages.

And I’m fucking thrilled about it.