CHAPTER FOUR

Abby

What is happening?

I stand, frozen in the entryway of my childhood home. My panic is palpable, rushing through my body like an avalanche. Mom’s word echoes in my brain.

Boyfriend…

Oh, no . What have I done?

If Santa were real, he’d be belly laughing with his elves and reindeer over the situation I find myself in. I still can’t move, but I force myself to blink. That seems to loosen up the rest of me, though my panic is at an all-time high, even higher than when I saw Rachel kissing Jake right before Easter dinner—we’d been together for two years at the time. It’s no mystery why I’m no longer a fan of family holidays, right?

My eyes dart between Mr. Barrington, my boss-turned-chauffeur, and Mom, who beams like he’s the best present she’s ever unwrapped. I have to wonder if her enthusiasm is a manifestation of the guilt she must feel over supporting my cheating sister’s current relationship with Jake.

I open my mouth to correct her about why my boss is here, but nothing comes out. I’m talking dead silence.

He doesn’t look any better than I do and bites his lip. Something I’ve never seen him do since I met him in July. He doesn’t appear to be the lip-biting type, so I wonder if this is a nervous reaction of his.

So. Not. Good.

I silently pray for a Christmas miracle, preferably one where the floor opens up and swallows me whole before this situation gets any more tangled than the lights hanging on our ancient artificial tree.

The fake tree means there’s no pine scent wafting in the air, but you can’t miss the cinnamon. I need to say something, except… Perhaps pretending to have laryngitis for the next two days would solve the problem.

Mom gives him another once-over and grins like he’s holding a robin’s egg-blue box from Tiffany’s neatly tied with a bow. I can’t remember if they use white or red ribbons in December. Not that my budget has ever let me buy anything at Tiffany’s, though Rachel got a charm bracelet from there when she turned seventeen. I got a calculator that my math class required, which is the story of my life. Guess nearly dying after rolling off the couch at six months scared my folks so much all they could do was shower Rachel with love and whatever else she’s wanted since then. Me? I was an oops baby. Unplanned. Who needed a second child when they had the perfect daughter already?

“So, who is this handsome young man?” Mom asks.

I glance from her to Mr. Barrington. I must tell her the truth.

“Mom.” My voice squeaks like a mouse caught in Powerfluff’s crate. “This is—”

Dad bursts into the entryway, wearing a Santa hat that’s seen much better decades. He looks like he’s aged five years in the past nine months. That makes me sad, but he’s put Rachel first as Mom has for as long as I can remember.

He eyes my boss with curiosity. “Who do we have here? I’m Ed Sinclair. But friends call me Eddy.”

Mr. Barrington extends his arm to Dad. “John Barrington, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Mom gasps, her eyes bulging like some kind of toy. “Barrington? As in Abby’s boss?”

I’m surprised she remembers him, given I haven’t seen them since he arrived at the office, but I may have mentioned him by name on the Fourth of July or Thanksgiving when I made my excuses.

“Uh.” Mr. Barrington appears caught off guard again, but then he straightens. For a man who has been driving for more than an hour and a half in the snow after a full day at work, he looks fresh. His clothes aren’t even wrinkled. “Yes, I am.”

Mom nudges me. “Dating the boss, huh? You must’ve called him a grumpy grouch to throw us off.”

My face burns hotter than chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Why hasn’t the ground swallowed me yet? I may just die of embarrassment at this point. “No, Mom, it’s not—”

“Mrs. Sinclair, it’s not what you think.” Mr. Barrington’s calm, warm voice washes over me like chocolate fondue, a surprisingly pleasant feeling, given how he usually talks when I’m around. “I gave Abby a ride because of the snowstorm.”

Dad chuckles, slapping my boss on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “A ride ? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

My mom giggles. “Oh, Eddie. Leave the kids alone.”

Ugh . This kid wants to crawl into Powerfluff’s carrier and hibernate until New Year’s. I inhale deeply. “It’s not like that, Dad.”

He only laughs, which somehow makes things worse. My freezing apartment would have been a better alternative than this.

Mom is halfway to the kitchen when she glances over her shoulder. “I’ll make that hot cocoa for you lovebirds. Oh, Rachel and Jake are on their way. Won’t they be surprised? Though this just proves Jake wasn’t the one for you. Everything always works out for a reason, including heartbreak. And now you can see how Rachel is more suited for him than you ever were.”

Great. Just great. Rachel and Jake, the perfect couple, coming to witness my humiliation. No one seems to remember how happy Jake was with me or that he took me to look for engagement rings in February. My left-hand ring finger just might remain bare forever. It hurts because I believed I’d finally found the love and acceptance I wanted with Jake.

My vision blurs, and I blink the tears away before I turn to Mr. Barrington. “I’m so sorry about this. Go ahead and leave. I’ll explain everything to my parents.”

He winks at me. “And miss out on your mom’s hot cocoa? Not a chance.” He leans in, whispering, “Besides, we need to clear up this misunderstanding. I won’t make you do that on your own.”

“Thank you.” Maybe he’s not the worst boss in the world after all.

A gust of wind rattles the windows, a reminder of the blizzard raging outside, but I’m more worried about what will happen inside after I come clean to my parents about Mr. Barrington and they realize I don’t have a boyfriend.

I take a deep breath, hoping I can calm myself. If anything, my anxiety ramps higher.

I lead him into the living room, where our fake Christmas tree stands proudly, if a bit lopsided, in the corner. Mishmash ornaments, each one a time capsule of family memories and questionable craft projects, grace the sagging branches. My eyes land on the glittery pinecone I made in kindergarten, hanging by a literal thread that used to be a red ribbon. I cringe, wondering if I could knock it off without anyone noticing and hide it under the couch.

Next to it dangles a delicate glass angel that’s survived countless holiday seasons and at least three cat attacks. I swear that thing has more lives than Powerfluff. Speaking of which, I don’t have to worry about my furry friend scaling the tree, ready to claim her spot as the living, breathing tree topper tonight. She usually hides under the bed in my old room the first day she’s here. Like me, she knows where she’s not wanted, but by the second day, unlike me, she doesn’t care.

“What should I do with Powerfluff?” Mr. Barrington asks as if reading my mind.

I open the crate’s door, and my cat jumps out and bolts upstairs. “She prefers adjusting to being here in my room.”

I glance at him, trying to figure out what he thinks of my parents’ house. Is he judging our DIY ornaments and the fact that half the lights are burnt out? Or is he secretly planning a company-wide memo on How Not to Decorate for the Holidays: A Cautionary Tale ?

As I’m about to launch into a self-deprecating joke about our tree, I spot the ornament my sister made when she was five—a clothespin reindeer with googly eyes that are permanently crossed. It’s the one thing Rachel has made that wasn’t perfect. I can’t stop myself from giggling, the tension melting away as I point it out to John.

“And here we have Rudolph’s less famous cousin, Derpy the Red-Nosed Nightmare,” I say, grinning. “Legend has it, he leads Santa’s sleigh, but only when Santa has drank too much eggnog.”

He laughs. “Nice tree.”

“Thanks. It’s not exactly a department store window, but—”

“It’s perfect.” He smiles genuinely. “You can feel the history in each ornament.”

I’m taken aback by his sincerity. Is this the same Mr. Barrington who once made me rewrite a report three times because the font was “too whimsical”? At least I didn’t use Comic Sans.

As I ponder this new version of my boss, Mom carries in a tray of steaming mugs. “Here we go. Hot cocoa with extra marshmallows for the happy couple.”

I cringe at the word couple but gratefully accept the mug. The warmth seeps into my hands. I’m still cold from the walk from the car to the front door, not to mention the chilly reception I’ll get once Rachel arrives.

Mr. Barrington takes his mug with a polite, “Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair,” and I swear my mother swoons.

“So, John.” Dad settles into his recliner. “How did you and Abby get together?”

I nearly choke on my cocoa. “Dad, really, we’re not—”

“Oh, it’s quite a tale,” my boss cuts in smoothly, shooting me a look that says trust me as if I have any other choice. “You see, it all started with a broken copy machine…”

He launches into an elaborate, completely fictional account of our office romance, and weaves a tale of secret glances over cubicle walls—spoiler alert: we each have our own offices, though others work in cubicles—shared lunches in the break room that turned into heartfelt conversations, and a dramatic moment when he realized he couldn’t live without me during a company dinner.

I sit there, slack-jawed, as my boss paints a picture of a relationship so sweet and romantic it could give the Hallmark Channel a run for its money. Part of me wants to interrupt, to set the record straight, but another part…well, another part is oddly moved by the story he creates. Is it sad I’d love a romance like that to really happen to me?

“…and that’s when I knew”—Mr. Barrington’s intense gaze makes my heart skip a beat—“Abby was the one, the only one, for me.”

Now my knees are going weak. He has a way with words. Even my parents are touched, given Mom dabs at her eyes with a tissue, and Dad looks misty-eyed.

“That’s beautiful.” Mom sniffles. “Oh, Abby, why didn’t you tell us?”

As I part my lips, unsure what I’ll say, the front door opens. Rachel and Jake enter, brushing the snow off. My stomach does a somersault, and I’m happy I skipped lunch, though I’m regretting the extra thumbprint cookies.

“We made it.” Rachel’s gaze lands on John, and her nose crinkles. “Who is this?”

“This is John,” Mom gushes, practically vibrating with excitement. “Abby’s boyfriend!”

Rachel’s eyes widen, and something flickers—surprise or disappointment, I can’t really tell—over her face. “Boyfriend? Keeping secrets, are we, Sis?”

The edge to her voice makes me want to crawl under the Christmas tree and hide among the presents. Instead, I force a smile that’s as brittle as an icicle.

Jake, ever the charmer, smiles. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Rachel and Jake shed their coats and then join us in the living room. The room seems smaller, or maybe that’s just the walls closing in. The lie about my boss and me is spiraling out of control, growing like a snowball rolling down a hill. I catch his eye, and he gives me a reassuring smile.

A smile? I nearly groan. How can he not be freaking out? I sure am.

“So, John.” Rachel’s syrupy-sweet tone spells one thing: trouble. “What do you do?”

“I’m Abby’s boss,” he replies as if we met on a dating app and not at work.

Rachel’s eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. “Her boss? Isn’t that complicated? Or against the rules?”

My cheeks burn. “It’s not what you think. We’re not—”

“Oh, it was complicated at first,” he interjects smoothly. “But no rules have been broken. We’ve found a way to make a relationship work. Abby’s professionalism in the office is impeccable.”

I blink at him, stunned. Wait. Why is he complimenting me? Sure, it’s about a fake relationship, but I want him to mean the words.

“That’s great,” Jake chimes in, his arm casually draping around Rachel’s waist. “Speaking of work, did you hear about the big merger that’s happening after the holidays?”

Thankfully, the conversation shifts to safer, boring territory. I sink into the couch, relief washing over me like warm mulled wine. As the others talk, I can’t help but notice how easily my parents’ attention gravitates toward Rachel and Jake. They’re the perfect couple, after all—successful, charming, and sickeningly in sync.

“Oh, Rachel, honey,” Mom coos, leaving no doubt as to who the golden child is in our family. “Tell John about that promotion you received. Wasn’t it something about becoming the youngest executive in your company’s history?”

Rachel preens under the attention. “You know me. I hate to brag, but…”

She launches into a story not much different from ones she’s told before. I wish someone would’ve cared when I got promoted. Mom and Dad sent Rachel cupcakes, and Jake got her a dozen red roses. I didn’t even receive a congrats from anyone in my family.

I glance at Mr. Barrington, who is staring at me. I can’t read his expression, but I assume he’s probably curious about our family dynamics.

He leans toward me, and his breath is warm against my ear. “You okay?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. His concern is unexpected and oddly comforting.

“Great job on that account last week, by the way,” he whispers. “I meant to tell you earlier, but things got busy with the holiday break coming up.”

Before I can respond, Rachel clears her throat. “So, Abby, how exactly did you and John get together? I mean, dating the boss—that must be quite the office scandal.”

The challenge in her tone, a barely concealed accusation, makes my blood boil. I open my mouth, ready to spill the truth and end this charade.

“Actually,” Mr. Barrington says, his voice calm and steady. “It’s been anything but scandalous. It took me months to work up the courage to ask your sister out. Now that we’re together, we keep things strictly business at work, though we might steal a glance at each other every now and then.”

I stare at him, slack-jawed. I had no idea he had such excellent improv skills. My boss is killing it.

“Oh, how romantic!” Mom sighs dreamily.

“Yeah, real fairytale stuff,” Rachel mutters, but I catch a hint of jealousy in her tone.

As the conversation continues, my unease grows. I need to talk to my boss, to figure out what on earth we’re doing before we get caught.

“Excuse us.” I plaster on a smile. “I need to show mister, er, John where he can freshen up. It was a tense drive in the snowstorm.”

I drag him up the stairs and into the bathroom, where I close the door and turn the fan on. This is the only place we can have privacy.

“What are you doing?” I keep my voice low when all I want to do is scream. “How did you come up with so many details about us dating on the fly like that?”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry. You looked uncomfortable, and I wanted to help. The words just came out.”

“My family believes you.”

“I can tell them the truth if you want me to.”

I take a deep breath, considering my options. The thought of facing Rachel’s smug look makes my stomach churn. And then there’s the small, traitorous part of me enjoying the way my parents seem to like him. Usually, all I am to them is a disappointment, which they don’t hesitate to let me know.

“No,” I say finally. “Let’s…let’s get through the next few minutes. I’ll figure out the rest later after you’ve left.”

Understanding gleams in his eyes. “We already went over how we met and started dating, but how long ago was it?”

“Two months,” I say quickly. “Not so long that it’s weird I haven’t mentioned you before.”

“Good thinking, and we’ve been keeping it quiet at work to avoid gossip.”

I nod. “Sounds good, but one more thing—no more surprise compliments about my work. It’s weird.”

He laughs softly. “Fair enough, since I’m supposed to be a grouchy, grumpy boss. Although I meant what I said about that account last week. You did do a great job.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “Thanks, Mr. Barrington.”

“Stop being so formal like we’re at work. Call me John or your family won’t buy that I’m your boyfriend t.”

My face burns. It must be so red. “Okay.” Except it’s totally not okay. He’s my boss, not my boyfriend. “We should head back before they send a search party.”

He gently catches my arm before I can open the door. “Being here can’t be easy for you. If it gets to be too much, give me a signal, and I’ll pretend to have an allergic reaction or something so you have to take me upstairs for my medicine.”

I laugh despite myself, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. “I appreciate that.”

Downstairs, the smell of roasting turkey has gotten stronger. We rejoin the family in the living room, where Rachel is talking about a recent trip to New York City and getting upgraded to a suite.

“That’s our Rachel,” Dad says proudly. “Always getting the VIP treatment.”

As I settle back onto the couch next to Mr. Bar… I mean, John, I focus on him so I don’t roll my eyes. He drapes his arm around my shoulders, giving me a gentle squeeze, which I appreciate. It helps having someone on my side here to support me.

“So, Abby,” Jake pipes up, his gaze flickering between John and me. “How’s work going? Still stuck in that cubicle?”

Before I can answer, Mr. Bar…John jumps in. “Actually, Abby has her own office. She’s been doing fantastic work. Clients love her.”

I blink in surprise. It’s true. I did get my own office recently, but I didn’t think John had even noticed.

Rachel’s smile tightens almost imperceptibly. “Oh, how nice. I’m sure it’s…cozy.”

I nod. “I’ve got a window and lots of room for my awards.”

She frowns, but he laughs at one of Dad’s terrible jokes, and I ignore my sister.

I imagine what it would be like if dating him weren’t a lie. It’s a dangerous thought and one I should push from my mind if I’m smart.

Mom stands up and claps her hands together. “It’s time to finish up dinner. Abby, why don’t you show John to your room? You two can take your suitcases up there, and then you can help me in the kitchen.”

I freeze. My room? As in, where my boss and I are supposed to sleep? Together?

Not that he’s staying the night, but…

“Oh, um, actually,” I stammer. “He’s about to leave.”

“Nonsense.” Dad’s voice booms. “You can’t send him out into that storm. He’ll stay here tonight, won’t you, John?”

He looks at me, a question in his eyes. I nod almost imperceptibly, defeated. What choice do we have?

He nods. “Thank you for your hospitality, sir. I’ll get my bag from my car.”

A few minutes later, I lead him upstairs once again, and my mind races. How did a simple ride home turn into this elaborate charade? And how will we keep it up?

We reach my room—now the guest room, while Rachel’s bedroom is still a shrine to her adolescence—and I push the door open. Festive quilts cover the queen-sized bed, and a clean litterbox is in the corner, which I appreciate, as I’m sure Powerfluff does, too.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can’t believe our fake dating went this far. Don’t you have plans for tonight?”

He laughs softly. “It’s okay. I’m not expected at my grandparents’ house until tomorrow. I was planning to stay in a hotel tonight and catch up on work. Playing pretend is much more fun, though your sister seems to like to talk about herself.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You think?”

He laughs again, and I find myself smiling.

“Look.” His tone turns serious. “We can come clean if you want. I’ll follow your lead.”

I consider it. The thought of admitting the truth, of facing my family’s disappointment and Rachel’s smug looks, makes my stomach churn. And a small part of me enjoys this fantasy, even if it’s only for tonight.

That gives me an idea. “Let’s get through dinner. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“That’s worked so far for us. Partners in crime, then?”

He holds his hand out, and we shake. A spark of electricity that has nothing to do with a static charge from the carpet and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me runs up my arm.

“Partners in crime,” I agree hoping this doesn’t blow up in my face.