CHAPTER FIVE

Abby

As I remove the pan from the oven, heat rises from the baked-to-a-golden-brown stuffing I made. My mouth waters at the smell. It’s all I can do not to eat a spoonful now. Anything to settle my nerves while Rachel sits in the living room, bragging about her latest work triumph. Do I care that her CEO pulled her aside and told her she was the future of this company?

No, I don’t, but I’m sure she’ll repeat what happened many times while I’m here. She always tosses her triumphs in my face. Why else would she invite Jake to spend Christmas with us? He never did that when we dated.

I eye the stuffing. No one would notice a bite or two missing, right?

“How’s it coming along?” Mom leans against the kitchen doorway as if hanging on Rachel’s every word. Mom should go into the living room before she hurts herself. Neck strains are no joke.

“Ready to go.” Which means no drowning my sorrows in stuffing now that Mom has noticed the stuffing is finished. I cover the pan with aluminum foil. “I’ll put it in the warming drawer so it doesn’t get cold.”

“Thanks. You can make the salad next. It’s a kit, so it won’t take long.” Mom sighs, and I perk up, thinking she’ll say something about how well my stuffing came out. “Isn’t your sister just amazing?”

Her arrow—I mean, words—pierce my heart. A direct hit, and it’s all I can do not to take a step back. Forget any recognition of my culinary efforts making the stuffing. I should’ve just used the instant kind that was in the cabinet. Still, I’ve been in this position many times before. “Mmmm. Amazing.”

Mom doesn’t notice my lackluster tone. Of course not. She barely notices me. Why would tonight be any different?

I place the stuffing into the warming drawer, forcing myself not to shove the casserole dish too hard, even though that might feel good. I remind myself that eating the stuffing will be better than picking out shards of glass. Nothing beats chunks of cornbread, butter, celery, onion, and butter. I already mentioned butter, but it’s the best part.

John—hey, I got his name right this time—comes up to me sans suit jacket. “Need a hand?”

I eye him suspiciously. “You cook?”

He grins, and a dimple I’ve never noticed appears on his left cheek. It makes him look younger and more approachable.

“I’m full of surprises,” he says in a lighthearted tone.

No kidding. The list of those surprises keeps growing longer. “That’s what I’m discovering.”

“There’s lots more. Point me to a task. You’ll see.”

I motion to the large pot on a rear stove eye. “The potatoes have been peeled and boiled. They need to be mashed. Think you can handle it?”

He rolls his sleeves up, giving me a nice view of his forearms, something I’ve never seen before. Even during the summer months, he wore long-sleeved dress shirts and suit jackets. “Just watch me.”

While we work next to each other, John hums an off-key Christmas carol and mashes the potatoes. It’s an easy task and he has the arm muscles for it. The warmth exuding from him calms my tight muscles, and I relax for the first time other than my nap in his car.

It’s…nice.

Comfortable.

And once again, he’s surprising me. I still don’t know what to make of him—my fake boyfriend for Christmas Eve.

He’s so different from the Mr. Barrington I thought I knew at work. Although, he might just be acting polite since he’s at my parents’ house and pretending to be my boyfriend, but maybe some of what I’m seeing tonight is the real him. I’m not sure what to believe.

“So…” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “Is your sister always this…enthusiastic about herself?”

I snort, then quickly glance around to make sure Mom can’t hear me, but she’s no longer in the kitchen. Guess she finally surrendered to the need to be closer to Rachel. “Enthusiastic is a polite word for it, and this is nothing. Wait until she tells you about her charity work. Did you know she single-handedly saved an entire village in Africa?”

John’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“No,” I deadpan. “But don’t tell her that.”

He laughs, the warm sound making something flutter in my chest. I push the feeling aside, focusing on the salad.

“For what it’s worth.” His voice turns more serious. “You’re amazing, too.”

I freeze, the bag of lettuce in my hand hovering over the bowl. “What?”

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “You’re smart, hardworking, and you can analyze any spreadsheet given to you. Plus, you haven’t murdered me yet for being a demanding boss, so there’s that, too.”

Mom hurries into the kitchen, her cheeks flushed with excitement before I can answer. “Oh, you two are so sweet, working together like this. But, John, you don’t need to help. Abby has it under control, and you’re our guest.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Sinclair.” He flashes a charming smile complete with the adorable dimple again. “I enjoy spending time with Abby.”

Mom practically melts, patting him on the arm. “You’re such a gentleman, and a catch, too. You have a wonderful boyfriend, Abby.”

I force a smile, ignoring the way my stomach twists. For once, Mom is praising me, but it’s over something pretend. I really can’t win.

“He’s…something.” My words earn a smirk from John. And wouldn’t you know, even his smirk doesn’t look bad. The man is too attractive for his own good.

“Don’t work too hard, you two.” Mom drifts toward the doorway. “I’ll be back shortly.”

As soon as she has gone, I slump against the counter. “She likes you. But if I hear one more thing about Rachel, I’ll lose it.”

John sets the masher in the pan and faces me. “You’re doing great, and I’d rather be in here with you than out there listening to The Rachel Show.”

“Thanks. I—I don’t know why I let it get to me every year.” I half laugh, though I appreciate what he said more than he’ll ever know. I’m not used to being complimented in this house, and it feels so good. I just find it hard to believe that my boss is the one doing it. “I should be used to being ignored by now.”

“She gets to you because you’re human. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Our gazes meet, and something seems to connect us. The air around me shifts as if an invisible fog lifts, allowing me to see John clearly. Or maybe this is the first time I’m seeing him without the filter of work stress.

“Hey, how’s dinner coming along?” Jake yells, shattering the moment between John and me. “We’re starving out here.”

Self-conscious and unsure what happened with John, I look at the salad and add the bag of dressing to the lettuce. “Working on it.”

If they’re hungry, they could help us, but no one will. I grew up with Rachel calling me her own Cinderella. The only difference, she would say, was she wasn’t an ugly stepsister, and I had an actual bedroom to sleep in. Not going to lie, I can’t watch the cartoon version of the movie without feeling triggered. Yes, my sister ruined many things most kids take for granted.

John rinses the masher off and then gently bumps my shoulder with his. “Want me to trip and spill gravy on him?”

I laugh, surprising myself, given my current mood. “Tempting, but let’s save that for plan B.”

As we finish up, John asks me if my family has any Christmas Eve traditions, and I find myself sharing a story from a past Christmas Eve.

“One year,” I say, grinning at the memory, “I convinced Rachel if she left milk and cookies for Santa, she had to leave carrots for the reindeer too. She spent hours in the backyard, digging up Mom’s flower beds to find enough carrots.”

“Let me guess, you got in trouble?”

“Oh, yeah. But seeing Rachel covered in dirt on Christmas Eve was worth it.”

As I sprinkle croutons on the salad, Mom calls to me from the living room. “Bring out the veggie tray now.”

“Of course.” I get the platter from the fridge and remove the plastic wrap over the top of it. “I’ll be right back.”

He gives me a mock salute. “I’ll make sure nothing burns.”

As I enter the living room, no one notices me. My name should be Abby, the invisible family member.

“I don’t get it.” Rachel sounds suspicious. “Abby going out with her boss? It seems too convenient. I bet he’s some kind of pity date.”

I freeze, my heart pounding.

“Rachel,” Mom scolds, but there’s no heat in her voice. “That’s not nice. John seems like a lovely man.”

“It’s strange,” Rachel says. “Abby’s never mentioned him before, and suddenly they’re madly in love? Something doesn’t add up.”

I close my eyes, willing myself not to cry. Of course Rachel would see right through our charade and try to tear me down.

“Maybe Abby wants to impress us,” Jake chimes in, his voice thoughtful. “I mean, it’s not like she’s had much luck in the romance department since—”

“Since you dumped her?” Rachel finishes, a note of satisfaction in her voice.

He didn’t dump me. You cheated with him.

I plaster on the fakest smile I can muster. “Veggies, anyone? Made with love and a dash of familial judgment.”

The room falls silent, all eyes on me. Rachel has the grace to appear embarrassed, but her face doesn’t flush. Jake grins, reaching for a carrot stick.

“Thanks, Abs,” he says as if he hadn’t just been discussing my love life. “This looks healthy.”

I set the platter on the coffee table with more force than necessary. A few olives roll off. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen, cooking your dinner with my pity date’s help.”

I glimpse Dad sitting quietly in his recliner. He appears concerned, and I hope he might say something, but Rachel launches into another story about herself and his attention is on her again.

I retreat to the kitchen, my emotions a mess. This is why I avoid holidays and hate coming home. Maybe next time, I’ll wear a shirt that says Family Punching Bag and not even try to pretend everything is okay with my parents and my sister.

John looks up as I enter, his smile fading when he sees me. “I’m sorry.”

I press my lips together, not trusting my voice to say anything. He might be my fake boyfriend, but he’s also my real boss. Baring my soul would not be a good idea.

John crosses the kitchen in two long strides and hugs me. I stiffen from the shock of being in his arms, but I let myself relax into his embrace. I tell myself I just need a hug, any hug, but this one is good. He’s warm and smells better than the roasting turkey.

“I heard,” he says, and every one of my muscles tense. “Not everything, but enough. I’m so sorry, Abby. You don’t deserve that.”

A part of me wants to sink against him and cry on his wide shoulders. Instead, I pull back slightly and glance up at him. “Why are you being so nice to me? This isn’t you. I mean, it is here, but it’s not at work.”

The corners of his mouth curve upward. “What if work me is the act and this is the real John Barrington?”

“Come on, you two.” Mom stands just outside the kitchen doorway. “We’re taking photos before dinner.”

“The food?” I ask.

“It won’t take long.” She points up to a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the doorframe and grins. “You know what that means.”

“A kiss under the mistletoe,” John says as if he’s asking someone to pass the salt.

Panic rises, and my brain short-circuits. Somehow, I keep breathing so at least I don’t pass out on the kitchen floor. That might hurt, though it would get me out of this situation.

John smiles at my mother, then turns to me, his eyes asking a silent question. Are you okay with this?

I’m not, but I give a small nod, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure everyone can hear it.

Slowly, giving me every opportunity to back out, John leans in. His lips meet mine in a kiss that’s soft, sweet, and completely unexpected. It’s nothing like the awkward pecks I’ve experienced under mistletoe before. This feels…real.

When we part, I’m breathless, my mind reeling. John’s eyes are dark, intense, and I almost forget this is all pretend.

“Oh, how romantic.” Mom claps her hands together. “Now come on, you lovebirds. Picture time.”

As we go into the living room, John clasps my hand with his and squeezes gently. A spark of hope, something I haven’t felt in a long time, emerges.

Hope .

Maybe this Christmas won’t be a complete disaster.

But as soon as I see Rachel and Jake sitting in the prime spot on the couch while Mom fusses with the camera settings, I know that’s only wishful thinking.

“Abby, you and John sit on the floor in front of Rachel and Jake.” Mom’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Great. I’ll be eye-level with Rachel’s designer boots. How fitting.

Dad adjusts his Santa hat to get it to the right angle.

As we settle into position, John slides his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. It’s for show, even if my heart does a little dance.

Mom aims the camera. “Smile, everyone.”

I plaster on my best “everything is fine” grin, the one I’ve perfected over the years. John, however, seems genuinely happy, his smile reaching his eyes in a way that makes his dimple appear and my stomach fill with butterflies.

I must be hungry. That’s the only explanation for my reaction, right?

“Oh, wait.” Rachel holds her hands up to stop Mom from taking the photograph. “My hair’s a mess. Jake, hon, fix it for me?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as Jake smooths Rachel’s perfect hair. She must have him on a short leash, given he cheated on me with her. And everyone who reads Reddit knows the phrase once a cheater always a cheater . I’d be worried if I were her.

John leans closer, his breath tickling my ear. “If her hair gets any more perfect, it might achieve sentience and take over the world.”

I giggle, earning me a sharp look from Rachel. It’s all I can do not to stick out my tongue at her.

“Something funny, Abby?” Her sickly-sweet tone makes me want to vomit.

“Oh, you know.” I match her saccharine voice. “Enjoying the holiday spirit and John’s wit, of course.”

Rachel’s eyes narrow.

Mom whistles to get everyone’s attention. “Say, merry Christmas.”

As we do, the camera flashes, capturing what I’m sure will be a perfectly imperfect family photo. As we disperse, I catch Dad looking at me with an unreadable expression. It disappears when he turns to help Mom with the camera, but it unsettles me.

“Well, that was fun.” John helps me to my feet. “Do we get participation trophies?”

I snort, grateful for his ability to lighten the mood. “In this family? Only if you’re Rachel.”

As if on cue, her voice carries across the room. “Oh, Jake, remember that time we won the three-legged race at my company picnic? We make such a perfect team.”

John stiffens beside me, and I brace myself for another round of The Rachel Show.

“Hey, Abby, didn’t you mention earlier how you single-handedly saved that big account last month? The one that almost slipped through the cracks?”

All eyes turn to us, and my face heats up. “Oh, um, it wasn’t that big of a deal—”

“Nonsense.” Pride fills his voice. “You worked overtime for weeks, coordinating with the corporate headquarters to land that client. It was impressive.”

The room falls silent, and Rachel’s frown deepens. She’d better be careful or she’ll need extra Botox sessions before the New Year.

“Well.” Mom breaks the silence. “That does sound impressive, dear. Why didn’t you tell us?”

I shrug, feeling uncomfortable under the sudden attention. “It’s just part of the job.”

John squeezes my hand. “A job you excel at.”

The oven timer buzzes, saving me from responding. “I need to check the turkey.”

With that, I hurry to the kitchen. A peek at the thermometer tells me the turkey has finished cooking, but my mind is full of questions. Why did John say that? Was it just part of our act, or was there something more to it? And why did it make me feel so…seen?

I don’t enjoy being on display like that, especially after a lifetime of living in Rachel’s shadow, but it was sweet of him to do that for me.

“Need any help?” John asks, making me jump.

“Warn a girl next time.” I clutch my chest dramatically. “No, I’ve got it under control. But thank you for what you said in there.”

John’s expression softens. “I meant every word. You’re incredible at what you do, and it’s about time your family knew it.”

That connection between us returns. This time, the world fades away, and it’s just us in this kitchen, surrounded by the warm scents of Christmas dinner.

Rachel cackles, breaking the spell. I shake my head, trying to clear whatever just happened between John and me. “Do you want to carve the turkey?”

“Your dad doesn’t do that?”

“Dad knows better than to step foot in Mom’s kitchen unless she’s gone.”

“I’d be happy to carve the turkey. Unless you’d rather pretend it’s your sister while you do the honors.”

I laugh so hard tears roll down my face. “That shouldn’t be so funny.”

John shrugs. “She’s earned it.”

She has, but… “You carve. Otherwise, I might go a little crazy with the electric knife.”

With a nod, he moves toward the golden bird cooling on the stovetop. I have more things to do for dinner, but I can’t stop staring at him. The more time I spend with John, the more I wish he wasn’t my boss and was really my boyfriend.

Which tells me being at home for the holidays might be pushing me toward a breakdown.