CHAPTER SEVEN

John

As Abby heads upstairs, worry gnaws at me. I want to make things better for her, but I doubt anything I say will change the way her family treats her. I also don’t know what to do about it without causing a scene or making things worse, which makes me feel useless. The one thing I can do is tell them she’s gone to bed.

I return to the dining room, unsure if I’ll be able to smile after what I’ve seen tonight.

“Where’s Abby?” Rachel asks, her voice laced with suspicion.

I sit and then reach for a slice of cake, not that I’m hungry after the huge dinner, but it gives me a reason to be here. “Abby has a headache. She’s going to lie down.”

Rachel’s eyes narrow. “Should I go check on her?”

“No need,” I say quickly, perhaps too quickly. “She just needs some rest. Her electricity went out last night, so she didn’t sleep well.”

Abby’s mom smiles. “You take good care of her.”

“Always.” I mean it more than she or anyone at this table would ever know.

Before I can say more, Rachel shows off her engagement ring again, her voice rising with excitement. I focus on my cake, but each bite tastes like sawdust. How can they be so oblivious to Abby’s pain?

Mrs. Sinclair mentions a bridal registry, and I can’t take it anymore.

I place my fork on my plate. “Thanks for dinner and your hospitality.” I stand, forcing myself not to rush from the table. “I’m going to check on Abby. I’ll probably turn in, too.”

Upstairs, I stand outside the closed guest room door with a clenched jaw, and I take a deep breath. Abby doesn’t need my anger. She needs support.

I knock softly. “Abby? It’s me. John.”

“Come in,” she says.

As I enter, Abby is curled on the bed, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. She is wearing fuzzy red socks on her feet.

My heart twists when I see her looking so small and vulnerable—nothing like the confident financial consultant I know from work.

“Hey.” I sit beside her on the bed. “How are you holding up?”

Her weak smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve been better. Thanks for making my excuses downstairs.”

“No problem.” It would be weird to ask if I can hold her on my lap, but I can try to get her ready for bed and lighten the mood. “Let’s get into our pajamas and build a pillow fort.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “You brought pajamas?”

I grin, grateful to see a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, though I thought it would be the pillow fort that would do it. “Of course. I never leave home without my silk monogrammed set.”

This earns me a genuine laugh, the sound warming me from the inside out. “I want to see these fancy PJs, Mr. Barrington.”

“Ladies first.”

Abby returns, and I eye her reindeer-covered pajamas. “Are those…?”

Blushing, she clutches the clothing to her chest. “Reindeer pajamas.”

“Reindeer pajamas.”

She shakes her index finger. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I’m not saying a word.” I reach into my bag and remove an identical set of reindeer pajamas.

Abby’s eyes widen in disbelief. “We match? How is this even possible?”

“Great minds think alike?” With that, I go change in the bathroom.

When I return, her giggle is music to my ears. “I don’t think flannel qualifies as silk?”

“What can I say? I forgot what I packed.” I strike a pose. “Just call me the flannel fashionista.”

She makes a face.

“Come on,” I say, trying to get a smile out of her. “Don’t we look festive?”

She rolls her eyes, but a smile sneaks on her face. “If, by festive, you mean silly, then yeah, sure. Totally festive.”

That’s better. Now for the next part…

Maybe sharing a bed won’t be so terrible. At least it’s not a twin. Not sure my heart would survive that. “Ready to make a fort?”

As we arrange pillows and blankets, a furry head pokes out from under the bed. Powerfluff eyes us suspiciously before darting out to investigate our construction on the bed.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence.” I reach out to scratch behind her ears. The cat allows my touch for approximately two seconds before swatting at my hand and retreating to a corner of the fort.

“She’s not big on change.” Abby settles into our makeshift sanctuary. “Or people. Or anything, really, except food and rubs.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” I tease, earning a playful shove from Abby.

“I’m nothing like that.”

“Name three things you like.”

Abby rubs her chin, pretending to think hard. “Coffee… My cat… And…”

“Compelling list there,” I joke. “No wonder you’re such a ray of sunshine at the office.”

“Chocolate. I like chocolate.” She sticks her tongue out at me, and I see a flash of the Abby I know from work—quick-witted and unafraid to stand up for herself. But then her face falls, and I assume she’s remembering where we are and why. “Remember what you said downstairs? Can we pretend we’re somewhere else?” she asks softly. “Anywhere but here?”

I understand her need to escape. “Absolutely. Where would you like to be?”

She rubs the back of her neck as if thinking. “How about a cozy cabin in the woods? With a roaring fireplace and hot cocoa?”

“Perfect.” I make myself comfortable for our imaginary getaway. “Let’s say there’s a foot of fresh snow outside, perfect for building snowmen tomorrow.”

Abby smiles, her eyes far away. “That sounds wonderful. We could go sledding, too.”

“And have a snowball fight. I must warn you, I have great aim.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Abby says, a competitive glint in her eye. “I’ll have you know I was the snowball champion of my block three years running when I was younger.”

We continue with describing the cabin. Abby adds a fully stocked kitchen with more chocolate than we could eat in a year, and I describe a shelf full of board games. It’s silly, but Abby’s shoulders relax a bit.

Powerfluff cautiously emerges from her corner, eventually settling on Abby’s lap. Abby strokes the cat’s fur and elicits purrs.

“What’s the story with Powerfluff?” I ask, curious. “That’s quite a name.”

Abby smiles at the cat. “I adopted her when she was a kitten. Imagine a tiny ball of fluff. I happened to be watching a superhero movie, and I told her that she must have superpowers with all that fur. The name stuck.”

I love how her brain works. “Does she live up to the name?”

“Oh, definitely,” Abby says with mock seriousness. “She has the power of extreme indifference and the ability to knock things off tables with pinpoint accuracy.”

As if on cue, Powerfluff stretches, her paw knocking over a small stack of books we’d used to prop up part of the fort. Abby and I burst into laughter, and Powerfluff seems pleased with herself.

“See?” Abby giggles. “Superpowers.”

A comfortable silence settles over us, but I’m not ready to say good night. An idea strikes me. “Hey, since we’re in our fetching holiday attire, want to trade embarrassing Christmas stories?”

Abby smirks, propping herself up on one elbow. “You’re on. But fair warning, my stories come with baggage.”

“I can handle it,” I assure her. “You want to start, or should I?”

“Oh, no, you suggested it. You go first.”

Why did I suggest this? If anything, this should make her laugh. “I was twelve and determined to become the next great figure skating champion.”

“Figure skating? You?”

“You might find it hard to believe, but I was a graceful pre-teen,” I defend, then continue. “Anyway, my grandparents had this tradition of going ice skating on the pond near our house. This particular year, I decided it was time to show off my skills.”

Abby groans. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” I nearly laugh, remembering what happened. “I put on my skates, made sure everyone was watching, and attempted a triple axel.”

Her mouth drops open. “A triple axel? Seriously?”

“In my defense, I had no idea what a triple axel was. I just knew it sounded impressive.”

“Sounds like a twelve-year-old.”

I nod. “So, there I am, spinning wildly on the ice, arms flailing, when… crack !”

Abby gasps. “You fell through the ice?”

“Worse. I spun right into my grandmother, who was carrying a thermos of hot chocolate. We both went down, and I ended up covered head to toe in hot cocoa. And to add insult to injury, the fall ripped my pants in the back. Picture me soaked in hot chocolate and sprawled on the ice with my underwear showing.”

Abby laughs. “I hope someone has that on video.”

I groan. “They did, but thankfully, my grandparents aren’t that tech-savvy, so who knows where it is now.”

She wipes tears from her eyes. “You have to find it.”

“I really don’t.” But if it would make her laugh again, maybe I do. “Do you have any?”

“Other than wanting to be an elf and asking the mall Santa for a job application when I was eight, no.”

I can picture her doing that. Probably while her parents made sure Rachel didn’t have a hair out of place for her photograph with St. Nick. I doubt they would do the two girls together.

“What childhood dreams did you have?” I ask, wanting to know more—everything—about Abby.

Her smile falters. “Oh, you know, the standard stuff. Wanted to be a vet or a teacher. Maybe even a famous author. But here we are.”

“You’re a brilliant financial consultant. You’ve done well for yourself.”

She shrugs, picking at a loose thread on her pajama sleeve. “Yeah, I guess. But it never feels like enough, you know?”

I lean toward her. “What do you mean?”

“As you’ve noticed, Rachel has always been the ‘golden child.’ No matter what I did or do now, it never measures up to her in my parents’ eyes.” Abby laughs, though it sounds hollow. “Now that Jake’s proposed—on Christmas Eve of all nights—I’m just here. Still single. Just the other daughter.”

“I hate how they treat you.” My voice tightens. “You deserve so much more from your family. I can’t believe they don’t see how successful you are.”

“Thanks, but my mom will switch gears soon and only care about how soon Rachel and Jake will have kids after they get married, and I’m over here with my spoiled cat and wearing reindeer pajamas.”

“Hey. Look at me.” I wait for her to meet my eyes, and she does. “Your worth isn’t determined by how many kids you have or if you’re ‘settling down.’ You’re creative, smart, and one of the most hard-working people I’ve ever met. Anyone who doesn’t see that needs glasses.”

“Th-thanks.” She takes a slow breath. “I really miss my grandpa tonight. He was the one who made me feel like I was enough. Exactly as I am.”

I brush my thumb over the back of her hand. “Tell me about him.”

Her smile returns, brightening her face. “He was a total goofball but brilliant. He taught me how to play chess when I was five and never let me win, no matter how much I begged. Said it’d make me stronger in the long run.”

“Smart man.”

“Grandpa was. He’s the reason I even went into finance. Said I had ‘an instinct with the stock market.’ His words, not mine.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re great at your job.” Something clicks into place between us. Unspoken, but real.

“I just… I wish my parents could see me the way he did—the way you do, apparently.”

I move closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I’m positive your grandpa would be proud of you. And if your parents and sister don’t see how incredible you are? That’s on them. You—Abby Sinclair—are enough.”

She leans into my side, resting her head against my shoulder, and this is the closest thing to heaven on earth for me.

A low growl rises from the foot of the bed.

Powerfluff glares at us sitting so close together.

“Oh no,” Abby warns. “Her Royal Fluffiness doesn’t approve of this development.”

Powerfluff comes closer, trying to nudge us apart while making deeply judgmental eye contact. “Is she about to bite or swat me?”

“Don’t worry. She’s all bark—er, growl. She doesn’t like sharing me.”

Powerfluff rubs against Abby, marking her territory and purring loudly as if to say, “Mine.”

I want Abby to be mine, so I can’t blame that cat. “So, it’s a ‘no one can have her but me’ situation?”

“Pretty much.”

Then Powerfluff approaches me.

I straighten. “Is this a trap? Should I be concerned?”

She narrows her gaze. “I have no idea. She never approaches anyone. Be still?”

Powerfluff sniffs my hand and then butts her head against my palm, purring louder.

Abby gasps. “Does she…like you?”

“I guess?” I move my hand in slow, deliberate strokes over her fur. “Is that good?”

“Good?” Abby stares at me like I’ve pulled off a miracle. “This is unprecedented. The last guy I went out with got his shoes peed on. Twice.”

I continue petting Powerfluff cautiously. “I promise to be a loyal subject.”

“This is unbelievable.”

“Then we can’t go to bed yet. Want to share a favorite Christmas memory?”

Abby nods. “One year, my grandpa taught me how to make sugar cookies. We spent the whole day baking and made a mess. But he let me decorate them myself and acted like every cookie was a work of art. Your turn.”

“I once convinced my cousins to get up in the middle of the night so we could see what we got for Christmas. We were shaking packages and trying to open the ends, and Grandpa caught us.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“No, he woke up Grandma, and they let us open presents then.”

“I bet you were a handful as a kid.”

“Oh, I was,” I agree. “My poor grandparents didn’t know what hit them. I was often the ringleader since I was the oldest. They raised me and my cousins after our parents were killed in a plane crash.”

She touches my arm, her eyes full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” I say, shrugging. “Christmases were tough for a while, but my grandparents made sure we still had joy in our lives. I’d love for you to meet them someday.”

“I’d like that.” Her voice cracks. “Losing my grandpa isn’t like losing your parents, but he was the one who made everything magical. Holidays haven’t been the same without him.”

“Loss changes everything.”

“Yeah, it does. But you know what?” Her gaze meets mine. “Sharing these memories and talking to you helps.”

“It does.”

Abby squeezes my hand. “Thank you, John. For listening. For being here. And for being my fake boyfriend.”

I smile at her. The warmth in my chest has nothing to do with our cozy fort or the cat next to me. “That’s what partners in crime are for.”

She returns my smile, and I know that, whatever happens next, this Christmas will be one I’ll never forget.