CHAPTER EIGHT

Abby

I wake, and I’m so nice and cozy and warm I forget where I am. Nothing seems familiar. I blink once, twice…

Reality crashes down on me like one of Mom’s fruitcake loaves. My gaze focuses on the ivory-painted walls with no artwork or anything to give it personality. I’m at my parents’ house, which I used to call home. Although the more time I’m away from here, the more I realize it was never my home. Not really what I believe defines the word.

Something is missing, however, and I’m not talking about the popstar and mathematician posters that used to hang on the walls. My feet feel much lighter than usual. I glance at them, expecting to see Powerfluff, but she’s not there. That’s strange, given that’s where she usually sleeps.

Is she next to me?

Turning, I bump into something large—rather some one , and not a cat. What happened yesterday hits me like a runaway semitruck.

Mr. Barrington.

My boss.

John.

My fake boyfriend.

Oh my. It wasn’t a nightmare.

That means it’s Christmas morning. And I’m sharing a bed with him to save myself from family embarrassment. Oh, and we’re both wearing matching reindeer pajamas. Because apparently, the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

I consider how to get out of bed without waking him. Maybe I should have stayed awake in case Santa appeared and hitched a ride home on his sleigh. If only I didn’t live an hour and a half away and could get to my apartment on my own. But nope. I’m stuck with my boss, whom I slept with in the same bed.

Slept as in snooze and wake rested.

The last thing I need are rumors flying around the office about us.

Again, why did I want us to pretend to be dating? Oh, yeah. My family.

If I get a new job offer, can I use my remaining vacation as my notice period and never have to face John again? That seems my best bet.

John stirs beside me. I face him to see Powerfluff asleep on his chest. Now I’ve seen everything. It’s odd to see my picky cat so comfortable with him. Maybe it’s the season. It’s not like this could ever be real, right?

Of course not. He’s my boss.

B-O-S-S.

My fake boyfriend is one thing, but anything more…

No way.

Pots clanging and raised voices remind me that it’s Christmas morning. I would have preferred to sleep all day, wake up in time for dinner, and leave for home after that.

A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face, which sends my pulse skittering. “Merry Christmas, Abby.”

“Merry Christmas, John.” I should smile, but I’m too freaked out by my cat sleeping on him and not me—and how easily I fell asleep next to him and didn’t wake up once during the night. I Still can’t believe he stayed, and I hope if he needs to get to his grandparents’ house this morning, he’ll leave and not put off going there. Though, a part me hopes he doesn’t have to rush off too soon. “Ready to face the fam?”

He stares at Powerpluff, who takes the hint and moves. Something she never does with me. Interesting. Maybe she knows he’s the boss.

John sits and runs a hand through his hair, which is a little messy but nothing like mine, which probably would give Medusa a run for her money. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Although, we’re going to win the fashion game.”

I try to hide my smile, but I’m not sure if I succeed. “Oh, yeah, we’re real trendsetters. Come on, Rudolph. Let’s go spread some Christmas cheer.”

The smell of coffee makes my stomach growl. I should’ve eaten more at dinner and not skipped dessert. Oh, well…

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what today might hold. If it’s anything like every Christmas before, Rachel will have a pile of presents to open while we all watch.

John holds my hand. “We’ve got this.”

I’m so grateful for him, and I nod. “If you need to go—”

“I don’t have to rush off.”

Relief surges through me. I’m so glad he can stay a bit. “Thanks.”

We enter the kitchen together, bracing for impact. “Jingle Bells” plays as Mom flips pancakes with the intensity of a five-star chef. Dad is standing in the doorway, watching since he’s not allowed in the kitchen without Mom’s permission. At the small table in the corner, Rachel and Jake stare at each other like they’re the only ones in the house.

“Good morning,” John says.

Rachel’s gaze zeros in on our joined hands. “Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence.”

I tense, ready for battle, but John squeezes my hand.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” he says in such a jolly voice I assume he’ll ho-ho-ho next.

“Merry Christmas,” Mom says. “I hope you slept well.”

“We did, and Abby’s headache is all gone.” He takes a step closer and peers into the pan. “Something smells delicious, Mrs. Sinclair.”

“Pancakes.” Mom beams at him, brandishing a spatula. “One of our Christmas traditions.”

During breakfast, pancakes are piled high, coffee is guzzled, and the air is thick with forced cheer and thinly veiled barbs. I don’t say much and shove another bite of pancakes into my mouth. Still, frustration radiates off me.

“Present time.” Rachel jumps to her feet and runs into the living room.

John lets go of my hand. His forehead is creased, and lines form around his mouth.

“What?” I ask, hoping nothing is wrong.

“I didn’t know I’d be here for Christmas. I don’t have any gifts.”

He shouldn’t feel bad when he’s doing me such a big favor. “I’m sorry you have to be here instead of where you’re supposed be.”

“I’m happy to be here. And trust me, no one is expecting me bright and early. My family sleeps in no matter what day it is.”

That makes me feel better, and I hope what I say next will put him at ease. No one will expect anything from you. And trust me, Rachel will have so many presents she won’t even notice.”

In the living room, the air smells like fresh pine. I glance at the mantel to see a lit green candle. Mom must’ve done that. At least the fragrance is better than those scented sticks she used to hang on the branches to make our fake tree smell “real.”

Dad and Jake pass out the presents. A huge pile sits in front of Rachel, more than three times the gifts of anyone else. Yes, this is my family’s version of a perfect Christmas.

In my usual spot are two presents. That’s strange because my typical haul is one. There’s also another present sitting next to mine.

“That other one is for John,” Mom says.

John’s eyes widen. “Thanks. I didn’t realize I’d be spending Christmas here or I’d—”

“No worries. Now you have a little something to remember spending the holiday with us.”

I cringe. Mom makes it sound like they’ll never see John Barrington again. Okay, they won’t, but do they have to act like he’s so out of my league?

Rachel rips the paper off her first present and squeals, since the small box is from a local jewelry store. “Mom, Dad, you shouldn’t have.” She opens the box to find a diamond bracelet. “But I’m really happy you did.”

Mom’s smile widens. “You told us what you wanted several times.”

That sounds like my sister. I open my gift from my parents. Underneath the colorful wrapping paper is a white box. It’s not the same as Rachel’s, though. I’ve never received jewelry from anyone, not even Jake when we dated, but the box is too big for that. Still, I’m excited to get something. Last year, they gave me a pair of black gloves that fell apart the first time I wore them.

I remove the top and undo the tissue paper. I see black leather, and my heart drops. “Gloves. These will come in handy this winter. Thanks.”

Somehow, I sound normal, when a part of me wants to cry, especially with the way Rachel sits on the couch and gloats, showing me her bracelet. It’s not the discrepancy in the gifts that bothers me. My parents are allowed to spend their money however they want, but once again, I feel like I’m not even a part of the family.

John opens his gift. It’s a pair of black leather gloves. “We match.”

“Just like your pajamas,” Rachel says, not sounding impressed. “Though, didn’t you get a pair of gloves like that last year, Abby?”

I nod once, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Oh, these are different,” Mom says quickly, and Dad glances from her to me and then to Rachel.

I should say something, but I can’t. A part of me wonders if these gloves were intended for Rachel and Jake, since I have a second gift. My sister never gives me anything, and I can’t imagine her letting Jake get me a present. But I shouldn’t complain. I have an extra gift this year. That counts as progress, right?

My parents each open a present and Jake too.

Then it’s Rachel’s turn again. She’s like a feral cat opening the big box. “A purse by my favorite designer. Thanks, Mom and Dad.”

“You’ve been wanting that one since your birthday,” Mom says. “Your turn, Abby.”

I open the other present from my parents. The box is larger than the other, and my hands shake with excitement. I once again open the lid, pull the tissue paper back, and stare in disbelief.

Rachel leans forward, trying to see in the box. “What is it?”

I pull the gift out. “A pair of socks.”

“Not just socks. Slipper socks.” Mom sounds proud, not embarrassed by the gift. “They have the grippers on the bottom, so you won’t slip.”

I have no words and keep staring at the socks.

Don’t cry. Whatever you do. Do. Not. Cry .

“Thanks, Mrs. Sinclair,” John says, saving me once again. “We don’t want Abby to fall and hurt herself.”

The gift opening continues. Everyone likes what I got them, but I don’t—can’t—watch them open their presents. John glances my way, but if I look at him, I might break down.

Jake clears his throat, drawing my attention as he reaches for a box. “This one’s from Rachel.” The wrapping paper crinkles as he tears it off.

Rachel leans into him. “I hope you like it, sweetie.”

“Honey, this is perfect.” Jake’s eyes light up as he pulls out a sleek smartwatch. He kisses Rachel on the cheek.

Rachel beams, appearing pleased with herself. “I know you’ve been eyeing it for months. Now you can track all those workouts you keep talking about starting.”

Jake smiles big, fiddling with the watch’s settings. The room fills with the tinny beeps as he presses buttons.

“Here, Jake.” Dad passes him another gift. “This one’s from your future in-laws.”

Jake sets his new watch aside and takes the package. The gold paper catches the light from the tree’s multicolored bulbs. He removes the wrapping, revealing a leather-bound book.

“It’s a first edition of The Great Gatsby .” Genuine excitement fills his voice. He gingerly opens the cover, inhaling deeply. “I love that old book smell. This is incredible. Thank you both so much.”

“We’re so glad you like it, dear.” Mom smiles warmly. “We remembered you mentioning it was your favorite book in college.”

Jake mentioned the book when I dated him. I can’t believe my parents went to the effort to find a first edition—that couldn’t be cheap—and not put any thought into what they gave me.

“Jake and I must be on the top of Santa’s nice list this year.” Rachel holds two designer purses—the second must be from Jake—on her lap. “Poor Abby is on the naughty list again. Or did John get her something special?”

My blood boils, and John places his hand on my arm with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I blow out a breath, feeling the warmth of his touch through the soft fabric of my reindeer pajamas.

“I wasn’t planning on spending Christmas here, but Mother Nature had other plans.” John keeps his hand on me. “Abby will get her gift later, and I don’t want to spoil anything, but it is very special.”

Mom claps her hands together and stands. “Does anyone want more coffee?”

As we pick up wrapping paper and refill mugs, I focus on the positives in my life: Powerfluff, my job, my health, John. Well, John for as long as our charade lasts this morning.

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear again. The gesture feels so natural, so right. “Abby, I—”

“Mistletoe.” Rachel’s voice rings out, cutting through whatever he was about to say. We look up to see her dangling a sprig of the festive greenery over our heads, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You know the rules.”

We did this last night, so another time shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Except my heart pounds like a bass drum. This feels different. We’ve gotten to know each other and slept in the same bed, so maybe that’s why.

“Ready?” John asks.

No, but I smile anyway. “Always.”

His lips meet mine, and it’s not a chaste peck. He cups my face, drawing me closer, and I go willingly, eagerly. His lips are soft and warm and taste like coffee and syrup. I deepen the kiss, my hands sliding into his hair. Everything else disappears, and this kiss is the best Christmas present ever. So good I don’t want it to end.

When he finally backs away, I’m breathless and more than a little dazed. He looks equally affected, his eyes wide and searching as they meet mine. The room is silent, save for the soft strains of “White Christmas” playing in the background.

Powerfluff runs toward me with a ribbon from one of the presents in her mouth. She leaps onto the coffee table like she’s about to do one of her parkour routines, but she dives headfirst into the Christmas tree instead.

Ornaments jangle, and the tree wobbles before toppling over with a resounding crash.

Chaos erupts. Mom shrieks. Dad swears. Rachel jumps onto a chair for some reason. I’m standing frozen in John’s arms.

Our gazes meet, and we’re both laughing. The deep, full-bodied laugh shakes my shoulders and brings tears to my eyes. John’s, too. Because really, what else can you do when you kiss your fake-boyfriend-slash-boss senseless under the mistletoe in front of your family right before your cat destroys Christmas?

As John and Jake help Dad right the tree, I try to capture Powerfluff (who looks entirely too pleased with herself). I catch John’s eye, unable to stop myself from smiling at him. Our fake relationship might just be the realest thing I’ve ever had.

Merry Christmas indeed.