Chapter 1

one

SYDNEY

“Please, Sydney?”

I don’t dare lift my eyes from the foam art I’m attempting. So far, my leaves have just looked like blobs. I rue the day that I made one on a little girl’s hot chocolate just to make her smile. She was having a bad day and a heart is so fucking easy, but now I need to learn how to make snowflakes because…tourists.

“No,” I say again as I try to ease up on the pour from the steamed milk.

Somewhere overhead, Bing Crosby is crooning about a white Christmas before Thanksgiving is even dead and buried. I decide I’m done with this stupid holiday and pour the milk in its entirety before sliding the cup cover to Louis.

“This is my fifth of the day,” he points out as he takes it and sips.

“I switched you to decaf after your third. You think I would inflict that on myself?” I ask my oldest friend. He’s wearing a tan cashmere sweater, a gift from his dad from last Christmas. It’s painful how good-looking my friend is, with his warm dark skin and light blue eyes. There were thirty-two seconds I had a crush on him when we were twelve, but like most things at that age, it was fleeting.

“I think that you don’t have anything better to do the day after Thanksgiving anyway, so you should come with me to this party,” he pleads again, adding a little bit of whine to his voice, and I roll my eyes before turning back to the espresso machine to try again.

“Mary said she’s going to have my ass if I don’t learn how to make snowflake latte art for the tourists, because she’s started to advertise it.”

Ever since some lifestyle blogger spent the holidays in Evergreen Lake last year, people have been flooding to the town in droves, looking for that Christmas charm that was featured. This is the first Christmas we’ve had since she shared all her featurettes, and everything is sold out, from the ski mountain two towns over to people’s apartments. I like it better when my town is not flooded with tourists.

Every holiday season, I consider that taking this barista job might be one of the worst decisions I’ve made. Making coffee is easy enough; I’ve even mastered the perfect espresso. What is not easy is having to deal with people all day, every day. If I wasn’t sure I would get arrested for assault, there were more than a few cups I would have spit in. Luckily, I can get my petty revenge in the form of decaf. The trick is adding a hint of actual espresso so there is a little kick hiding.

“It’s not like you need this job,” Louis says, flipping his perfectly messy dark curls. He’s leaning against the counter, looking like he’s in an ad for some expensive cologne. He even has the unaffected distant stare going.

“No, Louis, that’s you who doesn’t need a job. I have actual bills to pay.” That doesn’t even include that commitment I made to sponsor a family for the holidays. I don’t have to pay for their weekly housing or anything, but I am supposed to get them gifts and collect nonperishables so they can have a holiday meal. My stupid heart chose a family of seven–three girls, two boys, and mom and dad. All mom and dad asked for was food and gifts for their kids. I have the snowman with their information stuck in my wallet so every time I want to spend money on something stupid for myself, I have to see that and remind myself that this is the season for giving.

I have no idea what came over me when I did it, maybe invasion of the body snatchers. Or maybe it was the photo of the family in their threadbare clothes all smiling and happy.

“Yes, I know, and that adorable family to shop for. I told you I would give you some money for that.”

My head snaps in his direction, and the rapid movement calls his attention directly to me. “Don’t be a jackass. You know I want to do this on my own.”

It’s stupid and I’m stubborn for not accepting his help. If I were smart, I would take the money Louis is offering me, but I want to do something good for these people my own way, even if part of that is very Robin Hood. Just once, I want to do something for someone else.

He heaves a sigh. “This party is at Fran?ois’s house.” Louis leans conspiratorially across the counter to me, and I look around for my boss, finding her nowhere nearby. “Your little five finger discount could probably find some nifty things to pawn that he would never notice missing.”

I look back at what I was doing and frown. One of the downsides to having an old friend like this is that they’ve seen you at your worst. We’ve been friends since second grade when Carmen DeSantos made Louis cry when she said that he was a reject because his mom didn’t want him. I didn’t know Carmen or Louis, but I didn’t like bullies, so I shoved her and her lily white dress into a mud puddle and told her that if she said stupid shit like that to my best friend again, her mother was going to learn what it was like to not have a daughter.

Yes, I actually said shit at seven years old.

Yes, I was dramatic enough to threaten to off another seven year old. My parents didn’t particularly care about what was considered age-appropriate. That was also the year I learned the truth about Christmas.

I think about the faces of those three girls, each one of them touching the single doll they had to share between them. I could pawn just a few cufflinks and no one would even know. Maybe a tie bar. I’ve seen Fran?ois in the café. He accidentally knocked his mug of coffee onto his laptop and just threw it out like it was a dirty tissue. I mean, I’m not disappointed or anything because I fished that brand new shiny Mac out of the trash and had a friend repair it. Fran?ois’s quick thinking of just throwing it out actually saved it because the liquid was able to drain out.

Sure, the space key doesn’t work great, but I get by.

I bite my lip and from the corner of my eye, I see Louis smile. He knows he has me. Just because I stole a pair of earrings from some kitschy store when I was eleven. It’s not like I’m some thieving mastermind, and what Louis fails to remember is that it was an accident. I was reaching for something else and the earrings got stuck to a bag I was already holding. I couldn’t come clean about that, since it upped my street cred. Because that’s what a pre-teen needs, street cred.

“What kind of party? Because if I have to dress in some ugly Christmas sweater, you’re going to rue the day I came to your rescue.”

“It’s a key party,” he whispers with delight.

I nearly shatter the porcelain mug in my hand, slamming it down on the counter. “It’s a what?”

“You know, a key party, where you go and you put your keys in a bowl and draw someone else’s, and then you fool around with them. I’m sort of hoping to get grabbed as a plus one myself.”

“I thought I was your plus one,” I point out. I glance up at the clock and sigh, relieved my shift is over. It’s three in the afternoon, which means I still have all evening to myself, except apparently not.

“So, technically, I’m Ollie’s date, but Fran?ois apparently mentioned that if I came as a sort of third, I could…you know…be a third.”

“You will not be my third,” I say, pointing a finger in his face.

Not that I think he would be my third, but with Ollie also attending, it’s nice to know I won’t be totally alone while Louis gets his flirt on. That’s the problem with living in the same town where you grew up with a small class of kids. But if Fran?ois is throwing the party, there’s a chance I won’t know anyone else. Fran?ois is like the shiny new thing. He discovered our little haven five years ago and has been trying to develop it with the promise of tax breaks and jobs, but he’s learned, like most people, that trying to change things in a small town is like trying to make a river change direction. Now, I think he’s in talks to buy one of the ski chalets nearby.

Ollie is the human embodiment of an orange cat, all chaotic energy, dumb ideas, and full of affection. We dated for about five minutes in middle school until Carmen DeSantos caught his eye, and I found out that he sent her a balloon for Valentine’s Day. I called it off. Clearly, I knew my worth.

After that, I realized that there wasn’t much for me in terms of dating in this town, especially when Carmen was always there ready to swoop in when I showed any interest in someone. There were a few awkward hookups, including losing my virginity during an ill-advised hookup in the back of a pick-up truck with a senior when I was fourteen. For the most part, I was the bad egg in school, always a wiseass, never big on school participation.

I flourished when I went away to college, for all the good an unfinished marine biology degree is doing me in Nevada.

“That’s gross,” Louis says. “I would never want you to be my third. It was bad enough seeing your tits at prom. I would not like a repeat.”

I cup my boobs as I step out from behind the counter and head toward the employee area. “What is wrong with my perfectly adequate C cups?” I pout.

“Baby, if you’re a C, I’ve been hooking up with the Prince of Mondelia.” He pokes at my boob. “You haven’t been a C cup since high school. Try going for some Daisy Dukes.”

“I do not have double Ds,” I say outraged, but he’s probably right. “And since when have you known the Prince of Mondelia? I would also like to hook up with him if you’re into sharing.”

“I would like to direct you to my previous point of never seeing your tits up close and personal again.”

I pause with my hand on the door. “I would like to refer you back to the start of this conversation where you invited me to a key party for the purpose of having sex with another person. What happens if I draw your key?”

“Then I’ll have to fake my death. Go hang up your apron. I need to get you in to get a wax at the salon.”

Now I’m just offended. “What makes you think I need a wax?”

“Sydney. Second grade. I’ve known you since second grade. I’ll be shocked if you’ve shaved your legs since summer.”

Damn him.

But who needs to shave when they’re not getting any, anyway?

“I hate you. ”

“I love you too.”

I’ve been waxed within an inch of my life by Louis’s ex-girlfriend, who hates me because she thinks that I broke them up in high school. That’s another problem of living around all the people you went to high school with: everyone treats life like an extension of high school.

I can’t put my finger on what is driving me to go to this party. Louis’s suggestion to steal lingers in the back of my mind like this insidious thought I can’t shake. That isn’t the only thing calling me to this party. It’s the prospect of having sex with someone other than myself, even if that’s also terrifying. My dry spell has been…Sahara Desert dry down there, but I’ve never been the type of person to have super casual sex. Blame small town life, but you can’t exactly knock boots with two different guys without having the town think you’re a floosie.

Just once, I would like to meet someone and have a chance to make it work without Bernice leaning over and telling him all about how I bled through my white dress during some stupid town event when I was 14. I wish neither of those was true.

I’m squeezed into a green dress that’s definitely a size too small, but I can’t find it in me to care since it makes my boobs look great, even if it is hugging my curves a little too tightly. I’ve never been the type of girl who found it necessary to diet and work out aggressively to fit into clothes. I like food, and I like my body. That being said, no one wants to feel like they’re walking into a party with all their insecurities on display.

“Where did you get this dress, anyway?” I ask as I try to tug the hem down. I don’t know where Louis intends for me to put my stolen goods. You can practically see the bagel and cream cheese I ate for breakfast as an outline on my stomach.

“A girl left it at my house.” Louis’s sure steps are leading the way up the curved driveway. Admittedly, we are late because of me. I refused to walk out of the bathroom in this dress at first, so his car is the last one, parked behind a familiar looking pick-up truck. We must walk past at least twenty cars, so I know this is going to be a big event.

I just don’t know if I have it in me to steal from another person. I felt badly about the earrings when I realized what happened, but not bad enough to return them. Okay, so maybe that one crime made me feel emboldened to try it again on a hot red thong at a department store. When I was fifteen there were a particularly bad few months with my parents that had me acting out in the worst way that involved stealing a few, again small, items when my mom told me no. It felt like the best revenge that year to give her stolen perfume for mother’s day.

But stealing from a person, it feels like such a violation. Granted, fifteen years later, I feel icky about my initial crimes, but I’m hardly going to confess now. Besides, I think there’s some statute of limitations on that.

I stop walking when I realize what Louis said. “She left her dress at your house? What did she wear when she left?” I ask, huddling closer into my coat.

“Nothing,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing. He got to stay in his cozy sweater and jeans while I’ve just about got my cooch on display.

Fuck being a woman sometimes.

“I don’t think I even have words for that. Actually, I do: I really hope you got this cleaned first.”

“Of course, I did. Would you quit being a ninny and come on? We can go into the warm house and you can finally fuck some cobwebs from that sorry old cunt.”

“You know, you’re really rude for a guy who made me get that sorry old cunt waxed.” I shuffle to catch up with his long strides.

Louis slings his arm over my shoulder and tugs me into his warmth. “Does it make you feel better to know I got my own Brazilian wax too? I want to make a good impression.”

I squirm, clenching my butt, before stopping and looking up at the behemoth of a house. I don’t think it’s fair to call it a house. It’s a chalet, a mansion, practically a whole fucking ski lodge. It’s built to look rustic, with fake log siding and apparently enough rooms for twenty couples to fuck.

Each window is illuminated and looks warm and inviting.

“Fuck, I never thought you two would get here,” Ollie says, blowing into his hands.

“Why didn’t you just wait inside?” I ask as he leans down to kiss my cheek.

“Because entering as a threesome is part of the allure. Now, let’s go babes,” Louis answers for Ollie, looping one arm with mine as Ollie takes my other arm, leading us inside.

We enter into a small vestibule, where we take off our coats and hang them on a rack by the door. I feel so exposed, but Louis pokes me until I stand up tall. My dark brown locks, which have been perfectly curled, frame my face. Louis looks at me like I’m his crowning achievement. I guess in a sense, he did turn me into a masterpiece for tonight.

When we walk into the party arm in arm, I try to look for the host, but instead my gaze is drawn toward Dennis Mitchell, who looks just as uncomfortable as I feel. He’s nursing what looks like a glass of whiskey, glancing around the room, probably for his girlfriend, Carmen. His white shirt is a tight fit on him, showing off all the muscles he’s gotten from protecting and serving as one of our handful of deputies in town. We don’t get much crime, but he always looks ready to take on the world.

More than once he’s wandered into my fantasies in silly ways, like saving me from getting hit by a car or stopping a bank robber single-handedly. I naturally do what any good citizen would do and spread my legs for him on his squad car. The fantasy is always ruined when I remember that he’s very committed to his relationship with the she-devil. No, that’s not fair to the actual devil.

There was a moment when we were teenagers and I thought maybe he was a good guy. My crush on him was this secret I harbored, since he was three years older than me and never would have noticed a lowly freshman like me while he was the star of the soccer team. My friends always poked fun at him being such a Boy Scout about everything. Instead, he started to date a different lowly freshman, Carmen, and they’ve been together ever since.

His blue eyes lift and meet mine, probably drawn to who entered the party. His mouth drops open just a little, and I can feel his gaze travel the length of me, down to the high heels that set me much taller than my usual five-two frame. He seems to remember himself, that he’s dating Carmen, even though he’s at a key party, and he looks away, draining his glass.

It seems Deputy Perfect hasn’t changed at all.