7. CONOR

CHAPTER 7

CONOR

I have no plan for how I'm going to tackle the work day or even the Christmas thing with Sierra, which is shitty after spending the better part of last night agonizing about it. I stretch over to grab my backpack from the passenger seat and catch a glimpse of my face in the rearview mirror.

"Whoa." I do a double take.

Is that a zombie or is it me?

Dark circles frame my eyes and speaking of them, they're red. Apparently, I also forgot to comb my hair this morning. At least that I can fix relatively easily with my hands. It's straight but springy and since I didn't put on any product, it's going to spend all day with weird cowlicks all over.

Whatever. It's not like I'm part of SPORTY 's calendar of hot athletes.

Sighing, I drag myself and my backpack out of my pickup. It feels drastically colder today, like maybe it could snow soon. Closing my eyes, I inhale deep and feel a faint note of ice. Or I could be hallucinating because I'm running on little sleep and lotta coffee.

I hoist my backpack and weave through the parking lot toward the entrance of the building. With one hand, I fish through my pockets until I locate my ID in my joggers' left pocket. The stream of employees narrows at the entrance where everyone has to badge. I recognize one of the sales guys and tip my head in acknowledgement.

"Dude, you look like you either had a great night or a really bad one."

I offer a Mona Lisa smile. He can think whatever he wants. I don't have to broadcast to the whole company just how truly uncool I am.

"How's Linda?" I ask about his wife, to direct his attention away from me.

"So pregnant, dude." He shakes his head in something like awe. "Due around Christmas."

"That's awesome, man. It's going to be?—"

"Conor?"

A different voice sounds behind me and I snap my mouth shut. Slowly, as if this was a horror movie and not a random Wednesday morning, I turn to face the scariest person in the entire building. Except Sierra's in a brown coat and a beige beanie that matches those chunky boots women love in the winter. Not really axe murderer material.

More importantly, her expression looks normal. And by normal, I mean everyone else would think she's glad to see me.

That's weird.

She tips her head like she's asking me to head over to her. It's not some creepy dark corner but the opposite end of the reception desk, and I'm pretty sure there are plenty of security cameras around the lobby. Besides, her hands are busy with two hot drinks and not with sharp knives. Should be safe, I guess.

"Uh… I gotta go, but send my regards to Linda, yeah?" I tell the sales guy .

"Not unless you want her to set you up with her cousin. She still talks about you, you know?"

I give an awkward laugh and wave my hand at him. Sierra's eyes study me as I approach and my self-consciousness skyrockets. I should've made an effort this morning. Maybe I should've worn something sharper than one of my old St. Cloud U sweatshirts. Or the same joggers I wore yesterday. When's the last time I trimmed by beard? And is that a finger smudge across my glasses?

After standing at a safe distance from her, I say a very awkward, "Hi."

Instead of responding, she offers one of the cardboard cups to me. I blink at it.

"It's hot chocolate. I know you have a sweet tooth," she says.

"Um…" My eyebrows twist in confusion as I accept it. "Is it poisoned?"

Her expression flashes to annoyance. "You know, I considered it, but then if I go to jail there won't be anyone to take care of my parents."

"All good points." I wrap both hands around the warm cup and bring it against my chest. "However, I'm still confused as to why you're giving me this."

"It's a token of my apology." After a quiet beat, she adds, "I'm sorry."

My eyes pop wide open.

She shifts her weight to another leg. "Say something."

"Hold on, I'm processing."

Sierra releases a big sigh and drops her head a little, only to take a sip of her own drink. "I know this probably makes no difference but… what you said yesterday made me think a lot. And you're right, I've been horrible to you."

"No, I—That's not what I meant. It's just—" I stop when she raises a gloved hand .

"It's true. I don't know if it's the first generation American or the only daughter thing, or the fact that I was a former gifted child who isn't being bullied anymore but still constantly struggles with an adult world that doesn't just work out every single time I make the smallest effort." Sierra fills her lungs with a big breath and adds, "You've been the main reason I've had to grow up."

"Huh?"

"I had it relatively easy at work until you showed up. Like, Rachel and I are a unit. We work together like a well-oiled machine and produce results just like it. And the others are good, but they're not as good as us. Then you came in and you became my… competition. And I didn't like it." She shrinks. "See? I'm horrible."

My head's spinning. I run my hand through my hair just to make sure my head's still in its place. "I… don't know how I feel about getting a compliment that comes along with insulting yourself."

"I'm not saying I'll start being your bestie now, so don't get too excited."

"Ah, now we're talking." I smile a little as I raise the hot chocolate. The scent envelops me in the comfort that was missing until this very moment. "So, truce?" I ask for the second time in less than twenty four hours.

"Truce." Sierra nods.

I shift my cup to my left hand so I can offer my right. "You have to shake on it. That's how it works."

"Fine, let's make it fully legal." Her brow scrunches as she bites the tip of her finger gloves and pulls it off. She grabs my hand without hesitation and gives it two solid pumps before releasing. "There, happy?"

That's not how I would describe it. The problem is that I can't. I take advantage of sipping the peace offering so I don't have to speak .

Her hand fits perfect in mine. It's so much smaller but strong nonetheless, like the physical manifestation of her personality. The big difference is that her skin is so soft it made mine tingle. As we walk over to the elevators, I open and close my hand, trying to rid it of the sensation.

We fall to the back of the elevator as three other people hop on and I don't feel any less nervous because we signed a peace treaty. The littlest wrong move could push us to war again.

Even then, there's one pressing concern. Clearing my throat, I ask, "So, what are we going to do about this thing?"

"Well, if you don't have any meetings this morning we can brainstorm."

"I'm clear. I'll book us a meeting room," I offer.

Sierra nods and it's silence after that. I decide not to push it and add nothing further until we reach our floor. We take a moment to set up at our desks and, while she chats with Kaylee, I find us an open meeting room one floor below ours.

A few minutes later, we're armed with hot chocolates and laptops, sitting across each other in the meeting room. Sierra alternates between looking at me and at her screen, but doesn't open the conversation like she normally would. She's a take-charge kind of person and this is uncharacteristic. Like maybe she also can't find her footing in this weird new dynamic.

"Um…" I push off the table and stand up. This room has a smart whiteboard and maybe that's a better way to go about it. "How about we just start by throwing some keywords about what we each think makes Christmas special?"

"Sure. Let's start by the basics." She glances down and says, "Hot chocolate."

I jot it down on the board, followed by eggnog.

"Mulled wine and gingerbread cookies," she says next.

"Peppermint anything," I say and add it to the list .

"Snowmen. Which, by the way, I've always wondered why they can't just be called snowpeople."

"Good point. It's not like you can see what's between their legs." After a pause, I add, "They don't even have legs."

Sierra snorts. I turn over my shoulder and I find an amused smirk on her face. I face the board again and bite my lip. Making her smile for the first time shouldn't feel momentous and yet, here we are.

"Reindeer," I say in a thick voice.

"Garlands."

"Elves that are never on shelves."

"Gifts."

"Trees."

"Lots of lights. I'm pretty sure the space station can see my whole street right now." Sierra laughs lightly.

"Are you big on Christmas?"

"Oh, yes. We do the religious Christmas and also all the silly stuff too. It's my favorite time of the year." She claps her hands. "Oh, music! Can't forget the classics."

I lift the corner of my mouth. "Like Mariah Carey?"

" The classic."

Once I've included music on the list, I say, "Ice skating. That's a very Christmas thing for most people. What else?"

We speak in unison. "Santa."

"Although to be clear, in my house the one who gives us the Christmas gifts is Baby Jesus."

"Really?" My eyebrows rise.

"Yep, that's the tradition back in my parents's home country. Apparently in Spain, it's the three wise men."

"Huh."

"I think this makes it pretty clear that we need to have food, drinks, decorations, and gifts in whatever we do."

"Right. The question is how to incorporate this into fun, sporty events." I rub my jaw and realize my beard's wild enough that I probably look like Sasquatch. "And I think we need to really nail down the events before we even look for venues."

"Ugh. I almost forgot about that." Sierra puts her face in her hands. "This is ridiculous. Why do we have to start organizing this so late? Like, I'm sure all venues in town are already taken."

"It's supposed to be a challenge, I guess." I read through the list on the board again and start noting down basic event planning stuff. Venue, catering, decorations. It'd be great if we could work backwards and just book all the logistical stuff first, but what if we end up needing a bigger place? Or smaller?

"Well, I've been giving myself headaches from thinking so hard but other than gift ball pit, I haven't come up with anything else that sounds good. You?"

I cringe a little. "Would you kill me if I tell you I got nothing?" Especially when I've been thinking more about our rift than this project.

Sierra sighs and leans back on her chair. "Clearly we need inspiration."

"Should we go talk with a mall Santa?" I joke but she tilts her head like she's considering it.

"Hmm, not a terrible idea."

"You can't be serious." I snort.

"Well, no that." She sits up straight and types up on her computer. "My mom is a nail tech and one of her customers was talking about this Christmas fair she's organizing. Maybe we can try that."

"My brain's not braining so I'm down."

"Okay. Should we take a field day to the fair?"

With her? Just us? No coworkers nearby to keep us civil? Or to keep me sane ?

"Let's do it," I agree, as if I wasn't triggering a whole existential crisis within myself. Because it makes no sense that I'm feeling something close to excitement when just an hour ago I dreaded being around her.