9. CONOR

CHAPTER 9

CONOR

Gramps the Grump

Wanna come over for dinner?

I'm making green bean casserole and fresh cornbread.

Your favorite.

I know. My stomach roars like a monster merely upon reading the text message. Problem is, I think we'll be at this fair a while. And not just because Sierra's taking a long time in the women's restroom.

Me

Sorry, will probably have to work late today

Save me leftovers?

Gramps the Grump

Can do.

For a price.

My eye twitches.

Me

What was that? My fave homemade dish as thank you for taking you to the dentist and pissing my coworker off because I was so late coming back to the office? Hmm?

Gramps the Grump

Would you look at that.

New grandsons on sale on this here website I just found.

I can't help chuckling at the cheek on the old man. I'm typing back another smartass response when I feel two laser beams drilling into my head.

Lifting my eyes, I find Sierra studying me like she expects me to drop into a dead faint all of a sudden. I take a deep breath and expel it through my nose. This happens a lot after the injury, people treating me like I'm fragile.

And okay, I kind of am. But it doesn't feel great to have it rubbed on my face when that's precisely what I try so hard to forget everyday.

Now that I think about it, until this weird day, she was the only outlier.

I return my phone to my pocket and make my way over to her. "Ready to get seriously festive?"

"I'm always festive." She runs those dark eyes of hers all over my face, the seriousness in her expression not reflecting any of the cheer around us.

"Okay, stop."

Sierra reels back. "What?"

"Stop that thing you're doing. The pitying all over your face." I point at her face with my finger and run eights in the air. "That right there is what I hate the most in the entire world. And if you truly meant what you said this morning, feeling sorry for me isn't the way to make us get along."

She turns her frown away from me. "Fine, I'll try. Just watch where you're going. You're too tall for your own good and you might run smack into something and keel over in front of me."

"So that wouldn't make you happy?" I dare to nudge her with my elbow.

"No." She smacks my arm away. "It'd be too messy and with our history, I'd be suspected of murder."

"True. Aren't you regretting hating me now?" I can tell that was the wrong joke to say the second her entire body grows as stiff as a plank.

"Let's go." She walks almost robotically to the ticket booth.

I'm still trying to figure out why that comment sat so badly with her when she slams a ticket against my chest. Sierra doesn't wait until I grab it before pulling away, and I end up having to catch it midair.

"Can we find something to eat first?" I ask both to change the mood and also because, thanks to Gramps, my stomach is doing the twist and shout.

"Best idea you've had all day, Conor Mahoney."

We sweep our eyes across the place. The expanse of the convention center has been transformed into a maze of booths advertising everything from recycled wrapping paper, hand-carved elves, and glitter-covered garlands that in my opinion should be outlawed. There are so many people it's hard to see what's in the stalls beyond the entrance and no one thought of hanging high enough signs for my benefit.

But then I catch whiff of something wonderful. It's cinnamony and sugary, and I shift gears to head that way.

"What the?—"

"Follow the scent, Fernandez." I point to the left. "That way. "

I act as an icebreaker for her, though at some point we have to pass through a big crush that makes me slow down. Sierra runs into my back and I pause to glance over my shoulder. She's rubbing that button nose of hers that she typically has upturned in my direction.

Damn, she's cute.

I clear my throat. "You doing okay down there?"

"Not if you brake like that, no."

"Sorry. Grab onto my jacket, or something."

A second later, I feel the tug of her hand grabbing a fistful of my jacket. I resume the trek, pretending like my pulse didn't do a weird thing just now.

We make it to the goal and I spread my arms wide like I'm the one responsible for the existence of a food stand. "Voilà."

Sierra steps out from behind me and gasps so loud, a bunch of people nearby turn to us. She clasps her hands at her chest and screeches, "Churros?"

I double check. Honestly, I didn't really care what the food was but there's a sign hanging over the stand confirming what the goods are. And even better, it looks like they sell hot chocolate.

"No," I say gravely. " Heaven ."

I recognize the look she's giving me. It's the same one I used to get from opposing team players right before a faceoff. She stands no chance against me as we race towards the end of the line for the churros, which is probably why she tries to play dirty. Tries being the keyword there, because it doesn't matter how hard she pulls at my jacket, I'll still run even if the thing comes off.

My clothes are all askew when I get to the line before her. "Geez, woman. It's churros, not the promotion."

"You're right, you get the churros and I get the promotion. How about that?" Her lips stretch into a wide grin and something in me unwinds. This is a bit more like the Sierra I'm used to. No more pitying glances or awkwardness.

I shake my index finger. "Nuh-uh. I'm getting both and another cup of hot chocolate."

"Whatever." She gives me the cold shoulder in favor of studying the menu hanging from the top sign. I guess she doesn't know that I'm still looking at her, because she runs the tip of her tongue across her lips, already tasting the goodies.

I face forward and smack my hand against my own lips. They're tingling for no reason at all, whatsoever.

We walk away with cups of the thickest hot chocolate I've ever seen, and baggies of churros. Hers is a normal size but I got a triple because ya boy's hungry. I tuck my mutant churro bag inside the pocket of my hoodie and pluck one churro out as we walk. I bite into the hot, fried dough powdered with sugar and cinnamon and stop when I see Sierra dip her churro into the chocolate.

"What?" She asks as she chews. "This is how it's done."

"Oh." I also dip my churro and put it in my mouth.

A groan tears out of my throat once the explosion of flavor hits my tongue.

"Geez, Mahoney. This is a Christmas fair, not your bedroom."

I duck my heating face. "Sorry. I just wasn't expecting perfection on my tongue."

Sierra snorts. "Anyway, now that we have secured snacks, we should start actually working."

"Right." I take another churro from my hoodie pouch and check our surroundings out. "Let's just walk for a bit and see what catches our eye."

I let her lead the way, happy to take my time dipping churros into hot chocolate. I almost want to cry because I've been having both things wrong my whole life .

We pass by a booth with oversized tree ornaments and one with crystal reindeer in all sizes. Someone's selling Christmas trees made out of all materials, leather, velcro, even pieces of silverware. I grab the sleeve of Sierra's coat to make her stop and find my phone to take some blurry, one-handed pictures.

Up next is a booth selling candy, and this time she makes me wait so she can buy a baggy of peppermint candy canes. She seems to like those, judging by the way she smiles as she tucks them into her purse. Or maybe they're for a gift. And actually, Gramps likes these. I should get some as well.

"Can I have a bag as well, please?" I ask the seller.

"Of course, gorgeous," says the woman who could be my mother. "It'll be eight bucks for you."

"Hey! You charged me ten," Sierra grouches.

"Sorry, darling. He's my type. Tall, hairy, and with pretty eyes."

My face burns as I give her ten dollars and refuse the change. "Hairy?" I ask as we walk away. "Maybe I should shave it all off."

Sierra huffs. "But then you wouldn't get free stuff from single women."

"She wasn't single." At her look, I add, "She had a wedding ring on her finger."

"Oh, wow. You checked? Was she your type?" Sierra chuckles and I don't know why, but it annoys me.

"No, I have one eye that still works better than average. And she totally wasn't my type."

"Sure."

I scrunch up my face. "C'mon, my type is people my age."

"Hmm." Sweeping her attention around, Sierra suddenly points behind me. "Someone like her?"

I don't know why I turn. There's a blonde woman just outside a stand, dressed in the sexy version of Mrs. Claus. Actually, I think my ex wore something like this four years ago, complete with the micro mini skirt and the gaping cleavage. It had been fun back then, but being reminded of my ex by this random woman makes my mouth taste sour.

"No," I say with a shake of my head. "That was my type once but not anymore."

"Huh."

I tilt my head. "Why do you sound disappointed?"

"Not disappointed. Surprised." She shrugs. "I guess I really don't know you at all."

"Of course you don't. Today's the first time we actually had a civilized conversation."

Her teeth scrape against her lower lip and it occurs to me that right now, her lips must taste of Christmas—sugar, cinnamon, and hot chocolate.

I must've lost my mind somewhere along the way.

Shaking my head heard, I shift my focus away from her and onto the merchant stands. There's one with themed jewelry that looks like something out of a high end store. Then one with illustrations depicting realistic nativity scenes and snowy houses decked in decorations. I take pictures of some oversized gingerbread cookies that would take a whole family to eat, and in that process I lose track of my coworker.

I spot her a moment later chatting with an old man dressed in full Santa outfit, who seems to be trying to push an elf on the shelf on her.

"Um, thank you, but I really am just looking."

The man shifts his attention to me once I join them. "How about you, young man? Would you adopt one of my children?"

From the corner of my right eye, Sierra gives me a warning look. I put my hand on her shoulder to steer her away. "Sorry, I was just looking for her."

"A young couple such as yourselves should adopt one of these elves, so you're ready for when you have children of your own. "

What the—My brain glitches and I say, "We're not a couple, she's my sister."

"Oh." Santa-look-alike drops his jaw.

"Haha, see ya!" Sierra all but runs away and when we're a few paces away, she hisses at me. "Your sister? Excuse me, but we couldn't look less alike."

"I know but it worked. He was so shocked that he couldn't keep peddling his creepy little creations." I grin.

She twists her lip in a grouchy way. "Good point. Maybe we should dress as creepy elves for the party so everyone leaves us alone."

"Damn, that's a solid idea." I trail behind her and mull it over for another moment. "Actually, we should have a ridiculous but very festive dress code for the whole thing."

"Like, we dressed like elves and Richard as Santa because we're his minions?"

I snort a laugh. "That'd be great if we can convince him."

"I'm sure that if you pitch it, he'll be—Stop!"

I freeze.

Sierra's eyes are wide as saucers and she puts both hands up as a barrier, even though one still carries a steaming cup and the other one a half eaten churro.

"What?" I whisper, looking down at myself to find something offensive.

"Don't move a single step."

"Sierra, what? You're freaking me out."

She swallows hard and slowly looks up.

I do the same and find a big sprig of mistletoe hanging right above her.

"Oh." I relax.

"Don't you dare take one more step, Mahoney."

I take out another churro from my pouch and dip it in my chocolate. "And why's that, Fernandez? "

"Don't play games, you know why. There's no way I'm going to?—"

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Someone shrieks off to my left. I turn and it's the same chick in the sexy outfit from earlier. She's looking at us like we're the most entertaining thing that's happened all day.

"Shush, you." Sierra casts a mean glare her way and the woman smiles sweetly. But then my coworker sets her laser beams on me again. "And you, stay where you are. I'm going to walk away carefully and then that way neither of us will have a chance of standing under this cursed plant at the same time."

"Would it be so bad to kiss me?" I ask, chewing on my snack.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with answer." She starts walking backwards, away from me.

I swallow my snack and say, "By the way, the elf peddling Santa is right behind you. I guess you'll have to kiss him instead."

With a yelp, Sierra launches herself forward and since I don't move away, she slams against my chest. I tilt my face down just as she does the opposite. Her eyes are as wide as they can be when she checks over her shoulder and finds a grand total of no one. Not a single person or elf.

"Ugh!" She pushes against me so hard that I stumble.

"Aww, bummer," sexy Mrs. Claus pouts at us and steps back into her stand.

I'm chuckling as I follow right after Sierra, but I pause alone under the mistletoe and inspect it. I take a picture, not because I don't know what it looks like, but because I want to remember.

After I catch up to her, I mention, "We forgot to put mistletoe on the list."

"There's no way we're putting mistletoe in the venue. That's an HR issue waiting to happen. "

"I don't see the big deal. There was mistletoe at the Aspen inn last year. Didn't Karl from legal and Mindy from HR get together because of it?"

"Really?" She pauses. "I thought they got together before the Christmas party."

"I don't really know. My point is that Christmas is also a season of love, so we should put mistletoe everywhere."

She whirls around and plants herself in front of me. "Not everywhere."

"Some places."

Her frown intensifies. "One place."

"Two places."

"One and that's final."

"Fine, right at the entrance."

"So if you walk in at the same time as Richard, would you kiss him?"

I shudder. "Okay, somewhere at the back."

"That's a good boy."

I bite my churro. "Are you comparing me to a dog?"

"Hmm, someone did say that you're hairy and with pretty eyes." Is it just me, or are her cheeks darkening? But then she clears her throat and I figure she really is embarrassed at giving me some sort of compliment. "Anyway, I think I'm having a few ideas now. And you?"

Oh, yeah. A few ideas around mistletoe all right.

It takes me a second to figure out that she's referring to the Christmas party, and not about mistletoe kisses.

"Right, yeah. A few. That velcro Christmas tree we saw got me thinking."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"What if we get that thing, wrap some baseballs in felt, and make people throw them at the tree to decorate it? Whoever gets more balls to stick wins a prize or something."

"Like a twist on a fair booth? "

I shrug. "It's not the Olympics theme but it might be fun, especially if people are drinking spiked eggnog."

"I love it." My jaw drops but then she repeats, "No, I love that idea. It sounds super fun."

"Like your ball pit gift idea."

"Right." The word comes out softly from her mouth, all her energy going to her brain that I can practically see whirring. "Those massive gingerbread men cookies. What if we have a bunch of those lined up and people have to throw something random at them? Again, winning a prize if you destroy the cookie."

"Yes. A little violent and a lot de-stressing." I rub my chin. "Okay, we've mentioned prizes twice. What kind?"

"I don't know, especially if we're really going for the ball pit idea. Individual prizes would compete with that."

"But not if the booth prizes are points to be able to get more gifts from the ball pit."

"Oh!" Sierra inhales sharply. "Yes, like an arcade. You earn tickets for every game you win, then the tickets translate into more time in the pit to fish for more gifts."

A slow grin takes over my face. "So basically, we sell the idea of possibly infinite gifts."

"Except of course, they'll have a hard time wading through the ball pit because of obvious reasons, and also because they'll be drunk off their minds."

"Which also means they'll have to cycle the booths several times, which will get harder the drunker they get."

"And that sounds absolutely not boring at all!" She lifts her hand for a high five and I comply, but she latches onto my hand with surprising strength. "We've finally nailed the brief, Mahoney."

I fixate on her smaller hand grabbing mine like it's a lifeline, her fingers twined between mine. "Uhh."

But she still doesn't notice and even shakes my hand. "This is going to be the best Christmas party SPORTY has ever had. Those bonus checks are in the bag." Finally, she drops my hand and skips down the aisle.

I glance down at my hand, open and close it.

Well, I guess I'm glad we didn't kiss under that mistletoe. If grabbing her hand twice in one day has me so damn tingly, I'm sure I'd embarrass myself if I kissed her.