Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

T ugging my unsuitable-for-cold-weather coat tighter around me as we pull out of my aunt and uncle’s driveway, I’m still buzzing from the warm farewells. My family basically wants to adopt him and plan our wedding. Stick that in your Bluetooth and smoke it, Trent.

“Wow. That went better than I planned. Have you done this before?”

“Christmas? Yeah, once every year since birth.”

And there’s the Ronny I know.

“No. Duped someone’s family into thinking you’re the perfect boyfriend?”

“Ha! If I had, I probably wouldn’t be single.”

The self-deprecation in his playful retort has me fidgeting over my accusation. “Fair enough.” Yesterday, I’d have said it would be highly unlikely for Ronny and his glorious, good looks to be unable to snag any guy he wants, but my sense of judgment hasn’t exactly been on point with him.

“Thanks,” I blurt into the following silence. “Today was…great, ac tually. I think they bought it. Trent looked like he was going to swallow his tongue at least three times.”

“I don’t know. I almost felt sorry for him.”

That has my eyes emblazoning the word traitor with invisible lasers on his stupidly perfect forehead. Which is ridiculous. What do I care if he read Trent wrong?

“Sorry for Trent? Why?”

“People who try that hard usually aren’t actually happy.”

I sit in that Snapple bottle lid logic for a moment, blinking at the passing scenery. I’ve always focused on how Trent appeared to have his shit together and not on the possibility he might be overcompensating. A painful lump of reality gets stuck in my windpipe. I tried hard tonight, didn’t I? I brought a freaking fake boyfriend to meet my family.

Fuck. Have I become Trent?

“ I’m happy. I just didn’t want to feel like shit during another Christmas.”

“Did you?”

I felt like a worshiped and adored boyfriend. A cruel glimpse of a reality that was only mine by faking it.

I liked it. But now I feel like shit.

“No. It was good. Weird, but good.”

“Weird?” he laughs. “Am I supposed to bask in a compliment or focus on that dig?”

“I just mean you laid it on thick. The architect thing. The missing your family’s Christmas thing. And the whole, ‘ I’m not letting him get away’ comment.”

My laughter is cut short by the clearing of his throat as he glances back to the road and murmurs, “I really was an architect.”

“Yeah, I figured that much.”

I didn’t. I had kind of hoped, though, liking the wholesome reasons he gave for giving up his past profession. Ronny, the fancy Denver architect who moved home to be near his family and build with his hands .

“Well, I’m sure you probably don’t have some cousin you feel so bitter over that you try to impress them, but I owe you one. So, if you need a date for Christmas tomorrow, I’ll pay you back.”

“Um. Thanks, but they really did do their Christmas today, so I’m good.”

“Wait. That wasn’t a lie? You missed your family’s Christmas for a fake date with me? Are they horrible people are something?”

“Why do they have to be horrible?” he sputters. “Maybe they’re just understanding.”

“Oh, God. You told them you went on a fake date to help some neurotic loser?”

More annoying Ronny laughter. And here I was, almost thinking it was cute. Fuck laughter.

“Is that what I did?”

“You know, the whole answering a question with a question thing is aggravating. I love how you shut it off at my aunt and uncle’s house, but now it’s miraculously back.”

“Do you want me to pull over so you can hop out and cool off? It should only take a minute in that coat.”

This time my laser eyes engrave the word Fuckhead just below his hairline. I can’t believe I petted him.

Sighing, he shakes his head. “Okay, since impressing the family you’ve never met of your ‘aggravating coworker’ is so important to you, no . I didn’t tell them the details. I just told them I had plans.”

He could have done without the sarcasm, but it’s nice to hear the story of my holiday petulance wasn’t laughed at by strangers. “Well, you didn’t need to skip your Christmas for me. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have let you come.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t want you to feel bad, but your mom kind of cornered me, and then it looked like it might help hold your cousin in check.”

He knows I have feelings and am considerate? That’s vastly different from the exhausting, high-maintenance man I assumed he thought I was .

All the nice things he said tonight are swimming around inside my head, making it difficult to discern fact from fiction. He missed his own Christmas to spend the evening championing me and my fool-hearted scheme. Who does that, honestly? He’s not desperate like me.

My house comes into view, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. It’s over. I don’t need to make heads or tails of it.

Still…

“Can you make it there, or will they be done by now?”

“Nah, it’s fine. My brothers would kill me if I show up now and get the kids riled up. I’m sure they’re probably headed for home, anyway.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No. Trust me. It’s fine. I see them all the time since I moved back.”

Right. He moved back… to be near his family.

Damn it. Why is that so appealing?

“Well. Thanks again.” Wrenching the door open, I rattle off cheery wishes like an auctioneer whose pants are on fire. “Have a good night. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and all that. I guess I’ll see you next year.”

I’m not rude. Why is it so uncomfortable to act like a normal human being who knows his manners around him? And why does he look like I’ve just offended him?

“Uh…yeah. See you…next year. Merry Christmas, Marshall.”

I hightail it into the house as fast as I can without busting my ass on the icy sidewalk. I don’t stop in the entryway to hang up my coat. It’s too close to the door. Too close to the man in the truck outside. I don’t stop as I shuck my clothes on the way to my room and put my pajamas on like I’m on autopilot. Tucking into bed, I close my eyes and will sleep to blot out the last few hours of my foolish plan. Finally, a long time later, I stop letting myself imagine how heartfelt those three words sounded— ‘Merry Christmas, Marshall.’