Chapter 9
nine
Cole
I roll onto my side and wince, my eyes fluttering open at the discomfort in my lower back. It’s still dark, and it takes me a while to register where I am.
The cabin. But why does the cabin hurt so much?
It doesn’t take long for me to realize that I slept on the floor.
Well, slept on the floor with a deflated air mattress as a buffer.
My groping hands land on the reindeer stuffed animal Reese gave me last night, and my mouth curves into a smile in the dark.
There’s no movement in the room, but slowly, my eyes adjust enough to see the outline of Reese’s body under the blankets on the bed. The beautiful, soft, back-cushioning bed.
Wincing slightly, I turn onto my back again and clasp my hands on my bare stomach.
I got so hot in the middle of the night, I couldn’t stand it anymore and took off my shirt.
It felt weird to strip when Reese was still conscious, so I tossed and turned as quietly as a plastic air mattress allows.
By the time I was satisfied she was asleep, the mattress had deflated.
I thought about refilling it but didn’t want to wake her.
I also thought about getting in bed with her, but that’s a whole other can of worms that may or may not be related to the deflated mattress issue.
Given that I’d already nearly cried in front of her twice and delved into my anti-relationship history, I figured a little distance was probably preferable, even if it meant a crappy night of sleep.
I don’t know what came over me last night. I stare at nothing in the dark room, regretting my vulnerability. I haven’t cried about my mom in literal years, and for some reason, Home Alone triggers it? Twice?
Something about watching Kevin wake up to his mom gone just…hit too close to home. I can still remember those feelings. Except my mom never came back.
I straighten my shoulders, even though I’m lying down. I need to get it together. I’m Reese’s fake boyfriend. That means I do and feel only fake things, and I definitely don’t get real-triggered by a kids’ Christmas movie.
Reese brought me here because she didn’t want to feel like Brady’s leftovers while she watches him devour his next meal. She wants to look wanted, and that’s a job I can do. Too easily. Playing Reese’s boyfriend comes crazy naturally despite my lack of experience.
Maybe my system has pent-up boyfriend behavior that needs an outlet. Is that a thing?
Whatever it is, my focus today will be on making sure Reese doesn’t have time to dwell on Brady and Megan because I’m too busy making her feel like a queen. I’ve caught her looking at those two a few times, and I hate the look in her eyes when she does.
The sky starts to get brighter, and I quietly get up, grab my rumpled shirt, and go to the bathroom to address the urgent issue of the two morning b’s: breath and bedhead. I shoot off a couple of work texts while I’m at it, letting them know I won’t be there today after all.
When I come out, the room has lightened substantially, and Reese is stirring.
Her eyes flutter open and settle on me for a few seconds, then get big.
I smile at the confusion. “Good morning.”
She pushes herself up on her palms, blinking quickly, then uses her fingers to comb her hair down and tuck it behind her ears.
“Good morning.” Her gaze flicks to my mattress. “You deflated it already?”
“Um…yeah.”
“And I didn’t wake up?”
“Nope.”
“Huh.” She throws the covers to the side. “I’m usually a pretty light sleeper.”
“You sure snore a lot for a light sleeper.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my gosh! I’m so so–”
“Realx, Reese’s Pieces. I’m kidding. You don’t snore.”
She tosses a pillow at me.
“You ready for another day with me?” I ask.
“No.”
My heart jolts.
“Not like this,” she clarifies. “I need to brush my teeth and fix this mess”—she glides her hands along her hair—“before I’m ready for anything.” She looks at me. “Please tell me you didn’t wake up looking like that.”
I chuckle. “I may have snuck into the bathroom for a few minutes.”
She lets out a breath of relief and heads there herself.
I make her bed while she’s in there. I’ve just set the reindeer in front of the decorative pillows as the door opens and she re-emerges.
She clocks the stuffed animal right away. “He was supposed to be yours.”
“Her name is Biscuit,” I correct. “And it’s your turn tonight.”
“It’s a boy. It has antlers.”
“Female reindeer have antlers.”
“Do they really?” Her head tips to the side in a way I find completely adorable.
“Absolutely,” I say, like this is common knowledge and not something I learned on the back of a box of Christmas Crunch last week. “Don’t beat yourself up for not knowing. Your boyfriend is super smart. You haven’t really appreciated him properly.”
Her mouth pulls into a big smile. “I think you’re probably right about that. Should we go get some breakfast?” She looks down. “Yesterhair, yesterclothes. It’s like Groundhog Day.”
“Do they have laundry machines? I’ve got spare clothes in the trunk of my car. We could wear them while these wash.”
“Do you also keep a handful of passports and a wad of cash in your car?”
“I don’t have a passport, and I hate cash, so it’s just the clothes—and a bunch of tools. I get dirty at work all the time, so I keep clean stuff handy.”
She walks past me, pinching my cheek en route. “My boyfriend’s such a Boy Scout.”
I almost say “fake boyfriend,” but that feels a bit the-man-doth-protest-too-much. “Want me to grab the clothes?”
“Maybe after breakfast?” she suggests. “I smell pancakes.”
We head to the kitchen, where Megan and Brady are working on breakfast alongside Hannah and Tyler.
I glance at Reese, who’s noticed them and takes in a big, silent breath.
I grab her hand, and she looks at me.
I wink at her and lead her down the stairs.
We say good morning and help get the pancakes and bacon cooked, the fruit washed and cut, and the syrup warmed. Half an hour later, Tess and Dylan join the ranks, and we all sit down.
“How was the couch?” Dylan asks Brady, grabbing a fistful of bacon.
Brady shrugs. “My back didn’t love it.”
Hannah cringes like she’s personally responsible for the damage to it. “Sorry, Brady. How was the air mattress, Cole?”
Brady piles my plate high with bacon, as promised.
“It was…great.” I don’t have the heart to tell her the truth.
“Maybe we could switch tonight,” Brady suggests.
I can’t help a quick glance at Reese, who looks almost offended on my behalf. “Uh…yeah, maybe,” I say non-committally.
I wouldn’t mind letting Brady experience the floor, honestly. Apparently, I have a lot of pent-up resentment toward him.
Tyler smiles at me knowingly. “Did you even sleep on the mattress?”
“All night,” I say.
“Mmhmm.” He grins. “Definitely no secret trips to the bed, huh?”
Hannah elbows him. “Shut up, Tyler. Stop being weird. Can you pass the syrup, Tess?”
Hannah is officially on the nice list.
Reese, on the other hand, is on the red cheeks list.
Tess hands Hannah the syrup. “After breakfast, everyone can have some time to get showered and ready, and then we’ll have the next activity.”
“Which is…” Megan prompts.
Tess smiles with a hint of mischief. “Another twist on a tradition.” She addresses Brady and me. “Every year, we play a game of Christmas sardines. Whoever finds the group last has to wear the ugly Christmas sweater for the year’s picture. You brought it, right?” She looks at Hannah.
“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Hannah says. “But yes, of course I brought it.”
“Ugly Christmas sweaters are trendy,” Brady says, like he’s not impressed with the punishment.
“Not this one,” Reese and Megan say together.
They glance at each other and smile with the slightest hint of awkwardness on Megan’s end.
Not enough, if you ask me. I’ve been trying to figure her out. She seems nice enough, but what sort of good friend does what she did?
“So, what’s the twist?” Reese asks.
“It’ll be played in couples this year,” Tess says.
“Dylan and I happened upon a true treasure while looking for another pillowcase, which means we’ve acquired a second sweater for the other half of the couple that loses.
” She nods at Dylan, and he gets out of his seat, jogs to the assortment of bags on the counter, and pulls out… something.
It’s green. Not Christmas green but vomit green.
It takes me a second to realize that the brown blobby mass on the front is meant to be a reindeer.
Its 3-D nose droops from the bottom half, like it lost its sense of identity years ago and is trying to drop to the floor and roll to freedom.
Pipe cleaners stick out at odd angles, more like a threat to anyone who dares get near than like the antlers they once were.
It’s massively oversized, like it was made for an NFL offensive lineman after Thanksgiving dinner.
Smiling at everyone’s reactions, Dylan grabs something else out of the bag. It’s ugly—like a box of tinsel got in a fight with a strand of icicle lights and a ball of red yarn—but it’s at least a normal size.
“The couple who loses will don these sweaters,” Tess says.
“That one”—she indicates the tinsel sweater—“will be for the male half of the couple, while the new one”—Dylan holds up the vomit blob—“will be for the female half. And”—she waits for the chatter to die down—“we have one last little trick up our sleeve. Hannah?”
“Instead of hiding the sweater like usual,” Hannah says, “we had the cleaners hide a sprig of mistletoe. Each couple has to kiss under said mistletoe when they find it—a kiss of no less than four seconds. Now, obviously, if you’re the first couple to find it, it’ll be an honor system kiss.
But, hey, if you choose not to kiss your person when the opportunity arises, we have bigger problems than your lame dishonesty.
The second couple will have an audience of two, the third an audience of four, and the last couple will have a full audience waiting to be entertained. ”