My Merry Mistake (Holidays With Hart #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Raya

Halloween—two years ago

Morticia Addams is staring at me.

I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, in my costume for a Halloween party.

Long, straight, dark hair. Dark, thick eyeliner. Black dress. Other than my less low-cut dress, I’m a dead ringer.

What this says about me, I’m not sure.

One thing I do know is that this whole get-up has me feeling like I’m about to make a huge, giant, colossal mistake.

And I don’t make mistakes.

Why did I say I would go? A Halloween party? With a bunch of hockey players? Also, what brain injury did I sustain right before I picked this costume?

In my defense, it was Morticia or “Sexy Ninja.”

I pick up my phone, ready to text Poppy and tell her I’ve changed my mind, but when I open our Hart sisters’ group chat, I see her last text.

Poppy

I’m SO GLAD you guys are coming with me tonight! We’re going to have so much fun!!

Leave it to Poppy to turn an off-the-cuff white lie about dating a man she met in a coffee shop into a full-fledged relationship with a professional hockey player.

I can admit I’m a little jealous.

Poppy is known for believing the best about everyone, which means she gets her heart broken very easily. And has had her heart broken very easily. But Dallas Burke seems to be exactly who she needed in her life.

But he’s the exception, not the rule. Especially when it comes to men. Double-especially with hockey players. When she started dating Dallas, I did my homework. Seventy percent of NHL marriages end in divorce.

Unlike my youngest sister, Eloise, I have no interest in opening my heart for a thirty percent success rate.

“You’re doing this for Poppy,” I say to my made-up reflection. “So suck it up, Raya.”

I transfer a few key items—a credit card, my driver’s license, and some cash—from my work bag to a small black purse, then glance down at my laptop as a work email comes in, when Poppy’s Be there in fifteen! text pops up on my phone.

A candidate for a CFO position at a Fortune 500 company is this close to accepting a very good deal, and I need to stay in the know. I type out a quick reply to the email, then let my assistant know she needs to contact me immediately if she hears anything tonight. She instantly texts back:

Suze—Assistant

But it’s Halloween . . .

Raya

And? . . .

Suze—Assistant

. . .

I’ll keep my phone on me

Raya

Great!

I close my computer, pull out a bright red lipstick—which I had to dig out of the very back of my makeup drawer—and apply it to my lips.

Fifteen minutes later, as promised, Poppy and Eloise are knocking on my door.

I give myself a last once-over in the mirror, flip off the light, and walk downstairs.

I open the front door to find Poppy dressed like a 1920s flapper girl and Eloise is Rainbow Brite, complete with colorful knee-high socks, her hair pulled up in a ponytail with a purple bow, and mid-forearm gloves that stretch over her middle fingers.

Poppy looks chic and timeless.

Eloise looks cute and bubbly.

I look like a vampire out for blood.

“Ray!” Poppy practically squeals. “You look amazing!”

“Why did I let you talk me into this costume?” I grab my purse and coat from the hooks by the door and step out onto the porch.

“Because you already sort of look like Morticia,” Eloise quips.

I only stare.

“Seriously,” she continues, blissfully oblivious. “I can’t believe we haven’t thought of it before.”

“This is not a compliment.” I walk past them and around to the driver’s side of my Altima.

“I thought I was driving,” Poppy says.

My car chirps as I click the button to unlock the doors. “I’ll drive.”

Eloise shakes her head. “Always have to be in control, don’t you?”

I pause, pretending to think about it, then say, matter-of-factly, “Yes.” I flash them both a quick smile, but they can’t be surprised. I’m the responsible one. The practical one. The one who takes charge. Someone has to watch out for them—that’s always been me.

That’s not going to change just because I currently look like a person who breeds carnivorous plants.

We slide into the car, and I start the engine.

From behind me, Eloise says, “Catherine Zeta-Jones played Morticia in that TV show, and she’s got to be one of the top five most beautiful people who’s ever lived.”

I scoff. “I don’t look like Catherine Zeta-Jones.” I pull away from the curb and out into the quiet Loveland street. Families are dotted up and down the sidewalks, walking behind groups of kids in costume, carrying bags and pails for their candy haul.

A wave of nostalgia washes over me—a flash of the three of us when we were kids—Eloise, dressed as a pirate, always running ahead, pulling Poppy by the hand to the next house, and me lagging behind, yelling at them to look both ways and make sure to say thank you.

Even then, I was taking care of them. Even then, I felt responsible.

“But it’s not an insult, is what I’m saying,” Eloise says. “You look hot. Who knew you had that hot body under those frumpy black blazers?” She shudders.

Catching her eye in the rearview mirror, she makes a face at me to let me know she’s kidding.

I smile and shake my head slightly. She’s maddening—the chaos to my order—but I couldn’t love her more.

A half an hour and a lot of Eloise chatter later, I’m parking in a garage down the street from the location Poppy punched into my phone.

“Whose apartment is this again?” Eloise asks.

“One of the players—they call him Brookie—has a Halloween party every year,” Poppy says.

“His name is Brookie?” Hockey players are ridiculous.

“It’s a nickname,” Poppy says. “He’s super sweet. You guys will love him.” She looks at me, then at Eloise. “Well, one of you will anyway.”

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her head, an innocent look on her face. “Nothing, it’s just—you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” I say as we get out of the car, and I lock the doors.

“You don’t really like people,” Eloise says. Somehow, her bluntness manages to still come across as sweet. Like there’s a hint of an apology, which is so Eloise.

“I like people,” I object. “Some people, anyway.”

We stop in front of the elevators and Poppy presses the button to go up. They look at each other, then Poppy says, “You’re just sort of, you know . . .”

At the same time Eloise says, “Bossy,” Poppy says, “Rude.” Poppy winces.

I cross my arms over my chest and feel instantly self-conscious. My dress isn’t staying where I put it, and it’s way more low-cut than anything else I own.

I also very much regret the push-up bra.

“I’m not rude, I’m honest,” I reason.

They look at each other, and then back at me.

“And quit ganging up on me, will you?” I don’t mean to be rude. I’m focused. I have a million things on my mind and, more often than not, a million responsibilities. I can’t help it—this is just how I am.

“Okay, rude is the wrong word,” Poppy says. “Maybe . . . ‘direct’ is better? You just never turn your work personality off.”

“Maybe just for tonight you could, I don’t know—let your guard down a little?” Eloise reaches over and quietly unfolds my arms, pushing them down at my sides.

“Hubba, hubba,” she says, raising her eyebrows up and down, looking at my chest.

I gasp and fold them back. “El! Seriously!”

The two of them giggle, and a part of me softens. I don’t laugh, because for some reason I don’t want them to know I thought it was funny too.

Even though it totally was.

Why do I do that?

As the numbers above the doors ascend, I can hear the elevator slowing. “You really want me to let my guard down at a party full of hockey players? No, thank you.” We step into the elevator, and I blow out a breath.

I stand up a bit straighter and pull up the front of my costume, searching for an inch more of modesty. “Besides, one of us has to have common sense tonight.”

“In case you missed it, Ray, we are actually full-grown adults,” Poppy says.

I look at Eloise and raise my eyebrows.

“I am anyway.” Poppy grins at me, and Eloise frowns.

“Hey! I’m an adult.” She shifts her Rainbow Brite costume.

Poppy giggles, and this time, I do too.

After a pause, my middle sister looks at me. “Ray, all I’m saying is that maybe if you loosened up a bit, let your hair down, had a bit of fun, you might meet someone. You haven’t dated anyone in months.”

“I like being single,” I say, but even I don’t believe myself.

Still, I double down on the lie. “I don’t have to answer to anyone or be responsible for anyone else’s feelings.

I can do whatever I want—whenever I want.

I can spend all night dancing around my house in my underwear, eating Chinese takeout, and leave the mess on the counter if I want to. ”

“Have you ever done any of those things?” Eloise asks, even though we all know the answer.

“The point is that I could.”

“Just be nice, okay? These people are important to Dallas,” Poppy says as the elevator doors open to the lobby of the parking garage.

“Poppy, I’m not not nice,” I say.

Eloise barks out a laugh. I shoot her a look, and she snaps her jaw shut.

Poppy leads us out of the lobby and onto the street, but I’m still thinking through their assessment of me. Is it wrong that I like things a certain way? Neat. Ordered. Tidy. Everything in its place.

It’s how I like my feelings too. I learned a long time ago that those need to stay tightly wrapped.

“Raya, what if you actually let yourself have fun tonight?” Eloise asks as we walk toward the skyrise apartment building. “What if you—” she gasps, for effect, per usual—Eloise is always dramatic— “flirt with a hot hockey player?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t flirt, Eloise.”

“I know, Raya,” she says, mimicking my tone. Then, she stops abruptly, takes me by the shoulders, and says, “But what if you did?” Her eyes are wild and wide.

“You look psychotic right now,” I tell her.

She flares her nostrils and widens her eyes, then whispers, “Hot. Hockey. Players.”

“Not if my life depended on it,” I whisper back.

Finally at the party, all cleavaged-up for my least favorite holiday, I’m struck with the horrible realization that I have to go inside.