Chapter 3 #2
I should get up and walk away. While my head knows the timing is wrong, I also know he’s out of my league. But my stupid heart is slow to catch up. It’s been broken too many times in my twenty-five years. Do I really want to risk it again?
Just hear him out.
Because while part of me dies knowing he doesn’t want me, the rest of me is leaping at the chance to experience the Christmas Mom and I always dreamed of.
“Okay,” I say tightly. “You need someone to fake being your girlfriend, so you don’t get stuck sleeping in bunk beds with a bunch of little kids?”
“It’s a sofa bed,” he corrects, his lips quirking up.
“Honestly, bunk beds might be better. I want to enjoy my time with my family, not live in hell every night.” He pauses, then explains, “I’ve got two brothers and a sister.
Tyler’s the oldest, so he always had his own room, Mallory is the youngest and the only girl, so she got her own room too.
And since we lived in a four-bedroom house, Grant and I had to share a room.
Whenever we go home, we all stay in our old rooms. Which works great for Tyler and Mallory, but not so great for Grant and me.
But for the first time, Grant’s bringing his girlfriend, which means I’m stuck in the rec room with three tiny terrors and bed springs from hell.
Unless”—his mouth tips up in a sly grin —“I show up with a girlfriend. And because I’m older, I’ll get the room. ”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I say. “Grant’s had his girlfriend longer.”
“But I’m older,” he says, like that settles it. “So, I get the room.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Which still seems unfair.”
“I didn’t make the rules.”
“You’d seriously make your brother and his girlfriend sleep with kids on the bed from hell?”
He shrugs. “Grants younger than me and has a better back. He’ll survive.”
“And his girlfriend?”
For a split second, guilt flashes in his eyes. Then he shrugs again.
I’ve always suspected there was a ruthless streak in him, and this pretty much confirms it. “Why not stay in a hotel?”
“For one thing, every hotel in a fifty-mile radius is completely booked. But even if I found a room, my mother would have a fit. She insists Christmas isn’t the same unless we’re all under the same roof.
And she’s right. We stay up late talking, playing games, and watching movies.
Mornings mean my parents cook amazing breakfasts.
And then, of course Christmas Day wouldn’t feel the same if I was driving in from somewhere else.
” I’m surprised by the wistfulness in his voice. “It’s home.”
“Which is why Grant and his poor girlfriend get the broken springs and a pack of wild children.”
Alex catches the sympathy in my tone. “Trust me, Finley, he’ll be fine. Besides, he deserves it for all the crap he’s pulled on me over the years.”
My blood turns cold in my veins. “Wait. Am I part of a practical joke?” The edge in my voice is sharp enough to cut glass.
“What? No!” His eyes widen, panic flashing across his face.
“It’s not like that.” My glare lingers until he finally looks sheepish.
“You’re not a joke, Finley.” He exhales.
“I’ll be honest, when Roland pitched it, I thought he was insane.
But the more I considered it, the more it made sense.
” He leans forward. “You’ve always wanted a white Christmas, and this is your opportunity to experience it. With all the cliché trimmings.”
I cringe. “I don’t know about cliché.”
“Sorry,” he says, his hand raised. “I didn’t mean it that way.
I mean traditional. Honestly, I haven’t done any of that stuff in years.
My sister Mallory loves Christmas too.” His expression softens.
“She’ll adore you. She’s usually outnumbered by us boys, so she’ll have you for an ally. You’ll have an instant friend.”
I have to admit it all sounds tempting, except for the tricking people. “But Alex, it’s your family. You’re bringing a stranger home. At least Grant’s girlfriend is real.”
For the first time, guilt flickers across his face.
“I’ve thought about that. Look, I don’t want you to feel trapped.
If my family’s too much, then you can head off on your own.
The house is only a few blocks from downtown, and I’ll cover for you if you want space.
And if you really hate it…” He shrugs. “I’ll send you home early. ”
I blink, stunned. “That’s not what I meant. I meant—how do you think your family will feel about me?”
He looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “They’ll love you, Finley.”
Excitement bubbles up before I can stop it. Then reality smacks me like a snowball to the face.
It won’t be real, Finley. It will all just be pretend.
But isn’t pretend better than nothing?
“Okay,” I say slowly, “but if your family hates me—”
“It’ll never happen,” he says, adamantly.
“For the sake of argument, let’s say they do, and I go home early. Then you’re stuck with the sofa bed.”
He grimaces. “They won’t hate you, and I’m counting on you to fall in love with the town.
But if you feel the need to leave, I’ll buy you a ticket home and figure out my sleeping arrangement later.
” A mischievous grin lights up his face.
“But they say possession is nine-tenths of the law, so Grant will have to drag me out.”
Which meant once he gets in the room, he has no intention of giving it up.
Walk away.
I should get up and go back to work—to my safe world. But every time he mentions his family or the town it makes me want it more.
What am I doing? I can’t believe I’m considering this.
Alex seems nice, but how well do I really know him?
He’s sweet when he comes into the shop, and I’ve seen him drop five- and ten-dollar bills into the tip jar.
He’s confident, but not like the finance bros from Hillman Investments on the fifteenth floor.
I cringe every time they swagger in, ordering their drinks with a heaping side of innuendo.
If one of them had proposed this, I wouldn’t be sitting here.
The truth is—I wouldn’t do this with anyone else.
Which is what makes this even more dangerous. Sure, I might get the Christmas I’ve always wanted, with a family that Alex claims will love me—but it’ll be with a man who thinks of me as his sister and a family that’s not mine. Is the reward worth the potential pain?
Be practical, Fin. Treat this like a business deal.
I clear my throat, aiming for professional. I doubt I’m pulling it off, but it’s worth a shot. “We need to talk money. Tickets this close to Christmas won’t be cheap.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll pay for everything,” he says emphatically. “Flights, meals, everything. Consider it an all-expenses-paid vacation.”
“That sounds great,” I say, wincing. “But I’ll be missing a week and a half of work.”
His enthusiasm dims as though he hadn’t considered that. “Okay, I can cover that. I’m guessing you work forty hours a week?”
“I work thirty-eight here,” I admit, grimacing. “They can’t give us forty hours or that will make us full time. And if we’re full time, the owner has to give us vacation and health insurance.”
His mouth drops, then snaps shut. “Wait. You don’t get vacation or insurance?”
“Nope.”
He blinks, baffled, like it never occurred to him that an adult could work without getting benefits. “Yeah, sure. No problem. Tell me how much money you’ll lose, and I’ll cover it.”
“That’s great.” I feel greedy, but I’m doing him a favor. Why should I feel guilty for missing nearly two weeks of work? “But this isn’t my only job.”
This time, he doesn’t bother hiding his shock. “How many jobs do you have?”
“Regularly, just one more. I’m a part-time phlebotomist at a nearby hospital. But sometimes I pet sit when my neighbors are in the hospital.”
He grins like I’m joking. “Your neighbors routinely go to the hospital?”
I release a short laugh. “When the median age in my apartment building is seventy-eight, it happens.”
He stares, dumbfounded. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he finally says, “Why are your neighbors so old?”
“I live in a low-income senior apartment complex,” I say with a shrug. “How I got there is a long story about a paperwork snafu, but bottom line? The rent is cheap, and my neighbors are amazing.”
His grin turns smug. “Then you can tell me the long story on the plane.”
There’s that confidence. He thinks I’m hooked, so I arch a brow. “I haven’t agreed to go.”
“Yet,” Alex sits taller. “Figure out how much money you’ll miss from both jobs and text me the amount.” His phone vibrates against the table. He turns it over, frowns at the screen, then turns it back over and gives me his full attention.
“I want a contract,” I blurt, surprising myself.
But Maggie was right—I need to treat it like a business deal.
He’s already made it clear there’s nothing romantic about this, so if I’m giving up two weeks of wages, I need something legal to hold him to it.
Lord knows I’ve been burned by men who claimed to love me.
I’m not about to let someone who doesn’t get away with it.
Alex looks taken back, then he gives me an appreciative nod. “That’s a good idea. Text me your terms, and we’ll get it ironed out.” His phone buzzes again, and this time he looks irritated. “Sorry, Finley. I need to take this.”
He slips a card from his shirt pocket and sets it on the table.
“This has my email address and phone number. Once we’ve worked out the details, send me the contract.
But I need to have it by tomorrow night so I can tell my mom and book your tickets.
This close to Christmas, we’ll be lucky to get seats on the same flights. ”
He’s already on his feet, answering the call before I can respond. He strides out, his low voice murmuring into his phone.
I watch him go, battling myself. This isn’t me. I’m practical. Careful. Not impulsive.
Nothing about this is practical.
Promise me you’ll be impulsive. Take risks. Promise me you’ll live, Finley.
My mother’s voice is so clear it steals my breath.
I close my eyes and I’m back in her hospital room.
She’s lying in her bed. Her hair thin and patchy from chemo.
A nasal canula taped to her face. She’s so frail, she’s almost a skeleton.
She clutches my hand, trying to squeeze, though her strength is gone.
Tears shimmer as her chin trembles. “I named you Finley Joy for a reason.” Her chin trembles again.
“You’ve been the joy of my life, Fin. But you can’t always play it safe.
Sometimes joy isn’t in the safe places. Sometimes you have to take risks to find it.
You have to be impulsive.” She squeezed my hand again. “Promise me you’ll try.”
Through my tears, I nodded. “I promise.”
I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts. The holidays are always worse, but this year is harder. Lonelier. I picture Christmas Day in my apartment with Maybelle, eating my sad Christmas dinner, with no presents waiting under my sad, thirty-year-old, artificial tree.
But the truth is, I’ve broken my promise to Mom. The most impulsive thing I’ve done since she died was deciding to live alone and signing the lease at the senior housing complex, which wasn’t impulsive at all. It was the cheapest, nicest place I could find.
But this…. If I agree to this, not only will I keep my promise to Mom, but I’ll get the Christmas we’d dreamed of. It feels like destiny has dropped this in my lap.
When I looked at it that way, how could I refuse?