I stroke Paisley’s hair, strand for strand. “I know.”
“Did she tell you?”
“She doesn’t need to. She and Aria had been good friends. All you have to do is look at her when Wyatt’s around.”
Our conversation breaks off when my father comes down the stairs. He looks at his smartwatch while making his way through the living room, but when he looks up and sees me and Paisley he stops and stares. For a few seconds he doesn’t say anything, then he rolls his eyes, lets his head sink into his hands, and emits a dullumpf.
“Knox,” he says.
“Yeah?”
He raises his head, comes over to us, and sits down on the arm of the sofa. His suit pants are creased. Dad crosses his hands in his lap. “Please tell me this isn’t true.”
“What?”
His eyes wander to Paisley and back. “She’s the best chalet girl we’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, and?”
Dad clenches his jaw. I know that he wants to say something, but not in front of her. He weighs the situation for a moment, then appears to decide that he’s going to anyway. “You’re going to drive her off, just like all the others.”
Paisley peels herself off my lap and sits down next to me. I start to grow warm. She knows that I didn’t exactly live like a monk before her but, all the same, my dad’s Knox-bangs-every-chalet-girl-before-ditching-her confession is a bit uncomfortable.
“That’s not how it is with Paisley,” I say. “It’s different.”
Dad frowns. “Different?”
“Yeah. This time I’m serious, Dad. Really.”
I’m not actually saying it for him, but because I want Paisley to believe me. As far as I’m concerned, Dad can believe what he wants. But I don’t want to give her any reason to doubt us.
“When have you ever been serious about anything?”
I think for a moment. “Until now? Never.”
It is impossible to decipher my dad’s expression. He looks at me for so long, it’s as if he was looking at me for the first time in a really long time, then he turns to Paisley. She’s huddled next to me and looks like she’d prefer to disappear. Dad places his hands one on top of the other and puts on an amused, doubtful face. “Please,pleasestay with us, Paisley. If my son acts like an obnoxious ass, I’ll throw him out, no problem, butyouhave to stay.”
“Hey!”
Paisley laughs. “It’s still the probationary period, but I think he’ll make it, Mr. Winterbottom.”
Dad smiles at her. “Call me Jack, please.”
She bites her lower lip, just like she always does when she doesn’t know what to do in a particular situation. “Okay, Jack.”
“Welcome to the family.” My dad stands up, smooths out his pants, and casts a glance at his smartwatch again. Then he looks at her once more, his face gentler than I’ve seen it in years, and says, “Knox is a good kid.”
Before leaving he points at me. “If you screw this one up, son, I amsogoing to kick your ass.”
Please, Dad. Please do that.
Aside from William, we are the first ones to arrive at the diner. Paisley is carrying a bowl of pasta salad, I’ve got the beets and the cranberry sauce. Dad is bringing up the rear with four bottles of champagne. Between the booths and the counter, Kate has set up two tables andbeer benches, which she has decorated with string lights, tinsel, and fir garlands. The tablecloth is the same as every year: white linen fabric that Gwen painted with reindeer, Santa Clauses, and other unidentifiable bits and pieces as a kid.MaRRy Christmaswritten on top in crooked, colorful letters.
As the jukebox plays “Jingle Bell Rock,” Kate puts the turkey down on the table and Gwen arranges the wine and the glasses. When she sees us, she quickly puts the last bottle down and grabs the salad bowl out of Paisley’s hands before hugging her. “You looksobeautiful. What kind of dress is that?”
“A Valentino,” Paisley says. She’s beaming. It’s the dress from the sponsors’ evening.
“Maybe I should become a chalet girl,” Gwen says. “I mean, if clothes likethisare just going to appear.”
