I pull into the driveway and watch as the guy sets the bags at the door, knocks once, and takes pictures. Then, without hesitation, he jogs back to his car.
What is he doing?
“Hey!” I wave through the windshield. He doesn’t see me. The tinted windows are too dark.
“Hey!” I shout again, jumping out of my car and flagging him down.
He honks as he drives away, like it’s a friendly goodbye.
“What the fuck, man?” I throw my hands in the air. I do not need this right now.
Sighing, I grab my bags and suitcase from the trunk, trudging toward the house. Two Walmart bags, one from the diner down the street. Maybe this is the Christmas miracle people keep talking about.
I fish out my keys and open the door. The scent of peppermint and cocoa hits me instantly.
“Damn,” I mumble. “Whatever plug-in Iris bought smells good as hell.”
I step into the foyer, warmth wrapping around me, and that’s when I hear it.
“How did you get in here?”
The voice comes from behind me. I spin around?—
And everything goes black.
3
PEPPERMINT STICK
FIVE MINUTES BEFORE.
I feel like Goldilocks, drifting from room to room to find the perfect place to lay my head. I keep pinching myself so I don’t wake up. The Oakleys’ Christmas décor makes the whole house feel unreal. There’s even a twelve-foot tree in the living room with presents piled under it. I’m guessing they’ll open gifts when they get home.
Passing the kitchen, I find the downstairs guestroom. I’d planned to camp upstairs and have a fullHome Aloneexperience, but this is even better. It’s the smallest room in the house, sure, but it’s still way bigger than my apartment. There’s a little bar, a walk-in closet, its own bathroom, and a door to the outside. Morning cocoa on that little patio would be perfect.
Ms. Greta said two rooms were off-limits. They’re locked, so I didn’t try them. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Oakleys had a sex dungeon. Rich people and weird hobbies, what else is new? Then again, I don’t actually know many rich people.
My phone buzzes: the delivery is five minutes away. I ordered groceries, a burger and fries from the diner, and, because I am extra, some Christmas PJs and a cute little gown. Essentials. If this storm Dayana texted about actually shows up, I’m ready.
The doorbell rings.
I sprint out of the room and nearly face-plant over a giant candy cane propped against the wall.
“Was that always there?” I mutter, grabbing it.
The thing is huge, easily twenty pounds. Who even makes candy canes this big?
Another knock echoes through the house. My stomach drops. I grip the candy cane like it’s a bat and head for the foyer, only to freeze when the door rattles.
Wait. Did someone just jiggle the handle?
Is someone trying to break in?
Because, of course. Of course it would be my luck to get robbed while house-sitting.
Heart racing, I duck into the hallway closet near the door, holding my breath as the knob turns. The front door creaks open, and footsteps echo against the hardwood.
Great. Just great. I’m getting robbed in someone else’s house. Can’t even eat my dinner while waiting for the police.
