B-O-S-S.
My fake boyfriend is one thing, but anything more…
No way.
Pots clanging and raised voices remind me that it’s Christmas morning. I would have preferred to sleep all day, wake up in time for dinner, and leave for home after that.
A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face, which sends my pulse skittering. “Merry Christmas, Abby.”
“Merry Christmas, John.” I should smile, but I’m too freaked out by my cat sleeping on him and not me—and how easily I fell asleep next to him and didn’t wake up once during the night. I Still can’t believe he stayed, and I hope if he needs to get to his grandparents’ house this morning, he’ll leave and not put off going there. Though, a part me hopes he doesn’t have to rush off too soon. “Ready to face the fam?”
He stares at Powerpluff, who takes the hint and moves. Something she never does with me. Interesting. Maybe she knows he’s the boss.
John sits and runs a hand through his hair, which is a little messy but nothing like mine, which probably would give Medusa a run for her money. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Although, we’re going to win the fashion game.”
I try to hide my smile, but I’m not sure if I succeed. “Oh, yeah, we’re real trendsetters. Come on, Rudolph. Let’s go spread some Christmas cheer.”
The smell of coffee makes my stomach growl. I should’ve eaten more at dinner and not skipped dessert. Oh, well…
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what today might hold. If it’s anything like every Christmas before, Rachel will have a pile of presents to open while we all watch.
John holds my hand. “We’ve got this.”
I’m so grateful for him, and I nod. “If you need to go—”
“I don’t have to rush off.”
Relief surges through me. I’m so glad he can stay a bit. “Thanks.”
We enter the kitchen together, bracing for impact. “Jingle Bells” plays as Mom flips pancakes with the intensity of a five-star chef. Dad is standing in the doorway, watching since he’s not allowed in the kitchen without Mom’s permission. At the small table in the corner, Rachel and Jake stare at each other like they’re the only ones in the house.
“Good morning,” John says.
Rachel’s gaze zeros in on our joined hands. “Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence.”
I tense, ready for battle, but John squeezes my hand.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” he says in such a jolly voice I assume he’ll ho-ho-ho next.
“Merry Christmas,” Mom says. “I hope you slept well.”
“We did, and Abby’s headache is all gone.” He takes a step closer and peers into the pan. “Something smells delicious, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Pancakes.” Mom beams at him, brandishing a spatula. “One of our Christmas traditions.”
During breakfast, pancakes are piled high, coffee is guzzled, and the air is thick with forced cheer and thinly veiled barbs. I don’t say much and shove another bite of pancakes into my mouth. Still, frustration radiates off me.
“Present time.” Rachel jumps to her feet and runs into the living room.
John lets go of my hand. His forehead is creased, and lines form around his mouth.
“What?” I ask, hoping nothing is wrong.
“I didn’t know I’d be here for Christmas. I don’t have any gifts.”
He shouldn’t feel bad when he’s doing me such a big favor. “I’m sorry you have to be here instead of where you’re supposed be.”
“I’m happy to be here. And trust me, no one is expecting me bright and early. My family sleeps in no matter what day it is.”
