Romina’s eyes drop to where we’ve been holding on to each other, then she looks back up. “Oh,” she says, her face flushing. “Are you not—”
“You’re not?” says Gil. “I thought you were married.”
“Married?” I squeak. Jasper and I practically yank our hands away from each other. We stand like two teenagers who’ve been caught right in the middle of the most awkward game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Seven Minutes in Tense Conversation With a Coworker You’re in Love With.
“We’re not married,” Jasper says.
“Huh,” Gil says, his expression pleasantly confused. “Not sure where I got the idea, I guess.”
I feel, rather than see, Tanner and Allison watching this sideshow. But I’m focused on the way Romina’s face falls. She looks around the living space, her brow furrowed. It’s a lovely, well-maintained home, but it’s clear it was built long ago, before it seemed like everyone wanted houses big enough where they’d never really have to see one another. In this front area of the house, everything overlooks something else—kitchen to living room, living room to small dining room—and I’m sure the back, down that narrow hallway, is little more than two bedrooms and a single bathroom between them. It’s not all that different from the house I grew up in, the house I’d be crammed into with my parents and my sister and her family, had everything gone to plan.
“But it’s fine!” I say, my voice overly cheerful. “It’s totally fine. The cottage sounds amazing! Like a special Christmas treat.” I am as good at this farce as I am because of all the holiday movies I watch, obviously. Kelly would be very proud.
I don’t know if my answer means Romina assumes Jasper and I are together, or if she’s just so relieved to have a solution that she doesn’t press the point any further. Gil’s holding the two pairs of boots and looking back and forth between Jasper and me like he’s trying to solve an equation.
“How about some dinner while we wait?” Romina says, clapping her hands together and smiling, already shuffling into the kitchen.
And it seems me and Jasper, we’re in sync again, at least on the outside, because neither of us seems to be able to do anything but stand mutely and nod, half smiles on our faces while we try to act unruffled by this change of plan.
I only wish I knew if we’re in sync on the inside. If he’s thinking as much about that Christmas cottage bed as I am.
Chapter Seven
JASPER
You can’t really avoid the bed in a place this small.
It’s one room, the cottage—not unlike the hotel room I’d have been staying in tonight, had things gone to plan—and while it’s true that there’s some unfinished details about it, mostly Gil and Romina had been underselling it. It’s warm and obviously freshly painted; the line of cabinets that form the small galley kitchen are bright white and brand-new; the love seat and coffee table only look gently used.
And the bed—yeah, it’s also brand-new, not even made up, which is why I’ve got an armful of snow-dusted sheets and blankets when I step farther into the room behind Kristen. We’d insisted on coming out here alone after the meal, assuring the Dreyers we didn’t want them facing the wind unnecessarily. It’d been a good decision—not just because the wind was, in fact, worryingly powerful, Kristen’s body leaning into mine as we’d walked, both of us trying to shield her face from the whipping snow, but because it’s better that none of them see the way Kristen and I seem newly frozen in place by that bed.
I think it’s a full-size.
“I could take the love seat,” she says.
“Oh, sure. Let’s have this argument again,” I deadpan.
And for the second time in a week, she surprises me.
She laughs.
“Oh my God,” she says through a gust of it. “This is really ridiculous. We’resnowed in.” She laughs again. “We’re snowed in and I—Ikissedyou!”
“Kris,” I say, still standing there with those blankets, watching her laugh and feeling my heart lurch happily in my chest at the sight of it. “Are you all right?”
She’s braced herself on the love seat as she nods, leaning forward slightly with her laughter, her hair dusted with snowflakes, her cheeks flushed pink again, and I feel myself smiling too.
“There’s only one bed,” I say, and she practically howls.
“Gil thought we weremarried.” She presses a hand to her chest. “What would Carol say?”
“She’d probably plan an office party. She’d wear a wedding-themed sweater. She’d put ‘Going to the Chapel’ on her computer speakers.”
She has to sit on the arm of the love seat after that, wiping her eyes. It’s the best part of my day, seeing her laugh like that. I should set down the blankets, but I can’t. If anything, I hold them tighter to my chest, the wet of the melting snow sinking through the fabric of my coat.
But after a few seconds she quiets, her face falling at the same time she moves to the side, sitting fully on the cushion now. Her eyes drift to the window—it’s nearly nine, full dark, but the drifting snow, combined with what I worry is some fresh snowfall on its own—gives the outdoors an almost eerie lightness.
“It doesn’t look good for tomorrow, does it?”
