It’s something he’s done before dozens of times. We’ve always been affectionate, so why does it feel different now? That same swirly feeling in my gut is coming back.
What in the world? I am not equipped to deal with this. Fake feelings? I can handle those. Real feelings? Those are too murky to want to deal with.
“Ollie, dear?”
“Sorry, what?”
I shake my head, trying to push all the thoughts away. I need to make it through dinner without blowing our cover.
“Do you like Beef Wellington?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you. It smells delicious.”
Dinner is easier than I thought it would be. Karen gives Hunter grief over little things like she always does.
Would this be what it would be like if we did this all the time as boyfriends? Is this what I’ve been missing out on by not having relationships?
My life is good. It will be good after tonight whether Hunter is my boyfriend or not.
Before I know it, we’re in the living room hanging our ornaments.
“I saved these two for you,” Karen says, passing two over to us.
Hunter hands me one that is cotton balls covered in glitter and he hangs an ax on the tree.
“I think my parents might have this same one at home.” I laugh.
I place it on the tree and take in all the different ornaments. Pictures of the two of them at past Christmases.Hunter with a gap-toothed smile when he was a kid. Crystal baubles. It’s a hodgepodge of everything.
I love it.
“I mean, it’s the most basic thing I’ve ever made. Why’d you keep this, Mom?” Hunter asks.
She peeks her head between our shoulders. “I kept every ornament you made. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Maybe that’s why you decided to open the farm,” I say. “You always had a thing for trees.”
“Can you have a thing for trees?” He quirks a brow at me.
“Well, if someone were to have a thing for trees, it’d be you,” I joke.
“Alright.” Hunter rolls his eyes. “Speaking of trees, I have an early morning and need to head home.”
“I’m so glad you both came,” she says.
“Thank you for having us. Dinner was delicious,” I say.
“Ollie, are you going to visit your parents for Christmas?” Karen asks as we slip into our coats.
“I’m staying here this year,” I say.
“Then you can come over on Christmas Day.”
“What? I don’t want to impose.” I adjust my glasses, hating that I’m letting my nerves show.
“Nonsense. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I—”
