“I don’t know what to say,” Amy said, and sat down cross-legged next to him. “I’m so sorry.”
Harrison pushed his leg out again, and she could see the muscles in his thigh bulge through his gym shorts. “No need for you to apologize. I just wonder who else the family has lent this house to.”
“Someone’s grandparents? We don’t have any grandparents yet.”
Christmas music suddenly piped up—“Carol of the Bells.” The sound of women crying out with delight reached them, and Harrison and Amy looked at the house. “I think you better fill me in on the Bossy Posse,” Harrison said.
“Wait, what…you’re staying?”
He looked bemused. “Yeah, I’m staying. I paid for this place, remember?”
“You should demand a full refund. No, wait—I’ll do it for you. With interest. And pain and suffering.”
He smiled. “Start with how they got their name.”
“Self-anointed,” Amy said. “They’ve been friends forever. Melissa’s daughter Katie used to bully me in the first grade. I think she’s in the Marines now.”
“Interesting. Go on.”
Amy glanced at the kitchen windows. She could see them all milling about, probably taking inventory of what they’d ordered. “June, she’s the short one—she and her family moved to Willow Valley about the time I started school. Mom met her playing bunco. And then, Carol, who was Mom’s best friend whentheywent to school in Willow Valley, introduced them all to pickleball. They do everything together. So do their husbands, although they don’t feel the need to come up with a name and matching sweatshirts. Or antlers.”
“Maybe they should,” Harrison opined. “It tends to stand out.”
Amy smiled wryly. She suddenly remembered her mother saying she and Amy’s dad didn’t want the same things in life. She’d never heard either of them complain about the other. Speaking of her dad, she remembered her promise to let him know if she heard anything. She pulled her phone from her pocket to send a text.
Found mom. She showed up at my vacation house with the Posse. Looks like they are staying.
Something crashed inside, startling Amy and Harrison. Duchess barked from somewhere in the house.
The door opened. “Nothing to worry about! Your puppy ran into a nutcracker!” Carol called.
Amy waved. June stuck her head under Carol’s arm. “We just found thecutestSantas and snowmen! Windup toys!”
“Great!” Amy called back. The women popped back inside and pulled the slider shut. She looked at Harrison. “What do we do?”
“Good question,” he said, staring warily at the house. “Go with the flow? At least that way I’ll have some Bossy Posse antics to talk about onall my tours to come. Guys love to hear about stuff like this.” He reached across the space between them and touched her knee.
“Stuff like this? You don’t know what you’re saying,” Amy said.
“Pretty sure I do.”
“Pretty sure you don’t.” She shuddered to think what would happen if the Posse got him alone in a room. “If it’s any consolation, Mom says they will be out shopping. She said we wouldn’t even know they are here.” Harrison’s gaze locked with hers. The idea clearly struck them as preposterous at the same moment, because they both broke into laughter at the absurdity of it.
“Listen, it’s fine,” Harrison said, still chuckling, and reached across the space between them, his hand finding her knee again. “I really don’t mind. I’ve spent way too many holiday seasons on my own. And besides, it’s just a night or two, right?” He grinned.
“Right.” She didn’t think that’s what Mom had in mind, but she would get rid of them. Somehow. She was not going to let her mother ruin this for her.
And in the meantime, she had to figure out what “this” really was. This thing between her and Harrison. His hand was still on her knee. She thought she might start by what she advised employees—the direct approach was always best. Justaskhim. But the Posse suddenly emerged, all talking at once again, and carrying a pitcher of what Amy could only assume was margaritas, their signature drink.
17
Well, Amy’s mother was wrong about one thing—Harrison knew they were there. He was aware of every single moment. If it wasn’t the constant cackling and talking (he could even hear it through the night, when, upstairs, the women apparently went from one bedroom to the next), it was the smell of delicious food wafting out of the kitchen. Or the impromptu karaoke session to accompany the Christmas music constantly being pumped at them.
And yet, as crazy as it sounded in his head, last night had been fun. Who didn’t like a little karaoke when the good vibes were flowing? It turned out that Hillary had a pretty good voice. And whoever was producing those pitchers of margaritas, well…that was some magic they were working with.
This morning, the smell of something very sweet came through the heating vents. He wandered into the living room to check on Hillary, who had passed out on the couch last night, one shoe on and one shoe off. “Hey, kid,” he said, and put a hand on her shoulder.
She jerked herself upright and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh my God, what did I do?”
