Page 41 of Not Home Alone

“In front of a sold-out audience. Basically, everyone we knew in town. I stumbled. There was a long pause. It was awkward. I was really, really embarrassed. And he didn’t catch me. He didn’t show any sign that he did something unexpected. There were so many people in that auditorium, and he was with me on stage, but I felt so alone.”

I glance over at April, whose eyes, I swear, are welling with tears.

“After the show, he didn’t apologize or offer any explanation. Could I see a hint of regret in his eyes? I thought so. But he didn’t defend me when Quinn Whitmore came backstage and made fun of me for trying to stick my tongue down Grant’s throat in front of the entire town.”

“Her name was Quinn Whitmore? Ugh I’d throw eggs at her car.”

“Thank you.”

“So then what happened?”

“What happened was I didn’t see Grant again for a decade. I told everyone we had rehearsed things a different way and that he was supposed to kiss me. Most people believed me. Everyone in town felt sorry for me.” She also doesn’t need to know that despite how hurt and angry I was, sometimes, when I was feeling good about my life and remembered how lovely he was that one night we spent together, I knew that he was scared. I felt badly for him. I knew he was keeping up appearances. But mostly I hoped his dick would fall off. “And then finally,” I remember to add, “he reached out to me in Ann Arbor and told me how sorry he was.”

April exhales, stretches, and then cracks her neck. “Wow. That is the worst, most embarrassing story I have ever heard. I can’t believe you forgave him.” Suddenly, she is the most animated she has ever been and it’s slightly terrifying. “You know what we should do?” She jumps up and starts pacing around. “We should use all this glue you got from the craft store and smear it all over the steps to the basement. Ask him to go down there to get something. Oooh! Send him a text, telling him you’re down there waiting for him—naked. When his shoes get stuck to the glue, he takes them off. When his feet land on the next step his socks get covered in glue, so he takes them off. The recording of your voice is all, ‘Graaaaant. What’s taking you so long? I’m all horned up and getting impatient.’ So he takes another step in his bare feet. And there are thumb tacks stuck to the glue—pointing up!”

Yikes. I actually get chills picturing that. “I mean. That’s very creative. And while I certainly envisioned some kind of retribution… Well, what happened was kind of traumatic, but it wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to anyone in high school.”

“Exactly.” April slumps back down in the chair and rolls her eyes, very dramatically. “I can’t believe it took you ten years to get over it.”

“It did not take me ten years to get over it,” I assure her. “I’ve been so over it for years.” The truth is I still might not be over it, and I have no plans to be over it any time soon. I just don’t want Grant Moody’s dick to fall off anymore. But she doesn’t need to know that. “So, do you… feel hammered yet?”

April looks me dead in the eye. “No, Merrily. It’s sparkling apple cider. There’s no alcohol in it.”

“Right.” I remain very still, holding my breath, as we stare at each other. I am ready to accept my fate. I wish I could give my dad one last hug and walk in the snow one last time before she murders me and, okay, if I’m being honest, I would like to live long enough for Grant to apologize to me for real.

And maybe to make out with him again, but only so he realizes what he’s been missing.

April just slow-blinks and says, “You could have just served it to me in a glass and told me it was apple cider, weirdo. I just didn’t feel like going home yet.”

FOURTEEN

GRANT

I should have known my sister would give Quinn a heads up that I’d be at the winery. Ava pulled me aside, before we sat down with the distributors, to tell me that Quinn’s cousin had recently gotten engaged and that it was upsetting to Quinn because Quinn’s a year older and definitely prettier. Like this was supposed to make me more understanding of her sudden relentless pursuit of me? Like that’s supposed to make me break up with my fake girlfriend?

I left before my dinner order was served, replying to Quinn’s I’ll be there in twenty minutes! text to tell her I have plans with Merrily. She wrote back to ask where we were going so she could meet up with us. Unbelievable.

What a day. Now I’m grouchy and hungry. There is nothing about my family that I feel good about, and I’m not even sure why I keep coming home for Christmas. I should just leave. Go back to New York, to my apartment and my job. Never look back. If nobody else in my family cares about this town, including my father, then why should I? Why should I care about the company? And, like every time I’ve asked myself that question since I was ten, my mother’s kind voice answers in my mind. You don’t have to care, Grant, you just do. Sweet boy, it’s who you are. I see it, and I love you for it.

But no one else sees it. There’s no point in caring anymore. The Moody family is just a business, and my mom’s family was gone before she was. Holly Grove is just an emotional relic.

I park in the driveway and walk up the path to the front porch. Do my shoulders feel a little less tense because the soft white string lights Merrily covered the property with radiate warmth and peace? Maybe. A little. Am I amazed by how quiet it is in this neighborhood? The kind of quiet I never experience in New York? Sure. Would I feel guilty if Voss took over the business and brought in an element that this town has somehow managed to avoid? Yeah. Without a doubt.

But I don’t have to think about it right now. I just need dinner. And a drink. When I open the front door, I’m assaulted by scented candles and Dean Martin and Merrily Tucker. She’s just standing there in the foyer, hands at her side, waiting for me like Hannibal Lecter.

As soon as I see her face, I am even more annoyed. Is that true? No. As soon as I see Merrily’s face, my body relaxes, because I finally get to see the person I’ve been thinking about all day. And she’s even prettier than she was the last time I saw her. Her heart-shaped face is glowing. The contrast of her dark eyes and blonde hair is simultaneously striking and warm. And even though her clothes don’t reveal an inch of skin, I know she has a body that could bring me to my knees.

But I can’t tell or show her that and that is frustrating. So, yes, I am annoyed, and it is directly related to her. And I just know that she’s going to find even more ways to annoy me tonight.

“Hi, honey, how was your day?” she says.

“Terrible.”

“That’s a shame. Mine was wonderful.”

“That’s a shame.”

She shrugs. “I can’t help how much I enjoy myself when you aren’t around.”