Evan lunges for the stove, narrowly missing a sharp smack from my Baby it’s Cold Outside tea towel. Twisting my towel, I spin to fire again, but a sharp twitch catches me right in the rear. I yelp and bounce forward, holding my butt with both hands. Evan laughs, but I snap my towel and catch his thigh. His finger comes up to warn me, but I’m already coming at him. I whip the towel out, but Evan catches it and pulls it, and thereby me, against his chest. I crash hard, like slamming against a rock wall of muscle. Before I jerk back again, Evan’s hand slips over my cheek, stealing my breath in less than a second. All the fight rushes out of me. The conflict waging in his eyes speaks volumes.
“Trust me, Brooke. Wanting you has never been an issue.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Evan
It’s another testament to how horrible I am. Toying with her emotions like this. It’s just as much torture for me though, maybe more. I’m dying to close the five inch gap between our lips, but she deserves better. Somewhere this moment is being broadcasted to thousands of eager fans. I’ve given up my privacy in the name of fortune, but Brooke deserves better. I drop my grip on her towel, and she falls back to keep space between us.
“Can I do anything to help you? I know the party is in a couple days. Some of your pine boughs are turning. I could cut some more, get this place back to that nauseating stench I hate so much.”
At least she knows I’m kidding because she laughs a little. “Yeah well, I can’t afford better. Trees are free. I wanted those lit garlands with the ribbons, but on my limited funds it’s not really an option. Not even the top of the list of things I want, but can’t have.”
The space between us irritates me. It shouldn’t be there. It’s full of obligations and contracts, and everything I used to care about, and now, I only want her to fill that space.
I could give it up. Sacrifice it all. My heart twists. I’d be putting hundreds of people out of work. It’s not fair to sacrifice their livelihood for my happiness. That’s selfish. Brooke would give up her happiness for the greater good. I need to be more like her.
“I’ll be back in an hour. Let me know how you like the waffles.” Her keys jingle in her hand. The back door creaks. She steps onto the stoop before she turns back. “I know about the flour, is there anything else you want me to get you from the store?”
My heart splatters on tile floor. “The store? You’re going into town?”
“Yes,” her brow presses in with distrust, “do you need anything?”
“You’re going where the people are, and you’ll talk to them?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Fear has dried my mouth to Death Valley standards. “The magazines, will the store have those gossip celebrity magazines by the check out?”
Her confusion hits an all-time high. “Do you want me to get you one?”
“No!” I rush forward so fast she actually stumbles off the stoop into the snow. “No, don’t worry about it. In fact, don’t read them at all.”
“Don’t read the magazines?”
“They’ll rot your brain. Terrible for brain development.”
“Pretty sure my brain is developed by now.”
“Still, better safe than sorry.”
“Evan, you’re making no sense. I’m gonna go.”
“I could go for you.” I reach for her purse but she yanks it away. Desperation clouds every thought. “Or we could send someone.”
“I need to clear my head.” She eyes me one last time. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I feel like my insides are collapsing on themselves. “Just don’t read the magazines, or talk to anyone, or look at any TVs. Don’t check the news on your phone either, okay?”
She opens her mouth to say something, but backs away. I watch her leave, unsure of the future, but completely sure of the answer to her question. No. I’m definitely not okay.
✽ ✽ ✽
Brooke
I’d love to say that the weird ended the second I left the inn, but the weird just keeps coming. Two guards are positioned at the start of my road. One waves me through while yelling to his companion, “That’s Brooke. It’s fine.”
Do they have my picture or something?
As I enter Fresh & Frugal, the local grocery store in Willow Glen, a couple women by the door point and speak in excited whispers. I check my outfit, but other than a little flour I pat away, my jeans and sweater ensemble isn’t something worth mocking. A little boy calls out my name, but I don’t know him. The whispers grow down every aisle. People start peeking in from the endcaps, just to fade out of view in the next second. Apprehension churns in my gut.
Out of nowhere, a teenage girl rushes me and throws her arms around me in a tight hug. “Brooke, you’re my hero!” Her mom pulls her off, apologizing, and ignoring my looks to demand what’s going on. I gather the groceries I need and jump in line, purposefully avoiding the aisle with the magazines that had Evan in a tizzy. I pick over the candies instead, debating between plain chocolate and chocolate with ribbons of caramel.
“I think he’s crazy. You’d be great together.”
The voice brings my head around. An old woman stares at me from behind her cart. Basically unassuming in her thick winter coat with the toggle buttons, I write her off quickly. I turn to look over my shoulder, thinking she’s talking to someone else, but her stare doesn’t waver.
“I’m sorry? Are you talking to me?”
“You and that fella. I think he’s crazy not to scoop you up. It’s been sparks since day one. Way better than that burly guy with the cookies.”
“Adley?” My world starts spinning. “Are you talking about Adley and Evan?”
“Honey, I don’t care what their names are, just keep up the footage coming. That towel fight was great, but last night with the pool table,” she literally clutches the pearls around her neck, “my goodness.”
The young checker starts in on my stuff. The world has flipped inside out. I glance at her, hoping she’ll say this is some kind of joke, but she’s got that same dopey grin on her face.
“What?” I snap the question at her against my better nature.
Her nose scrunches tight. Braces gleam at me through her teenage smile. “Is he as great as he seems? I mean I know he’s bad, but maybe you can fix him.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really confused. What are you people talking about?”
The clerk presses her hand to her heart. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Brooke Cratchett. You look just like her.”
My grip catches the rail of the check stand about three seconds before my knees buckle. “How do you know my name?”
“The footage dear,” the old woman says. “Some of us have been watching around the clock. We’re really rooting for you two.”
“Ha!” A man at the back of the line chimes in. “Plenty of us are against it. Evan needs to spread his wings, sow some wild oats, taste every flavor in the—”
“Can it, Kenny!” The checker shakes an emphatic fist at the man. She smiles at me. “Is he a good kisser? He looked good. Did he slip you the tongue?”
I swipe my card and punch in the necessary numbers, desperate to escape this alternate reality. I’m not even sure I have all my groceries in the end, but I have to get out of here. The questions won’t stop.
“Are you gonna run away with him?”
“Were you disappointed it ended early last night?”
“How far were you going to go?”
“Are you looking for other options?” That one was Kenny, the fella with the wild oats.
“How are you going to win him back?”
I shove the cart forward, almost jogging to the exit. But I stop short, caught by something that nearly shatters my entire psyche. I’m on the cover of a magazine, sprawled over the top of Evan in the snow. The caption below reads, Snow Bunny or Gold Digger? I yank it from the rack. My breath ceases until my lungs burn. The article boasts more pictures than I ever imagined. All caught at the optimum mom
ents, all construed to make it look like we’re far more intimate than we’ve ever been. I toss the magazine on the ground, disgusted by my utter lack of privacy from the last two weeks.
I’m pushing my grocery cart out the door when I pass a teenage girl bent over her tablet. I can’t help looking. I’m desperate for anything to detract from the nightmare that’s taken over. But it only makes it worse.
I see what the old woman meant by footage. It’s a feed of the billiard room, time stamped from last night. My eyes widen at the way he’s clutching me, and even worse, the way I’m holding him close. I drive my cart into the parking lot, grateful for the falling snow to cool my hot cheeks.
He was right about one thing. Those magazines ruined everything.
I load the groceries in the trunk and slam it closed just as someone shouts my name from across the street. I hurry to the driver’s side and get the door shut and locked two seconds before someone crashes against my window. I turn the ignition and shift to reverse. Gunning it, I rush from the once familiar store and set my sights for home.
Using Bluetooth, I dial Winnie’s number.
“Hey, girl! You ditched me last night.”
I’m not in the mood for her attitude. “Winnie, why do people know my name?”
“What?”
“I went to Fresh and Frugal and they knew me. Not just me, they knew everything. They’ve been watching everything.”
Winnie’s laughter, though normally sweet, grates my nerves. “I told you we were going to live stream. You’ve been giving folks what they want. You’re trending on every platform.”
“I don’t want to be trending on anything, Winnie. Make this stop!”
“You can’t stop a freight train, Brookie. Especially not with that exhibition you put on last night. My gosh, girl, I didn’t think you had it in you, but I certainly understand why you ditched me. I would have ditched me for some of that.”
I press the button on my steering wheel to kill the call.
I can’t deal with her.
I can’t deal with my life.
I can’t deal.
Period.
The phone chimes over my speakers, and I click the call on because I’m too guilt-prone to ignore my favorite cousin.
“What now?” I hug the next turn, taking it way too fast for the amount of ice that’s on the road.
“Brooke?” It’s a man’s voice, not Winnie. “Brooke, it’s Adley Barnes. I hope it’s okay that I’m calling you.”
My patience has evaporated to vapor. “Why are you calling me?”
“I thought we should make a plan for how to move this forward.”
“Move what forward?”
“Our relationship.”
I slam on the brakes, sliding to a stop on the backroads near my inn.
“We don’t have a relationship, Adley.”
“Well, no. I know that. But on camera, we have some spark. I’m thinking I should come to this Christmas party and start a fight with Evan, try to steal the bad boy title from him. That might work to our advantage, but I’m open to whatever plans you have.”
“I feel like I’m gonna puke.” It might be my driving, it might be my life whirling out of control, but I doubt my ability to keep my waffles down at this point. “I don’t have any plans, Adley. I’m running an inn, that’s it.”
“Look,” his voice shifts to a business tone, “neither one of us has the star power to shine on our own. Our only hope is to capitalize on Granny McPherson before he makes his next move. The clock is ticking. We could do a date on camera, or we have a lover’s spat in the kitchen. I’m open to options.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“You’re right, you’re too old-fashioned. No one would buy it. Sorry, I’m not used to working with people with morals. How about we burn down one of your barns? Try to spin this into a reality show about you and me, rebuilding and falling in love?”
I end the call. I’m tempted to throw my phone out the window. I had no idea things had escalated like this. Was this what Evan was talking about? I recall our past conversations, looking for answers, but come up empty. Clearly Adley wants to use me to gain some fame and fortune. Maybe that was all that Evan was doing as well. Maybe I’m nothing more than a convenient prop. No matter the answer, the only options lie with Evan.
All my answers belong to him.
Chapter 16
Evan
Waiting on the other shoe to drop.
The phrase never made much sense until now, but I figure Brooke might hurl one of her boots at my head the second she sees me again. Then I’ll be waiting on her to rip off the other one and throw it too.
“If you could smile over here.” The photographer snaps his fingers like I’m a dog. “One big smile for me, if you will?”
I won’t. I really, really, won’t. On a good day I refuse to smile on command, but when I’m watching the driveway for her car to come barreling down the hill, and then possibly head right for me, no, no, I won’t smile.
The house door slams. I jump from the motorcycle they’ve given me. Not my style anyway, but I’ll feel better with my legs underneath me. Easier to outrun the wild banshee named Brooke. I saw her reaction to the china. Violating her privacy like this, that’s got to be worse.
“Brooke!” The photographer calls her name, but I search the hillside like I’m watching for a sniper. “Oh good, they got you in hair and makeup already. That’s fantastic. You look lovely.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I have no doubt, zero, that she knows. I imagine her stare melting the snow until we’re all standing in four feet of flood waters. It’s stressful moments like these that birth superheroes.
Or supervillains.
Maybe I’ll be the one to crack her.
“Yes, go join Evan on the bike, maybe. I think that’ll be cute.” The photographer remains oblivious to her rage. I don’t know how, it’s radiating from her like heat waves.
“You look great,” I tell her as she comes close enough to hit me. Best to praise her while I have the chance.
“I can’t even talk to you right now.” She folds her arms across her chest, curls trapped beneath her arms. The photographer tries to free them, but the glare she shoots him might as well singe his skin.
“Okay, they look great there.” He stumbles back a step. Everyone wanted Brooke to make me look better. It’s working. Angry Brooke makes me look like a kitten.
“How much did you know?” She spits the question at me.
“Same as you. I knew they were recording.”
“There’s a difference between recording, and oh hey, by the way Brooke, you’ve got a fan club.”
Everything I could say at this point will incriminate me. “Andrew told me you were popular.” The photographer shouts commands, but neither one of us is listening. “I really didn’t know it had gotten to this level. We’re kinda isolated at this place. No Wi-Fi, no cable, how was I supposed to know?”
“You knew this morning, didn’t you?”
There’s something adorable about her anger, like watching a puppy wrestle a shoe into submission. “Yeah, I found out, but only a few minutes before I came to talk to you. I wanted to tell you, but I was scared.”
“Some fifteen-year-old was watching us make out on her tablet, Evan!” In a blur of red sweater, dark hair and rage, she scoops a handful of snow from the ground and lobs it at my face. Unpacked, the snow falls down my shirt, coating my chest and stomach in ice.
I’ll admit it.
I scream like a little girl.
“I can’t believe you did this to me!” She grabs another handful, but I do the only thing I can think to do. I throw snow first. She staggers back, snow stuck to her cheeks, covering her eyes, catching on the perfect ringlets they set for the photoshoot. With a little shake, most of it falls away, leaving only her wrath to face me.
I was wrong.
I have one more option.
I run.
✽ ✽ ✽
Winnie said I had to make him look good. She didn’t say I had to keep him alive. Vinny down at the mortuary does a great job making corpses look good. I’m sure he’ll cut me a discount when I murder Evan.
“Brooke, you’re not thinking rationally,” Evan yells over his shoulder. He zig zags through the drifts to avoid my haphazard snowball throwing. “It wasn’t intentional.”
“Yeah right! What do you call it then, Evan?” I stop long enough to pack a ball and launch it in the air. When it catches him between the shoulder blades, and knocks him to the ground, I let a, “yes!” hiss through my teeth.
He’s up and running before I can dislodge my boot from the three-foot drift. I finally yank it free, pull it back on, full of snow, and start after him again. I stop at the top of the hill, searching the trees for any sight of him. No way could he just vanish into thin air.
“Let’s be rational, Brooke.” Evan steps out from behind a tree.
Rational? He expects me to be rational right now?
He tries to block his face from the onslaught of snow I toss at him, but my goal is death by snowball, or at least serious enough frostbite to mar his perfect face.
Desperate to protect himself, Evan wraps his arms around my waist and scoops me over his shoulder. I scream out of frustration. I pound on his back, kick my legs, anything to be free, but short of falling, he’s winning this round.
“Are you gonna listen to me, or do I need to drop you in the snow?”
“Put me down, Evan!” I hammer my fists against his lower back, but the blood is rushing to my head, and it’s not so easy to attack when I’m lightheaded.
“Put you down?” I don’t like that playful tone in his voice, not when our problems are way too serious. “Put you down over here?” He shifts his weight like he’s going to fall into a hill of snow. I scream and kick my legs again, only making him laugh harder. I hate that his laugh is infectious. That’s the only reason I’m laughing. Not because I’m having fun. Of course not. The smile on my face is a lie. At least sixty-seven percent lie.
Christmas With Granny McPherson Page 13