Booked for Christmas

by Lily Menon

  Everyone obliged. Peyton had one hand wrapped loosely around her crescent moon pendant, and both she and Damien had their eyes closed. They were sitting really close together on the love seat even though there was plenty of room on either side of them, Sophie noticed. Smiling to herself, she began to shuffle the deck.

  * * *

  Sophie walked around the room and let everyone pick a card, memorize what it was, and then put it back so the deck was complete. Wolfe’s dark eyes met hers for a long, sardonic moment. “You’re going to let Bert pick a card, too, right?”

  Refusing to dignify his “joke” with a response, Sophie quirked an eyebrow and looked down meaningfully at the tarot deck. Smiling a little, Wolfe pulled a card, his cool fingers accidentally brushing along hers as he did.

  Both of them startled a bit, their eyes meeting again. Sophie felt her cheeks flame, but managed somehow to keep her face impassive. As she moved on, she felt Wolfe watch her go, but she resisted the impulse to check.

  Once everyone had picked their card, she walked back to the center and sat on a small furry footstool. “Okay. So. Who wants to tell me what card they pulled?”

  Ivy and Quinn raised their hands, smiling. Their other hands, Sophie noticed, were entwined around each other’s between them on the couch. They were sweet enough to give you diabetes, but you couldn’t help but love them for it. “I got the Empress,” Ivy said, “and Quinn got the Ace of Cups.”

  Sophie stopped short. “Are … really?”

  Ivy frowned. “Yeah. Why? Is that bad?”

  “No, not at all.” Sophie nibbled on her lower lip, wondering how to say what she wanted to say. “It’s just that … those two cards generally herald the birth of a baby girl when a couple pulls them together.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly, neither Ivy nor Quinn was making eye contact. Ivy picked up her glass of Sprite from the coffee table and sipped it. She hadn’t had a single sip of alcohol all evening, Sophie realized.

  Sophie’s mouth popped open but she waited for them to make the announcement—or not.

  Ivy looked at Quinn, and now, they were both grinning. “Okay,” Quinn said to the room. “We haven’t officially begun announcing it yet, but Ivy’s pregnant. Fourteen weeks today.”

  Sophie clapped her hand over her mouth and then walked over to hug them both as everyone cheered and congratulated them. Even Wolfe, she noticed, looked happy.

  The rest of the cards were also met with enthusiasm—Peyton and Damien both pulled cards that symbolized sexual union, but Sophie could’ve told them that without tapping into the tarot’s unknowable ways; Marco pulled The World, which symbolized a life-changing travel experience (a good thing for a travel writer); Jonah pulled The Hierophant, which could symbolize marriage and commitment, and nearly had a choking fit about it, but then looked serenely happy once the shock had worn off. She’d have to ask him about that later.

  Wolfe was the only one who was unimpressed by his card—big surprise. “The Two of Cups.”

  “That’s a sign that a new, exciting relationship is coming your way. One that has the potential to grow into true love.”

  He tossed her a casual half-smile, but something deeper and more serious lurked in his eyes. “Yeah, not interested.”

  Sophie frowned in spite of herself. “Everyone’s interested in true love.”

  He met her eye almost defiantly, his jaw hard. “And yet…” Wolfe gestured to himself. It was meant to be a joke, she could tell, but something about his expression told her this might be a sore spot for him. Interesting.

  Sophie had been about to say, Well, maybe it’s for the best that you’re not looking for a girlfriend. She couldn’t imagine any woman putting up with his annoying, smug sarcasm or cutting criticism for more than thirty seconds.

  But then she caught herself and smoothed out her expression. If love was a sore spot for Wolfe, it was one she could sympathize with. And she wasn’t about to prod at it.

  “Hey, where’s your card?” Quinn smiled at Sophie, (thankfully) interrupting the interlude.

  “Right. I forgot.” Sophie shook her head a little and pulled a card from the deck. “The Lovers.” She looked up at Peyton, Marco, and Jonah, who were grinning now. Marco was even giving her a subtle thumbs-up. “A profound connection with a soulmate is in the offing.” She smiled, feeling a warm glow around her. “You know, I saw a cardinal just the other day when I was thinking about love. I think it was a sign.”

  Unfortunately, her gaze snagged on Wolfe at that precise moment. The expression on his face could most politely be described as “dubious.”

  Sophie narrowed her eyes. “What? Just say it. I can practically hear you scoffing in your head from over here.”

  Ivy and Quinn watched their interchange with a subtle confusion, but Damien was already flirting with Peyton and not paying attention. Sophie would have to fill them in later on why she was being so rude to one of her guests.

  He swirled the rum in his glass as he stared into it. Ugh. So pretentious. “No, no. It’s just … you know. Signs, tarot cards. I gave it a try tonight, but it’s all a little out there for me.”

  “‘Out there’?” It was Sophie’s turn to scoff. “I saw your glowing review of Esther Goulding’s UFO Primer.”

  Wolfe’s eyebrow rose slowly. “Yes. Because the likely existence of extraterrestrial life is based in fact. Science does not require belief, as Esther points out and explains.”

  “So aliens are real but cardinals are not?” Sophie shot back.

  “I never said cardinals—”

  “Um, hey, Sophie?” Peyton was by the window now, looking out. “It’s starting to really come down out there.”

  “What?” Sophie got up from the stool and walked over to the window to join her friends, and the other party guests jostled for space, too. “Whoa. But the forecast said it was supposed to be a light snowfall.”

  In clear defiance of her statement, big, fat flakes were falling in a flurry from the sky, clinging to the window and quickly coating the ground in a thin layer of glimmering white.

  Marco turned the TV on to the weather channel. “Yep,” he said, a moment later. “There’s a storm front moving in from the east. Pretty quickly, too. We should be fine if we leave now and head west, toward Portland.”

  “But we didn’t even get to do Secret Santa yet!” Peyton said, pouting a little. Damien put his arm around her and she snuggled into him. She better text me all the details first thing tomorrow, Sophie thought.

  “I know, but I’m with Marco on this.” Sophie studied the TV, frowning. They were predicting at least six inches of snow in the next hour, and none of her friends’ vehicles were equipped to drive over snowy country roads. At least the drivers were all sober enough now to get home safely. “Peyton, Marco, Jonah, will you guys grab the Secret Santa presents from the bedroom? And I’ll pack up some leftovers for everyone?”

  “I’ll help with the leftovers,” Wolfe said, walking toward her.

  Sophie raised her eyebrows.

  He looked down at her, a half smile at his lips. “I was taught to lend a hand to the hostess, always.”

  She shrugged, even though her pulse fluttered at that smile and his proximity. But her body’s reactions were irrelevant (and clearly a sign that her friends were right about her needing to get laid sooner rather than later). The point was, the others were all either watching the TV or marveling over the snow outside, and she could use the help if she wanted to get everyone out the door quickly. “Okay. Thanks.”

  As they walked toward the archway and the kitchen beyond it, Sophie side-eyed him—that roman nose, that strong jaw and proud chin. Evan Wolfe was a paradox: so chivalrous in person and such a douchenozzle in his column. “I still don’t get how you can believe in UFOs but not cardinals.”

  He glanced down at her. “I told you, it’s not the cardinal I don’t believe in. It’s the concept of ‘signs.’” He even did the sarcastic air quotes. Ass munch. “What even is a sign, anyway?”<
br />
  They were under the archway when Sophie stopped walking and turned to him, glaring. “A sign is a wink from the universe. A nudge to let you know you’re on the right path.”

  An exhalation of air that sounded like a goose honking left his mouth. “Or maybe there just happened to be a cardinal flying around.”

  “No, no, you’re totally right. Maybe I mis-saw it. Maybe it was an alien spaceship with little green men having a dance party inside it.”

  Wolfe thrust a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket. “That’s not the kind of aliens I’m—”

  “Hey!” a laughing male voice called out.

  Sophie looked up in a daze to see Damien laughing and pointing at her and Wolfe. “You guys are under the mistletoe! Now you have to kiss!”

  Quinn laughed, delighted, her arm slung around the waist of her pregnant wife. “That’s right! Those are the rules, Sophie!”

  She darted a glance at Wolfe, who was looking at her with a similarly horrified expression. Sophie felt her cheeks warm. “Um, no, guys, I mean, we have to work fast—”

  “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Damien began chanting and pumping his fists, as if he were twelve years old.

  Unfortunately, Marco, Peyton, and Jonah hadn’t returned with the presents yet to come to her rescue. What were they doing, anyway—building the presents?

  “We might as well kiss,” Wolfe murmured, stepping closer to her. “I don’t think he’s going to let it go.”

  “Fine. Let’s get it over with.” Holding herself stiffly, Sophie let Wolfe put his hands on her waist, his grip strong. He dipped his head down toward her, his hazel eyes some shade between moss green and steel gray as they stared into hers. He smelled like rum and leather and woodsmoke from the fire he’d been sitting next to, and Sophie found herself inhaling deeply. Wolfe’s hands tightened around her waist, as if he’d heard.

  In the next moment, he was kissing her cheek, his stubble rough against her skin, his lips firm and warm and sure. Sophie felt her eyes slide shut just for an instant, her nerve endings coming vibrantly alive at his touch, at being this close to a man after who knew how long.

  Actually, she did know exactly how long it had been since she’d been touched. Two hundred and eighty-six days.

  Her cheek felt uncomfortably cool and lonely when Wolfe stepped back, his hands lingering at her waist for just a moment too long. His eyes held hers in that moment, framed by thick, luxurious lashes she suddenly wanted to touch with her fingertips.

  Then Damien hooted, clapping his hands, and the moment slipped away.

  Wolfe gave Damien a quick, tight-lipped smile before turning back to Sophie. “Let’s get the leftovers?”

  5

  They packed the leftovers in silence, and she handed them to her guests as they left clutching their Secret Santa presents.

  “You sure you’re going to be okay?” Peyton darted a worried look over her shoulder at the window. The sky outside bulged with ominous snow clouds. “The storm’s building quickly.”

  “I’ve been through storms before.” Sophie gave her a reassuring hug and whispered in her ear, “Damien. Details. Tomorrow.”

  Peyton grinned back. Sophie saw through the window that Damien was standing by his car, obviously awaiting further instructions about where the night would lead them once they were back in Portland. “Definitely.”

  Marco and Jonah left after a quick hug, too, and soon, her guests were gone. Well, all except one. Sophie turned to Wolfe, who was lurking like a malodorous shadow, and made a monumental effort to keep her tone civil. “I hope you had a nice time tonight.”

  “I did,” he said after a pause, sounding almost surprised. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the other one holding his Secret Santa present from Sophie. His scarf lay across his shoulders, and his peacoat was still unbuttoned. “I liked getting to know the person behind the novelist.” He smiled a lopsided smile that made her heart flutter at the same time as acid pooled in her stomach.

  Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Huh. So maybe remember the person behind the novelist the next time you want to talk about my unrealistic, totally over-the-top happy endings.”

  Wolfe’s smile faded. “Look. I didn’t mean to offend you with anything I said—in my column or tonight. That was never my intention. I was just … anyway. Sometimes I can be pretty blunt.”

  Sophie crossed her arms slowly. “You don’t say.”

  “Yeah. So. I’m sorry.”

  Wow. An actual, real-life apology. “Thanks.” Sophie paused. “And, ah, I’m sorry I said what I did about your belief in UFOs and little green men. You should be able to believe in whatever weird stuff you want.”

  He pursed his lips for a long moment as if considering arguing with her again. “Sure. Okay,” he said finally, in a voice as tight as a piano string, as if he was holding back something he really, really wanted to say. He got as far as the front door, even put his hand on the doorknob. Then, wincing, he said in a rush, “Just to be clear, though, I don’t believe in little green men.”

  Taking a page from his book, Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Oh. So you didn’t like UFO Primer?”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “No, I did. I do. It was well researched. What I’m trying to say is that aliens aren’t like Hollywood’s portrayals.”

  “Have you seen one? An alien, I mean? In real life?” Sophie asked, cocking her head.

  “What? No.”

  “So then how do you know they aren’t like Hollywood’s portrayals?”

  His giant hand tightened around the present. “Because. They aren’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they don’t have to look like little green men to be aliens! They could be tiny microorganisms!”

  Sophie considered this. “So you mean like bugs.”

  Wolfe thrust a hand in the air. “Yes. Like bugs. Among other things.”

  “So not little green men, but little green bugs piloting spaceships.”

  Wolfe stared at her in complete silence for a long minute. Sophie would’ve laughed, except she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was joking. “You’re … You—”

  “What?” Sophie stepped closer, smirking. “I what? Spit it out, Wolfe. You have no problem completely destroying me with your words in your column.”

  He gazed down at her, his expression smoothing out. “So that’s what this is about. You can’t take a bad review.”

  “Oh, I can take a bad review.” A spark of irritation lit Sophie’s words. Apparently Wolfe’s apology for his bad behavior only went so far. “I just don’t appreciate emotional diatribes from supposed industry professionals. Especially when you post one every time I release a new book, several times a year.”

  Wolfe huffed a laugh. “‘Emotional diatribes’? That’s a little bit of an exaggeration. And what about you? ‘Kevin Wolfe’ ring any bells? You killed him off in a library. Buried under an avalanche of books when the shelves collapsed, as I recall.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “A little petty for an author, Ms. Hart.”

  Sophie’s cheeks warmed; he had her there. But tamping down on her embarrassment, she leveled a look at him. “You want to talk about petty? ‘Noelle and Luuk come together as two dim-witted halves will to make a whole (lot of nonsense).’ Remember that one?”

  He grinned, apparently pleased by this. “So you have my reviews memorized.”

  Sophie blinked. “What?”

  “You just quoted a line from my review almost verbatim. Do you have them all memorized? Do they keep you up at night?”

  All Sophie could manage was a series of outraged squawks. Wolfe’s grin widened. “Right. I get it now. It’s all making sense.”

  “What’s making sense?” Sophie heard, but wasn’t able to mask, the defensive edge in her voice.

  “You’re obsessed with me. That’s what this is all about. Did you tell Will to bring me as his plus-one? Is he in on this?”

  Sophi
e’s mouth popped open. “You’re out of your damn mind! How much of a megalomaniac do you have to be to even conceive of something like that?” He may be laughing, but was he joking? She thought of the scrapbook of his reviews and her cheeks burned. Suddenly, Sophie decided she wanted him out of her home, now, and she wanted to take a hot bath with a nice glass of wine in her clawfoot tub. Brushing past Wolfe, she wrenched open the front door. “Get out.”

  But he was staring past her, out the front door, his eyes wide.

  Sophie turned to see what he was looking at and stopped short. “Oh, shit.”

  It was a whiteout. The entire world had been plunged into snow. Absolutely nothing was visible; she couldn’t even see their cars in the driveway. There were at least eight inches of snow on the ground, with even more being dumped from the sky at an alarming rate. As if to drive the point home, a giant gust of wind blew in, coating her and Wolfe in white. Shrieking, Sophie slammed the door shut.

  Wolfe pulled his cell from his pocket and tapped the screen. “There’s a severe winter storm advisory for Starlit Grove,” he said a moment later, his voice tense. “Apparently the road out to Portland is closed now. The storm’s expected to last at least until the morning; they don’t expect it to open until then.”

  Sophie glanced at the clock. It had been twenty minutes since the last of her guests had left, so they’d made it out before the road closure. And they were heading in the opposite direction of the storm, which meant they were all safe.

  But Wolfe was stuck here.

  With her.

  They stared at each other.

  6

  Rubbing his jaw, Wolfe looked out the window. Sophie followed his gaze. It was like staring at a blank white wall. She couldn’t see anything at all outside, as if she and Wolfe were suspended together in some other alternate dimension where nothing existed outside the cabin.