The Trouble with Christmas

by Amy Andrews

  Her parents’ gazes flicked to his sweater, then back to him. “Fabulous,” Simone said with a brightness that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Who’d like some eggnog?” Suzanne called from the kitchen.

  “I will,” Simone called, her smile fixed. “Make it a large.”

  “Mine too,” Albie added.

  “Mine three,” Grady joked.

  Albie and Simone weren’t the only ones who were going to need some help from eggs, rum, and nutmeg to get through this ordeal.

  Five minutes later, with the crackling sound of the fire in the hearth being drowned out by the painful strains of the Chipmunks singing “All I Want For Christmas,” everyone was gathered around the tree. Grady and Albie were dealing with the lights he’d apparently bought. Which was utterly ridiculous. Leaving aside the fact that he didn’t do Christmas, if he did, there was no way, in normal circumstances, he’d wrap a highly flammable product like a tree in what probably added up to the electrical equivalent of a small substation.

  But these weren’t normal circumstances. They were pretty fucking unusual circumstances, and he was playing a role. A role apparently requiring a Christmas tree that could be seen in fucking Australia.

  In fake-rancher-boyfriend world, Christmas wasn’t Christmas unless people on the other side of the planet could admire your handiwork.

  “I have to admit,” Simone said as she sipped on her eggnog, “the smell of this tree is pretty incredible.”

  “I know, right?” Suzanne said. “I think you should get a real one next year. Ditch that terrible wire thing.”

  “Oh, but darling, the pine needles make such a mess.”

  Grady had always thought that was one of the dumbest reasons not to have a real tree. He couldn’t believe there were people out there who were so precious about spotlessness that they couldn’t cope with a week or two of needle drop. Every year his parents had driven out to a tree farm and bought a freshly cut tree, and the smell of it in the back of their car was one of the most visceral memories of his childhood.

  Just standing here now, smelling the tree, took him back to those times.

  Which was why he avoided Christmas. The memories. He braced himself for the familiar pinch of pain, grief, and regret. And the even more visceral well of anger. He’d been robbed of so many tree-trimming events. Surprisingly, nothing came, just a slight bittersweet twist of nostalgia.

  “I figure that’ll do it,” Albie said as he placed the last string of lights. “Turn ’em on, Grady.”

  Half expecting to be electrocuted, Grady plugged in the power cord. He swore he heard a low hum as the lights flickered on in a sudden burst of color.

  Simone took a step back, her eyed widening, her hand fluttering near her chest as she said, “Oh my, that is…well lit.”

  Albie nodded, looking a little dazzled himself. “Very…bright.”

  “It’s…beautiful,” Suzanne announced with a hushed kind of reverence.

  Grady glanced at her, at the glow of color on her face as she stared at the tree with the kind of wonder usually reserved for kids. And, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, tears shimmered in her eyes.

  “Thank you, Josh,” she said, placing her eggnog down and crossing to where he stood. Grady tensed as she slipped an arm around his waist, her side melting into his as a deeply contented sigh escaped her lips. “It’s…perfect.”

  Grady’s pulse kicked and his breath caught and for a moment, he held really still. He wasn’t used to this…to being casually demonstrative with any woman. It wasn’t natural for him to be openly affectionate, and yet, part of him yearned to give in to it, too.

  “Suzanne.” Her mother gave her an indulgent smile as she shook her head. “I don’t know if you know this yet about our daughter, Grady, but she tends to be a little emotional.”

  Grady wasn’t sure if Suzanne’s mother was being intentionally critical or was clueless to how her words came across, but he felt offended on Suzanne’s behalf. There were far worse failings in life than being emotional. He’d spent more than a decade of his life fighting against ideals that could have done with a lot more fucking empathy.

  Hell, he’d have thought that was exactly the kind of things an artist needed in spades.

  Suzanne had annoyed, harassed, and irritated him. She was too talkative and too…touchy-feely. She’d invaded his space and his privacy. She’d pleaded, cajoled, begged, then finally both bribed and blackmailed him into being her fake rancher boyfriend. But her reasons were altruistic. Her heart was in the right place. And nobody got to criticize her, particularly when it was wrapped up in some kind of affectionate silly-little-Suzy remark.

  Not even her mother.

  Slipping his arm around her, Grady pulled her in a little closer. “I know,” he murmured, glancing down at her. She chose that moment to glance up, and she blinked as if she was surprised to find him watching her. Her lips parted, and his gaze was drawn to her mouth. “It’s one of the many things I like about your daughter,” he said and smiled. “Reminds me of my mom.”

  Grady wasn’t sure why he’d said that—it just slipped out. He wished in an instant he could take it back, but then she smiled at him like he’d just given her the biggest compliment, and his chest felt like it was being squeezed in a press—and he kissed her. He might have kept it brief had it not been for that soft little satisfied noise in the back of her throat compelling him to linger.

  It wasn’t like the kiss from earlier, the one where he’d come from the barn and seen her for the first time since they’d made out last night. That time, his whole body had flushed with awareness and edginess, and an unreasonable kind of need to rid himself of those disconcerting feelings, to pass them on, had driven his feet to where she stood.

  This wasn’t like that. Hell, he wasn’t even keeping score with this one. It was coming from a different place, one he didn’t want to examine too closely. But it wasn’t any less cataclysmic on his system. He wanted to deepen the kiss, to cradle her face and push his fingers into her hair and kiss her in the kind of ways parents should never see.

  So he pulled back. “Shall we hang the ornaments now?”

  After a discussion initiated by Simone—to establish a plan for the tree that would look the most aesthetically pleasing—was loudly overridden by Suzanne, they got sucked into the trimming. Playing his part, Grady paid no attention to aesthetics or her mother’s attempts to police the placement of ornaments, whacking them on wherever took his fancy.

  The more Simone winced, the more he knew he was doing it right.

  Not that he could blame her for the wincing. Somehow, somewhere, Suzanne had found cat baubles. Baubles with cat faces on them. And she’d bought out the entire fucking shop. They were the most un-Christmas things he’d ever seen. Add miles of blue tinsel and Grady’s laissez-faire attitude toward ornament placement, and the tree looked like it’d been decorated by a crazy cat lady.

  Not to mention how much of a fire hazard/death trap it was.

  The pièce de résistance was the angel on top. Suzanne had truly outdone herself with the angel. Although festive dominatrix Barbie was probably a better title.

  Who knew sex shops sold Christmas decorations?

  Beneath her long red coat with vampy white fur trim, she wore tight black leather pants and a crop top. Her shoes were the kind of stilettos made for niche activities like walking all over a man’s chest while he masturbated. She held a glittery star in one hand, which he supposed was meant to look symbolic but was more ninja warrior than religious.

  The only thing angelic about her was the mass of blond hair and the halo positioned above her head. But even it was crooked.

  She looked like she’d just come from her angel-of-no-mercy routine at the kink club.

  But Suzanne had already proclaimed it to be Grady’s job to place her on the tree, giving some bullshi
t story about how it had been his job ever since he was a boy, so he was holding it dutifully, waiting for her go-ahead to place it. He didn’t need to confer with her to know she was drawing everything out for maximum effect.

  “So, Grady,” Simone said as she surreptitiously shifted a bauble to a more aesthetically pleasing spot, “you mentioned your mom? What does she do? Do your parents live in Credence?”

  There was a sudden rush and a popping noise in his ears as all the air in Grady’s lungs was expelled. He hadn’t been expecting the question. He’d stupidly opened the door to it, but considering it hadn’t come up earlier and he’d been able to avoid personal questions all night, he’d been lulled into a false sense of security. He could feel the heat of Suzanne’s gaze flashing across his face like a lighthouse beacon.

  “No, they don’t,” he said, trying not to sound tight-lipped and forbidding because it had been a friendly inquiry from his girlfriend’s mother. Grady was so used to everyone in Credence knowing his backstory, knowing that he didn’t talk about his backstory, he forgot that not everybody in the world knew.

  It just felt like it sometimes.

  But these were typical getting-to-know-you questions, and telling Simone St. Michelle to mind her own damn business would not go down very well. Three sets of eyes were looking at him expectantly for more, and he knew it would be both rude and strange not to elaborate. Still, he steeled himself for the incoming platitudes.

  “Grady’s from Seattle,” Suzanne said, jumping in.

  She sent him a small smile, and even in that stupid elf sweater with her cheeks flushed from the fire or maybe the eggnog, he was glad she was standing right there. He may be here talking about stuff he didn’t want to talk about—he never talked about—because of her and her over-the-top lie, but she’d obviously sensed his hesitancy and was prepared to run interference.

  “That’s right,” he said. And he could have changed the subject and left it at that. Have them think that his parents were still alive and kicking back home. But there were bound to be follow-up questions at some point like, Will your family be joining us for Christmas? So it was better to just get it out there now when it fitted naturally into the conversation.

  And then change the subject.

  “I’m from Seattle. But my parents were killed in a car accident when I was seventeen. That’s when I came to Credence. To the ranch. To live with my aunt and uncle.”

  A soft gasp escaped Suzanne’s mouth, and he looked at her as her blue eyes softened, went glassy, and her brow furrowed in consternation.

  Christ, she’d be lousy at poker.

  Simone looked from Suzanne to Grady and back to Suzanne again, frowning. “You didn’t know?”

  “She does,” Grady covered. “She just knows I don’t like to talk about it very much.”

  As if taking her cue from that, Suzanne moved three steps to close the distance between them. Her cheeks were pinker, and he knew it was from the sudden flush of emotion across her features. She held out her hand to him as she got closer, and Grady took it, a wave of goose bumps marching up his arm. She intertwined her fingers with his and sent him a smile that was part sad, part apology, part thank-you.

  God, the woman was an open book. She practically vibrated with emotion.

  “Grady’s been through so much,” she said, breaking eye contact as she glanced at her mom, and Grady felt lousy for not telling the full story. For not mentioning Bethany or the fact that the accident happened this time of year.

  But these people were all going to be out of his life in a couple of weeks, damn it. He didn’t owe them his story. Plus, Grady knew there was a fine line between empathy and pity, and it narrowed even further the bigger the tragedy. He was done being pitied; he’d been done a long time ago.

  Yes, he’d been dealt a turd sandwich seventeen years ago, but plenty of people had been dealt those and gotten on with their lives.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Joshua,” Simone said gently and with sincerity.

  He shrugged. “It was a long time ago now. It’s in the past.”

  Suzanne squeezed his hand again, and there was a moment of awkward silence—there usually was when people found out—as three sets of eyes settled on him. But Grady was well used to moving things along, to changing the subject.

  “This”—he held up the angel, tugging his hand from hers as he held the abomination above his head with both hands—“however, is very much in the present.”

  Albie laughed, breaking the tension, and Simone gave a little shudder that pretty much said she wished it was anywhere but the present.

  “If we’re done trimming the tree, I can put it up top.”

  “Yes.” Suzanne almost bounced on her feet as her gaze devoured the tree. “Put her on.”

  Grady had to wonder about Suzanne’s normal Christmases if dominatrix Barbie had her so excited. She said they had been minimalist, but surely they weren’t as bad as this? Because she wasn’t acting here. She wasn’t kidding around, playing it up for her parents. Or at least, Grady didn’t think so. Suzanne was really into this. Grady took a couple of paces to the tree. It was about eight feet and, at six foot three—a few inches taller than her father—Grady’s reach was the longest. He placed the angel on the top branch with minimal stretch, then stepped back.

  “It’s pretty as a picture,” Suzanne said on a happy sigh, her hands clasped together in front of her, fingers intertwined.

  Grady gave a mental eye roll at the atrocity he’d just performed. But between his acute awareness of the part he was supposed to be playing and that goofy look on her face, Grady didn’t have the heart to rain on her parade. “Best. Christmas. Ever,” he agreed.

  Her parents exchanged a look that seemed to communicate they thought both Grady and Suzanne had lost their minds. But they had drawn closer together, possibly the closest they’d been all night, which was something. He was sure Suzanne wouldn’t mind if mutual horror was a unifying factor—he certainly didn’t. Not if it meant them patching things up quickly and getting on their way.

  Then things could get back to normal around here. Assuming that was at all possible. Maybe there were just some things a person couldn’t come back from. Like cat baubles and his head painted on a cherub.

  “Speaking of pictures, I meant to ask earlier, Suzanne: Have you been doing any painting, darling?”

  Grady watched as Suzanne’s smile stayed fixed but the light in her eyes dimmed a little. “No,” she said, avoiding her mother’s gaze.

  No? The woman had practically painted herself into a fucking coma every night last week.

  “I don’t…” Suzanne faltered, her voice trailing away.

  Grady didn’t know what was going on, but it was obvious Suzanne didn’t want her mother to know she’d been painting and, on a rush, he leaped in to fill the space her unfinished sentence had left. “I’m sorry,” he said on a deprecating laugh. “That’s been my fault. I’ve been a little selfish, I’m afraid.”

  She shot him a small, grateful smile. “He has been keeping me quite occupied,” she admitted, then flushed beet red.

  “Well, now, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Albie said on a half laugh. “Come on, Simone, let’s leave these two lovebirds to their evening.”

  Grady blinked. Lovebirds? It was good to know their public displays of affection had been convincing, but Grady still felt awkward as fuck being Suzanne’s fake rancher boyfriend.

  General goodbyes followed as all four walked toward the back door. “I’ll take you into Credence tomorrow,” Suzanne said. “And Grady mentioned he’d love to show you around the place sometime, so we might do that tomorrow afternoon.” She glanced at him. “Is that okay?”

  Grady faltered. What the fuck? He would rather shoot himself in the foot than play tour guide to two city slickers. That was not part of the deal. His hand tense on the knob, he op
ened the door, nodding politely as the frigid air rushed in. “Sure. As long as nothing pressing arises.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. I’d love to see around your farm.”

  Grady wasn’t sure if Simone was being obtuse or clueless, but Suzanne was quick to correct her mother. “Mom,” she said with an eye roll in her voice. “It’s a ranch.”

  “Sorry.” She apologized with a rueful smile. “Your ranch.”

  “We look forward to it,” Albie said with a nod, ushering Simone out the door, then, pointing above their heads to the doorframe, said, “Mistletoe.”

  They both looked up at the plastic plant. Suzanne laughed as she slid her arm around his waist. “Grady does like to increase his chances.” Then she rose on her tippy-toes to kiss his cheek at the same time Grady turned his head, and her lips connected with his mouth.

  Sort of.

  It should have felt clumsy, but even this slight off-kilter kiss infused with rum and nutmeg managed to knock him on his metaphorical ass. It deepened, and the world around them faded for a moment as he forgot about the winter air and a tour he didn’t want to give and the fact that this kiss was number four and he’d been very fucking specific about three being his maximum.

  Grady dragged himself out of the kiss, staring at Suzanne for long moments, surprised to find they’d been so preoccupied, they hadn’t even noticed her parents leave. Glancing away, he stepped inside, and she followed as he shut the door behind them, shutting out the cold night. He only wished he could shut out the smell of nutmeg and the taste of rum-infused lips.

  He didn’t like feeling this flummoxed, and right now it seemed vital to take back that control. “We didn’t agree to me being a tour guide,” he said, his voice gravelly as he moved to the central kitchen bench and grabbed for the docked phone, switching off the playlist.

  He could only hear “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” so many times without wanting to shove a pair of Aunty Cora’s size-eight knitting needles into his ears.