by Sara Cate
“Perspective, remember?” she says sweetly, linking arms with me. “I’d kill for a close-knit family like yours.”
It’s true. As boring as Christmas break will be, I can’t help but feel grateful that we do the same thing every year. Felicity has a good relationship with her dad, too, but I know it’s exhausting having to shuffle between two households every other weekend—especially between New York, where we live, and Boston, where her mom lives. Plus, at least with my family, I always know what to expect. Felicity’s mom is a nurse, so she often has to work overtime at the last minute and can’t take Felicity. I know it wears on her.
“You’re right. I know. Prague will be amazing. I’ll think of you while I eat stale cake and drink reduced fat eggnog,” I joke, giggling. “Plus, I’m sure your dad will enjoy having you to himself for two weeks.”
She sighs. “It’s going to be magical.” Just as we get to my car, she gasps. “Oh my god, you should totally come with us!”
I stop walking and stare at her, my keys dangling in my hand. “What? No. I can’t. Your dad would never let me.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Besides, my parents wouldn’t want me to miss my last Christmas home before college.”
The thought of Prague at Christmastime, though…
She squeals and jumps up and down, drawing several people to stare at us. “Oh my god, I’m totally going to ask him if you can come too.”
“No. I can’t, Felicity—”
“We leave the day after Christmas, Wren, so you could still celebrate with your family.”
I tap my jaw. “It sounds fun in theory, but there’s no way your dad is going to let me mooch off of him for two weeks.”
No way in hell.
“Please. We have so many airline points from shuffling me between New York and Boston. And the apartment is already paid for. If you bring spending money, I don’t see why it would be a problem.”
Except that I can tell your dad hates me.
I look down at my snow boots, contemplating. Am I really considering this? It would mean two weeks in Europe. Europe! I renewed my passport last year, I have some spending money from my summer job, and if I promise to spend actual Christmas day with my family, I don’t see why they wouldn’t let me go. On the other hand, it would be two weeks in Europe with Mr. Cooper. Living in the same space, eating with him, talking to him. The thought sends nervous flutters through me—and not the good kind. In fact, that sounds kind of awful.
“Come on, Wren. Would you rather spend a week with Grandma Mildred—bless her heart—where your only reprieve is fucking Taylor Harris? Or would you rather be in Prague?! It’s not a hard choice. The guy doesn’t even know where your clit is.”
I burst out laughing. “He knows where it is—”
Someone clears their throat behind me, and I turn to find Mr. Cooper glaring at us.
Oh god, did he hear that?
He gives me a stone-cold frown before turning his attention to Felicity. “Do you need a ride home today?”
“No, Wren can drive me. I think we’re going to stop by Starbucks and grab a coffee first.” She looks between us, knitting her eyebrows together as if she can sense the tension.
Mr. Cooper looks back at me, his eyes vacant and cold. He’s in a black leather coat, and he’s holding a pair of leather gloves. I must admit, the man has style.
“Very well. Drive safe.” He turns to go.
“Hey, dad,” she says sweetly, and I can see Mr. Cooper’s muscled back tense. “I was thinking, what if Wren came with us to Prague?”
His fists clench around his gloves, and I pretend I don’t notice the whole seven seconds it takes for him to turn around and face us.
“I don’t know, Felicity,” he says, sighing as he pockets his gloves and rubs his face. He doesn’t even look at me. “I was hoping you and I could explore the city. You know, have some time to bond before you go off to college next year.”
I tamp down the sting of rejection. He’s being polite, but I know that my going would be his worst nightmare.
“It’s fine,” I say to both of them. “Really. I’d rather keep it low key this year anyway.”
Felicity frowns. “She has her own spending money. I have a billion points from seeing mom, and we have a two-bedroom apartment in Prague. She can sleep with me, and you and I can still explore the city together in the mornings, because Wren sleeps until noon most days.” She quirks her eyebrows.
My cheeks heat. “I do not.”
I turn to face Mr. Cooper fully. “I don’t want to go,” I explain, crossing my arms. “I wouldn’t want to interfere. It was all her idea.”
Why does my chest feel tight? Why do I feel like crying? I grind my jaw and climb into the driver’s seat without looking at either of them. I roll my eyes when I hear Felicity whispering furiously, so I slam my door shut.
It’s fine. I didn’t even want to go that badly. I am more than happy to stay in New York and visit my family, like every other year. Maybe Felicity and I can meet up in Europe next Christmas. It is short notice, even if I wanted to make a case for going. I lean back in my seat, but I don’t dare a glance out of my window. I can’t handle Mr. Cooper’s annoyed face, or the look of contempt he’ll no doubt send my way for even suggesting that I tag along on his trip.
I press the start button and wait for Felicity to get in. Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I nearly jump out of my seat when Mr. Cooper knocks on my window. Scowling, I roll it down.
“Yes?” I ask, matching his cool gaze with one of my own.
He smirks slightly, cocking his head as he leans a forearm on the top of my window. The leather squeaks against the metal of my car, and I ignore the whiff of mint that must be coming from him.
He opens his mouth to speak, but Felicity pulls the passenger door open. I look away from Mr. Cooper, frowning at my friend for putting me in this position. It was stupid to even ask, and I hope he doesn’t think I’m trying to sneak onto his coveted trip to Europe. I can be daft, but I’m not that daft.
Felicity grins and screeches and she plops down into the passenger seat. “He said you can come!”
I snap my head to Mr. Cooper. “What?”
He just shrugs. “If it’s what Felicity wants, you are welcome to come to Prague with us, Wren.”
My stomach flips. “No. I’m okay.”
Something flashes across his face, and when I go to roll the window up, the sheer force of his arm causes the power window engine to groan against him.
“What the hell, Wren?” Felicity whines from next to me. “He said you could go!”
I thin my lips and look back at Mr. Cooper, my gaze cold. “I don’t need your pity or charity,” I say quickly.
“We want you to go,” my friend adds, but Mr. Cooper’s eyes narrow slightly.
I want him to say it. He must see the challenge behind my eyes because he slightly twists his mouth to the side.
“We’d be delighted if you came with us.”
Fake.
Fake fake fake.
I meant it earlier, though. I don’t need anyone’s charity. I would be perfectly content at Grandma Mildred’s house. That was the plan, and I was expecting an uneventful two weeks of bad Christmas movies and dry, spiralized ham. I’d already mentally prepared myself for that. Mr. Cooper could take that false enthusiasm and shove it up his nice ass.
But…
Two weeks in Europe? In Prague, no less? Was I really going to let my hatred for Mr. Cooper be the reason I missed out on a life-changing experience? I was eighteen. I’m sure my parents would be excited and thrilled for me, since they seemed to love Mr. Cooper. My application to NYU was ready to send in, and I could make a quick note about the trip. It might help to have some cultural experience to reference. More than anything, though… it was Prague. At Christmastime. And it would be mostly free.
I’d never get this opportunity again.
I sigh. “Fine. But just so you know, this was all Felicity’s idea,” I e
xplain, looking Mr. Cooper dead in the eyes. They soften slightly, and he nods.
“I know.” He shoots his daughter a wry smile. “We leave on the 26th. Don’t pack too many clothes. I don’t want to be lugging five suitcases through JFK.”
Without another word, he walks away.
Felicity cackles maniacally. “I didn’t think he was going to say yes!”
I frown. “You owe me.”
She huffs a laugh. “For what? Taking you to Prague?”
I smile. “No. For humiliating me in front of your dad.”
I reverse out of the parking lot and begin the two-minute drive to Starbucks.
“He’s a big softie,” she chides, leaning back and placing her foot over her knee. “I would’ve worn him down eventually, but I’m surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight.”
I try to tame the nervous butterflies that erupt inside of me at her words. It didn’t mean anything. Just because he was being nice doesn’t mean he likes me.
“I really wish my dad would meet someone,” she says out of the blue, humming as she scrolls through her social media feeds. I ignore her as I pull into a parking spot. “I mean, he’s had girlfriends, but he deserves a partner, you know? Someone to travel with. Someone who challenges him.”
“Yeah, totally,” I say absentmindedly.
“Anyways, it’s going to be fun. We can go to the clubs, explore the city, maybe get a little European dick—”
“Felicity,” I warn, chuckling.
“Oh, come on. It’s not like you’re exclusive with Taylor.”
“I know. I just… I’m kind of over men who don’t know what they’re doing. I’d rather just focus on getting to college.”
“Mmm’kay. Well, we’re still going clubbing.”
I turn the car off and lock it as we hurry into the warm cafe, and I try not to think about spending two whole weeks with Mr. Cooper.
Chapter 3
Wren
* * *
Thankfully, my parents are very excited about the prospect of me spending two weeks with the Coopers. They bring up the learning opportunities being there with my history teacher, while also enjoying time with Felicity. Plus, I think they secretly want an excuse not to spend a week with Grandma Mildred, because they’ve decided to drive down into Long Island for just the day instead of the whole week.
As an only child, they’ve coddled me my entire life, and I think they’re starting to realize that one day soon, I’ll be moving away from our small, upstate New York community and into one of the biggest cities in the world. If Prague can prepare me for new experiences, they’re more than happy to send me—especially since they assume Mr. Cooper will be our chaperone.
I try to hide my excitement at the prospect of flying to Europe as Mr. Cooper drives us to JFK. The car ride is mostly quiet during the two-hour drive, and since it’s the early morning, we experience almost no traffic. We park the car in a long-term lot, and as we take the shuttle to our terminal, I check that I have my passport three separate times. I’ve never been out of the country—even though my dad is adamant about keeping our passports up to date—so my stomach is swirling with anticipation.
Much to Mr. Cooper’s chagrin, I managed to fit everything into a carryon and a backpack. I didn’t miss the surprise that registered on his face when he loaded my bag into the trunk earlier this morning. I may not be the best student around, but I’m an expert at packing, apparently. Felicity, by comparison, had two large bags to check.
Once we’ve gone through security, we grab something to eat and inhale our food quickly. We have a few minutes before we must board. Mr. Cooper—or Blake, he insists—stays mostly to himself as Felicity and I totter around excitedly. Once they call our section, we’re the first ones in line. I volunteer the middle seat once on the plane, seeing as I wasn’t even supposed to be on this flight. As we take off, I try not to stare at the way Mr. Cooper’s large hands grip the arm rests—or the way that motion highlights the tanned, corded muscles along his bare arms.
Felicity pops headphones into her ears, and I see her open her Audible app—no doubt listening to one of her romance audiobooks. I smirk as I lean back, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of Mr. Cooper—Blake—looking over at me.
“You seem calm for someone who’s never flown over an ocean before,” he mumbles.
“And you seem nervous for someone who has,” I retort, remembering the time he took Felicity to Paris a couple of summers ago.
I see a hint of a smile form on his lips, and then it’s gone. I pull my book out of my backpack and flip to the page I was on. I’m about three paragraphs in, when I hear Blake huff a laugh beside me.
“You know that book is historically inaccurate, right?”
I scowl as I look at the front cover. The Other Boleyn Girl. It’s one of my favorites.
“I don’t think anyone reads it to understand history. But it’s a good story, and I’m obsessed with all things Anne Boleyn.”
“I’m a Catharine of Aragon man myself,” he replies, rubbing his lips. “I find her family, and her tragic ending, so fascinating.”
I smile. “I took you for a Jane Seymour guy.”
“Is that so?” His eyes twinkle with humor, and my stomach flips over. God, why is he so beautiful? Dark, bold eyebrows, deep-set brown eyes, a sculpted jawline, full lips, and flawless, white teeth. He doesn’t look like he’s forty-two, aside from the few strands of silver hair sprinkled into his tousled, dark locks. He looks thirty—at the very most. And it’s not just me, either. Felicity gets mistaken as his wife all the time. I’m most certainly the only female at Regent Charter School who doesn’t have a crush on him.
“Yeah. She was a rule follower. By the book. She came in and did her job—bearing a son—perfectly. Until she died, that is.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Do I really seem that boring?”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
I bite my lower lip, and his eyes track the movement, staring at my mouth for a second too long.
How do I answer that? If I say yes, he could use that against me in class. If I say no, he’d know I was lying. Luckily, he saves me from admitting anything by sighing and sitting up straight.
“I need a drink.”
Now that we’re above ten-thousand feet, he presses the call button, and a flight attendant bounces over to us, batting her eyes at Blake. I have to try not to roll my eyes.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Can I please get a Jack and Coke?”
She nods. “Sure thing.” Looking at me for the first time, she must assume I’m with him—which is humiliating—because she clears her throat and stands up taller.
“And for you, madam?”
“I’ll have the same thing,” I say sweetly.
“She’s underage,” Blake snaps.
“I’m eighteen. And we’re over international waters, right?” I ask her, winking.
The flight attendant gives Blake an uncomfortable smile. “She’s right. Our airlines are based in Europe, so we follow their drinking age on board while over international waters.”
I grin. “Great.”
Felicity nudges me. “What are you having?”
Blake grumbles something unintelligible, but he doesn’t sound happy.
“A Jack and Coke,” I tell her.
“Ooh, me too!” she squeals.
“Excuse me,” Blake says sternly. “We’re barely an hour into this flight. I refuse to babysit two drunken teenagers for the next seven hours.”
The flight attendant walks away quickly—we’re eighteen, and he has no jurisdiction here.
“Just the one,” I tease, winking. I ignore the hot, fiery flash of something in his smoldering gaze.
“To get our trip started on the right foot,” Felicity whines. “Come on, dad. Don’t be such a tightwad.”
I burst out laughing, but I also kind of feel bad for Blake. He means well, and truth be told, I kno
w he’s only trying to protect us.
Blake’s eyes move from his daughter back to me. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
I harrumph and continue reading my historically inaccurate book, ignoring Blake completely—which is hard to do when his leg continues to brush mine accidentally, thereby sending uncomfortable flutters through my core. When the flight attendant brings us our drinks, I thank her, and we all toast—except Blake doesn’t meet my gaze as he does.
“If you don’t make eye contact, it’s seven years of bad sex,” I blurt, and before I can think of what I’m saying, and to whom, Felicity laughs.
“He has to have sex to have bad sex,” she jokes, and then her earbuds are back in her ears, and I’m left with Blake’s seething expression staring at the seat in front of him. I’m just about to open my book again when he slightly turns to face me.
“Seven years?” he asks, holding up his glass. His eyes find mine, and I swear, something daring, something forbidden, flashes behind them.
Something feral.
“Wouldn’t want that,” he says slowly. Sensually. And we clink glasses, our eyes locked on each other as we take a sip.
I’m the first to break eye contact. “I think I might have another,” I say, nodding to my drink. It’s not like I don’t drink—in fact, Felicity and I have had our fair share of drugs and alcohol. But my stomach continues to turn over itself, and it happens whenever Blake’s leg touches mine, or whenever he looks at me. I need something to calm my nerves.
“I’m starting to understand so much about you, Ms. Chambers,” he says unkindly as he looks away.
My cheeks burn at his use of my last name. “You don’t understand me at all,” I answer, tipping the rest of the drink back.
“We’ll see,” is his only response.
Cryptic. Somehow demeaning. Patronizing.
I was stupid to think I’d go from hating Mr. Cooper to liking him in the span of an hour.
He’s still the same old grumpy teacher.