The cartoons are fairly simple, in some ways, but the shading on them draws me in. There is real light and personality in the faces, and if I were looking at these as part of a portfolio for our art department, I’d be impressed.
I leaf through the others, half-aware that I’m snooping, but every single one brings a smile to my face. They’re all relatable slices of life drawn with love, and I can’t believe this woman, who already has so much going for her, is this talented a cartoonist as well. She’s beautiful, kind, funny, generous, and… artistic. She’s too good to be true.
Smiling, and feeling grateful for this new glimpse of Allie’s world that I hadn’t seen before, I push the papers back into the bag and head into the kitchen. A coffee really seems like the least I can do to make up for my snooping.
I had planned to knock on the door, but Allie has left it half-open. I push it with my free hand, and as it swings open I have to stifle a laugh at the scene that lies before me. The panels on the wall are almost finished, and Allie is taking a break. By which I mean, she’s wearing a pair of huge pink headphones and dancing around with the sander whirring away in her hand. I mean, she’s really going for it.
“If you like being a banana!” she shout-sings. “And getting caught in the rain!”
I feel my lips twitch and my mouth pinches into a pucker as I desperately try not to laugh. I lean against the door jamb and just watch her. What she lacks in rhythm, she more than makes up for in enthusiasm. Her little hips swing wildly as she twirls about, leaving streaks in the sawdust around her feet.
And then, after a particularly energetic pirouette, she notices me.
“OH!”
She stops dead in her tracks and bites her bottom lip, a slight flush reddening her cheeks. She clicks a little button on the sander to turn it off and pulls her headphones down around her neck. I can hear the tinny notes of The Pina Colada Song coming out of them as she stands there, breathing just hard enough for it to sound… appealing.
I should tease her. I really should. But I’m concentrating too hard on not popping the world’s most awkward boner.
“Hey!” she says.
“Hey,” I say, holding out the coffee. “I brought you this.”
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she says, coming over to take it. “But thanks.”
“I felt bad,” I admit. “I’m down there flicking through Netflix and you’re up here working hard.”
She shrugs. “I have my music. It’s all good.”
We smile at each other as we sip our coffee. I decide, having won the battle against my boner for now, that it’s about time to tease her.
“You know… it’s Pina Colada.”
She looks at me with a confused frown.
I bob my head back and forth and sing: “If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain…”
Slowly, as she realizes what I’m talking about, her left eyebrow raises into a high arch and her lips tug upwards into a tight, barely restrained smile.
“REEEEEALLY?”
Her voice is laden with sarcasm, and I get the distinct impression that my teasing is about to bite me in the ass.
“Do you mean to tell me,” she continues, clearly relishing the trap that I have apparently fallen into, “that all this time, The Pina Colada song has been about… Pina Coladas? Why was I not informed? Was there a memo at some point?”
“All right, I see this isn’t going to work out well for me,” I try to interject, but she’s on a roll.
“Please Mr. Big City, lend me your worldly wisdom! For I am but a humble small-town girl, who wouldn’t know a Pina Colada from a Cosmopolitan from a hole in the ground!”
“ALL RIGHT, I give in!”
Her face breaks into a wide smile, and I find myself grinning back at her. Then her smile softens, and a faraway expression paints itself across her face.
“It might be The Pina Colada Song to you and me. But when Emma sings it, it’s a song about being a banana in the rain.”
Now. Now, at this moment, I want to kiss her more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything in my whole life. And this morning in the kitchen, I wanted to kiss her more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything in my whole life. She is rapidly taking up all the spots in my top ten list of things I want to do more than anything I’ve ever done in my whole life.
I smile back at her, but the effect she has on me makes my chest tighten with panic. What am I doing? And why do I seem so unable to stop myself from doing it? We’ve reached the point where I’m spending Thanksgiving with her family and we’re doing charity events together. What’s happening to me?
“I was just going to finish up and start dinner,” she says, just like that, as though she and I having dinner together is the most normal and unremarkable thing in the world.
“Sounds great!” I say, and turn towards the door. “See you soon, then.”
I don’t wait for her reply before I head back down the stairs. I feel caged by my own desire for her, and every second we spend together feels like a point of no return.
We’re approaching a precipice. I can feel it, and I’m not sure I have the willpower to stop myself from jumping.
Chapter 11
Allie
It’s the third day of the snow-in and I’m starting to feel antsy. It’s not that I don’t enjoy Greyson’s company—he’s actually pretty fun when he’s not being weird and standoffish. But I miss the girls, and every time I sleep until I’m rested or finishing a coffee before it gets stone cold, I feel guilty for enjoying it.
At least Greyson is feeling better. He’s practically bouncing around the house today. I think he has that post-viral glow you get when you were sick enough for long enough to forget what normal feels like, so for a day or two afterward, normal feels like you have superpowers because you can make a sandwich without needing to go lie down halfway through.
“Here we go!” he says, gliding into the sitting room with a plate in each hand. He sets them down on the table in front of me. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Man, he’s such a bachelor.
“Thanks.” I smile, but I know it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I’ve called Sadie and spoken to the girls a bunch of times over the past couple of days, and everything really is fine, but being away from them is just starting to sit uneasily with me.
“No problem,” says Greyson. “You’re not allowed to lift a finger today. I need to pay you back for caring for me when I was all sick and weak. And naked.”
“There’s no need,” I grin. I mean it. I keep having happy little flashbacks to our encounter in the bathroom, and I’m more than willing to call us even.
“Yes, there is,” he insists, biting off a chunk of his sandwich. He chews and swallows. “I need to prove my manliness. This is how masculinity works. Later on, I’m going to make you watch me lift something heavy for no reason.”
I laugh, shaking my head. When he’s not very obviously avoiding me, he’s really nice to be around. And the fact that he looks like an underwear model doesn’t hurt.
I lift up the sandwich and take a bite, and my entire mouth explodes with flavor.
“Oh my god!” I say around my mouthful, looking over to him. I chew and chew until I can swallow. “What the hell is in this? It’s divine.”
His face morphs into a smug grin.
“Right? I wish I could take credit, but it’s Ethan’s invention. Worcestershire sauce, mayo, and super-fine diced pickle.”
“It’s amaaaaazing,” I coo, taking another bite. Just as I’m wondering how I can get Greyson to make me gourmet bachelor food more often, his phone starts ringing on the table, and he slides it towards himself to look at the screen.
“Ha! Speak of the devil,” says Greyson, pressing the speaker button. “Hey, Bro.”
It’s almost disconcerting, how completely at-ease he is with me listening in to his conversations.
“Hey, G!”
The man on the other end has a similar voice to Greyson. Maybe a little higher
in pitch, and a little friendlier.
“Shame about being snowed in the ass-end of bumfuck nowhere.” Ethan chuckles, and Greyson gives me an apologetic smile.
“Hey!” I say.
“Oh no! A native!” says Ethan, and I like him immediately. “Is that Allie?”
I glance at Greyson with raised brows. His brother knows my name? What else does he know about me?
Greyson keeps his gaze studiously on the phone.
“Yeah. She’s snowed in here with me.”
“Ohhh,” says Ethan, slowly. Greyson cuts in quickly before he can say anything else.
“So I won’t be back for Thanksgiving unless Ben can pull off some sort of miracle.”
“Yeah, I heard,” says Ethan. “So listen, Emily and I were talking. I think we’re going to drive up with the kids and spend the holiday with you. Mom and Dad are out of town anyway, Emily’s folks have her brother over so they won’t miss us, and I wouldn’t mind getting eyes on the house before we sell it.”
A wide smile breaks out across Greyson’s face. He looks delighted at the prospect of getting to spend the holiday with Ethan and his family after all. I guess the feeling is infectious because I find myself smiling despite how mopey I’ve been all morning.
“Great!” says Greyson. “That’s… thanks, Ethan. That’s really cool of you.”
“Pfft, I just wanna see the house. I only said that other bit to make you feel better.”
Greyson laughs.
“You’re a dick.”
“No,” says Ethan. “I’ll tell you who’s a dick. Peterson is a dick. Have you called him yet?”
I feel like I’m being let in on some big family secret. But Greyson stiffens, visibly irritated at the mention of Peterson’s name.
“I’ve been sick,” says Greyson, defensively.
“You’ve called people before when you’re sick. I know he’s a lot of work but… call him. You know how he gets.”
“I thought you didn’t get sick,” I whisper. Apparently not quietly enough.
“Is that what he said?” asks Ethan. “He always says that. Just before he gets sick.”
I give Greyson a wide, smug grin, and he puts his entire hand over my face and pushes me so I fall backward on the couch, laughing.
“I’ll call him,” says Greyson.
“All right. He’s been making inquiries at ABM, so it’s pretty urgent.”
“First thing tomorrow,” says Greyson.
“Good. See you in a few days. Bye Allie!”
The phone clicks off just as I manage to right myself on the couch and grab my sandwich.
“He seems nice,” I say.
“He’s the nice brother,” says Greyson.
“Low bar,” I shoot back, winking, and Greyson rolls his eyes with a smile.
“You know,” I go on, as an idea starts to form in my mind. “The kitchen is fine for sandwiches and one-pots, but I’m not sure you’ll be able to cook a full Thanksgiving dinner in there.”
Greyson looks thoughtful for a moment, and as my observation sinks in his brow draws down into a frown. It’s a lovely kitchen, but it’s old—the oven is too small and too flaky to entrust with a whole turkey, there’s no garbage disposal, and there’s some kind of blockage in the pipes that causes the water pressure to suddenly drop without warning. Unless Greyson is planning to cook the entire dinner in the twenty-year-old microwave oven, he’s out of luck.
“Hmm,” he says, and I can almost hear the cogs ticking over in his head.
“Bring them to Sadie’s,” I say.
He pauses mid-chew and looks at me.
“Well, you were going to come anyway. It’s only, what? Two more adults and two kids? The more the merrier. Sadie won’t mind.”
He gets an expression on his face like he’s having a thousand different thoughts at once, and then he looks at me and just stares for a moment.
“Okay,” he says. And then he repeats it like he’s surprised to be agreeing. “Okay. If it's all right with Sadie and we’re not too much of an imposition.”
“Great!” I say. “I’ll call her after lunch.” I happily tuck into my sandwich again, while Greyson hits play on a comedy show.
By mid-afternoon, having called Sadie and secured her enthusiastic agreement to host yet more people, I’m sitting in one of the huge armchairs reading my Kindle. No matter how hard I try to get into the story of a hapless young woman abducted by an alien warlord who wants to make alien hybrid babies with her—a brand of escapism that’s usually right up my alley—I’m back to feeling antsy. I look up every few minutes to check if it’s still snowing, and it always is. Greyson is sitting on the couch reading a book of his own. It looks like a thriller. I suspect it features fewer self-lubricating alien penises than mine.
“Right,” says Greyson suddenly. He slaps his own book closed, puts it on the table, and gets to his feet.
I look up, watching him with wide eyes as he leaves the room. A short while later he’s back, and he throws my coat at me.
“Come on,” he says. “I’m sick of watching you sit there being miserable and trying to look like you’re not.”
He shrugs on his own coat.
“Your kids are fine,” he says. “They’re better than fine. They’re having a blast in the snow with their cousins. And we’re going to do the same. Why should they have all the fun?”
I reflexively open my mouth to protest... before realizing that I don’t really have a good excuse. Why should I be sitting around sighing and worrying, when I know that everything is perfectly fine?. But of course, I don’t want him to be right, so instead, I just purse my lips defiantly. He grins back at me, in a way that is simultaneously maddening and hot.
“See?” he says, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “I’m right. Get your coat on.”
THWAP!
The snowball I launch hits Greyson straight in the side of his face. What started as a short walk around the property, kicking through the snow, quickly escalated into a snowball battle to the death when I couldn’t resist grabbing the fluffy white cap from a fence post and throwing it at him.
“You little…” He packs up a snowball of his own and launches it. I duck out of the way just in time, feeling it breeze past my ear before it lands with a quiet thud in the deeper snow behind me.
“HAH!” I shout, victoriously.
I bend over for more snow, grabbing a handful of ammunition with my gloves and packing it together as I move, taking high, long strides to reach cover behind one of the nearby garden sheds.
“Oh, Alliiiiie!” I hear him coming closer and duck down, poised, waiting. As soon as he rounds the corner I let the snowball fly and catch him again.
“Motherf—!” he shouts, wiping the side of his face.
“Surrender!” I call, jumping to my feet.
“Never!” he replies, grabbing up another pile of snow between his hands.
I turn around to run but the snow is so deep and untouched that I struggle through every step.
I’m done for.
The snowball smacks me right in the back of my head and I go down, falling face-first into the snow.
“HAH!” I hear him shout.
A devious grin curls on my lips.
“He shoots, he scores! Face me like a man!” he calls.
It takes everything I have not to laugh. I stay stock still in the snow, not moving a muscle.
“Allie?” He calls. I hear the first slight change in his tone and I know he’s bitten. All I have to do now is reel him in.
“Allie?” He’s a little closer.
“Allie!” Louder this time, and right beside me. I feel his hand on my arm, and I whip around and smoosh a handful of cold snow into his face.
“Treachery!” he yells. “Cheat!”
I let out a peal of laughter as lay on my back in the snow, and he reaches down and starts tickling me in revenge, just like he did when the ground was unfrozen and we were laying in a puddle of mud by the broken tap.
“Mercy! I give in!” I cry, laughing uncontrollably.
He looks at me again, that same way, his smile fading.
He glances to my lips, and back to my eyes, and just like last time I feel a whirlpool start to churn inside me. I can’t tell if I’m more excited or scared.
“Allie,” he says.
This is not the same as last time.
“Yes?” I say, but my voice doesn’t quite manage to gain purchase on my breath and it comes out as a whisper.
“I’m going to kiss you again,” he says, pushing a curl out of my face.
My heart flips over in my chest.
“Okay,” I say, giving a little nod.
“Allie,” he says again. I move my gaze from his lips to his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going to stop.”
My heart is hammering—no, flipping—no, somersaulting in my chest. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to utter anything more than a squeak, so I nod instead.
I nod yes because I want him to kiss me, and I don’t want him to stop, and then I feel the warmth of his lips on mine and I let out a quiet moan.
He somehow manages to pull me up a little from the snow and place his hand on the back of my neck, his fingers laced into my hair, and he probes his tongue against my lips until I part them and lean deeper into him.
Nothing has ever felt so natural as the way our tongues dance together, responding to each other with lazy, slow passion.
When he pulls back this time, he does not immediately get to his feet and run away from me. He looks me right in the eye and smiles.
“I want you, Allie,” he says, and I bite my bottom lip.
“I wanted you from the moment I saw you in your stupid antlers, pretending to be French.”
“Busted!” I say, because all the nervous energy inside me has to come out somehow and I guess this is the escape hatch it chose.
Greyson takes it in his stride, laughing and pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.
“I want to take you to my bed, Allie,” he says, His eyes look almost glazed with lust, and as he says it I feel my hips tilting upwards off the snow towards him, betraying my own desire.
My Smalltown C.E.O. Scrooge: A Festive Romantic Comedy Page 8