December 12, This Year
series of knots like last year’s Christmas lights, Devon Langley squinted at the red balance on her spreadsheet. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, scrolling back up in the bleak hope of finding the error before the office locked up for the night, that despondent moment when the air shut off, darkness saturated the walls, and every click on the keyboard echoed over empty cubicles. An hour ago, she’d cleared the entire budget sheet, verified her formulas, and started over, but nothing came close to adding up to the aberrance.
Helen popped into Devon’s cubicle, her chocolatey eyes steady with her patient demeanor. “Hey. Devon. I don’t want to rush you, but it’s getting late and I can’t close November without your final numbers.”
Devon spun her chair, catching her hand on the desk to halt her twirl. Her lips turned down in a pathetic pout. “I know,” she said pitifully. “I’m off by thousands. There must be a transposed figure, but I can’t find it.”
From the next cube over, Pike called, “Shit—sorry—wait. Sorry. Hang on.”
She heard his chair spin and knock into the steel credenza as he hopped up and rounded the cubicle wall. A floppy sheet of paper in his hand, he cringed as he passed it to her, then leaned against the other side of her cubicle opening. “This is totally my fault. I was wrapping up the branches, and Westside’s balance correction didn’t make it in the final count, and they didn’t realize until I called this afternoon. They had an aberrance with the vault count, and the correction won’t post until this month.”
Breath rushed from her lungs, and she laughed with relief. Bright and bold on the sheet, she found her missing four-thousand, three-hundred-dollar deficit. “I was beginning to imagine how to word my resignation. You saved my Christmas.” Before she realized she was still talking, she muttered, “Almost.”
“Almost?” he asked as he crossed one foot over the other, settling against her cubicle wall for the scoop.
Helen gave her shoulder a squeeze before leaning against the credenza opposite. “Don’t even think of quitting. You’re both already abandoning me for the holidays. I’m not sure how I’m going to hold down the fort without either of you for the next two weeks,” Helen said, eyes wide and cringey.
“Hey, I didn’t know Pike had already requested the time off. Of course, now that I have no plans, I can come in…” Devon answered, tilting her head with a grimacing shrug.
Helen shook her head. “No, this was supposed to be your big meet-the-family trip with Tucker. Now that you broke up? You deserve a vacation more than ever. Go someplace sunny and fun.”
“It’s not like I need all that time off now.“ Nor in the foreseeable future. “I don’t mind coming in.”
“No. Take the time.” Helen shrugged innocently and said, “To be perfectly honest, giving you both the time off was a selfish move. For the first time in a decade, I have an excuse to not entertain my in-laws. Work is going to suck, but a Christmas without my mother-in-law criticizing my… everything? Worth it.”
Pike tipped his head in a subtle nod. “I still can’t believe that asshole wimped out at the last minute.”
Devon tucked her lower lip between her teeth and braved a subtle headshake. The argument with Tucker had been awful, the text-fight spilling into work, so her work crew had taken her out for drinks and trash-talking.
Helen’s brow lowered in a gush of renewed sympathy. “He didn’t deserve you.”
“Story of my life,” she muttered. Or so she told herself. After a string of toxic relationships, a person had to realize they were the common denominator. The weight of it rose like a glob of acid in her throat and overflowed into hot gooey stuff behind her eyes.
If he wasn’t ready at six months, when would he be? When she’d run out of tissue, her nose raw and her throat swollen from shuddering alone in her apartment after the fight had deteriorated into a breakup, she swore the dickwad didn’t deserve another blotchy face from her.
“You’re a flame to jerkwad moths like him,” said Helen, crossing the cubicle, her feet scuffing over the plastic floor-protector as she wrapped her arms around Devon’s shoulders. Despite the perfume flooding Devon’s nares, she leaned in. Muffled by hair, Helen added, “Come to my house for Christmas. You are not spending the holidays alone.”
Devon shook her head as she pulled away. “That’s okay. Really. Thank you. But your kids are probably looking forward to coming home for a quiet Christmas this year.”
“Um…” Pike said, a quiet sweetness to his tone. “This might be weird, but… you’d be doing me, like, the biggest favor of all favors, and it might be a good distraction for you…”
Helen’s cheeks flushed, and she grinned wide.
After clearing his throat, a flame of red washing over his cheeks, Pike shrugged carelessly. “You like to ski, right?”
She nodded, heart pounding hard under her ribs as she tried not to get excited about what he might be suggesting, in case she was getting ahead of herself and he wasn’t building up to an invitation to join him.
“My family has a cabin up at Rift Peak, and we do a big holiday thing every year. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning, so this is really last minute, and I’ll be there until the twenty-seventh. But, I mean, if you want to… or if you only want to come up for Christmas Day, that’s cool, but if you came up for the whole trip, if you want, you could ski and shop and there are so many great places to eat…”
Her own cheeks flooding with heat, Devon bit her tongue before she said something stupid.
Helen looked like she was about to clap and jump up and down, barely restraining her enthusiasm.
When Devon had been hired at the accounting department, Pike had adorably, shyly flirted with her. She’d thought he was going to ask her out, but he… didn’t. With the eyebrow ring and playfully scruffy hair, even after a fresh trim, she assumed he would be more… assertive. She could have asked him out, but she’d still been jaded from Mickey—Tucker’s predecessor and her reason for moving to Portland to begin with—and had sworn off dating.
Then Tucker happened. Ugh. What a mess.
Shit. What if he hadn’t been interested enough to ask her out then, and still wasn’t interested, but was just asking to be nice? Not that he was asking her out. Shit. She was a mess.
He flicked his lower lip in his teeth, then restarted when the silence bloated beyond comfort. “My cousin, Alexei, is bringing his girlfriend, and I confess, we’re a bit competitive, and it’s so fucking—sorry,” he nodded the apology to Helen.
She waved her hand for him to continue.
”—Anyway, it would be awkward if only one of us brought someone. My parents have been on my back, saying I’ve been spending all my spare time at the recording studio instead of having any sort of social life. And my gramma thinks Alexei is going to propose, so I really wasn’t thrilled to go alone… I mean, what I’m trying to say is…”
Helen nudged him with her toe across the cubicle and grinned as if she were the smitten one. “That you want Devon to be your date?”
Pike shrugged lightly, one side of his mouth sweetly, wickedly lifting as he glanced up and met her look, showing her that badass rockstar side of him she had seen the few times they’d socialized outside of work. Like at that concert last September? Wow. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date. But, if you… you’re probably not ready to even think about dating again, so we can just…”
Helen eagerly jumped on the plan. “This sounds so great, for both of you. But Devon, if you tell everyone you’re ‘just friends,’ Pike’s family is going to spend the entire vacation whispering behind your backs, trying to decide if you’re together or not, and if you’re not, why not, or if you’re using the ‘just friends’ thing as a way of saying you’re early in a relationship and then the magnifying glass really comes out. But if you pretend that you’re together, you can both relax without speculation… I mean, that’s up to you two, but… it’s what I would do, but you know how I feel about my in-laws… I’m shutting up now.”
Devon held a finger up and spun toward her computer. Breath held tight in her lungs, the withheld air providing absolutely no relief, she held them off while she focused on her actual job. She punched in the missing aberrance, methodically, slowly, dragging it out as long as possible to buy a few seconds. Zero. Perfect. She clicked save, shared to the department folder, and spun back.
Two full weeks at home, alone, with no one but Diesel, her laptop, and… romantic fiction. When was the last time she had so much uninterrupted time to herself?
When was the last time she’d been spontaneous?
She opened her mouth. Closed it again.
When else could she spend two full weeks skiing?
At the rate she was going, when was the next time she’d be invited… anywhere? And, hey, a fake relationship didn’t count as diving into another relationship before recovering from the last. Again. Hadn’t she sworn to herself that she was going to try the single thing for a while?
She’d still technically be single, could spend most of her vacation on the slopes, and nail down the rest of her work-in-progress. She’d always wanted to write a fake-date romance. And a Christmas romance. What better research than the real fake thing, at the holidays?
Better yet, if the real fake thing turned into a real thing, like it would in the book? This might, perhaps, be the stupidest decision she’d ever made. But, it could turn out to be the best. A little real-life trope-re-enactment might make for a spectacular book.
She shifted her gaze to Pike.
He glanced over to meet her look. Yum. Locked-on eye contact. A shared moment. Even a little zing. He did have the prettiest eyes. Mournfully ice blue, accented by dreamy dark lashes. Maybe she’d take things slow, savor the longing looks stage…
Yeah, this was going to be brilliant. Real life research, and maybe a genuine romance with a nice guy.
Devon nodded confidently. “It’s, what, a three-hour drive? Plenty of time to work out the details on the way. We can pull off the fake relationship thing. If that’s what you mean?”
His adorably one-sided grin widened, and she was pretty sure there was a little butterfly in her chest that acknowledged the possibility behind the look. Seriously, the man was hot. Even Tucker had suspected that Devon had a thing for Pike. Who wouldn’t?
“That would be… I mean, I would owe you… thank you,” he said. “Pick you up at nine tomorrow, at your apartment?”
“I’ll be ready.” Shit. Okay. Shit. Take a deep breath. “I’ll text you my address.”
Helen smacked the back of her hand lightly against Devon’s shoulder and pranced out of the cube.
Pike pushed off the cubicle wall and gave her a subtle smile as he backed up a few steps, then came back. “Call me if you have any questions or doubts or anything. Or if you change your mind. I mean, I hope you don’t. Change your mind, that is. My family is really nice and normal, promise. I can’t ski on my messed-up knee yet, but you can hit the slopes every day if you want. Plenty of partners to ski with if you want company.”
She sucked in a tight smile and nodded, exhilaration and nerves fighting an epic battle for dominance over her mood. “I might just do that.”
What the hell would she pack for a fake-date family vacation? Holy shitty shit shit. Devon shut off her computer and tucked everything away, so she’d return to a clear workspace in two weeks.
Twilight cast a thick chill over the parking lot as Devon raced outside. She checked her purse again. Yup, phone present and accounted for. Keys. Wallet. Lip balm.
With a tap on the handle, her Mustang unlocked. One more breath of wintry air. Two frigging weeks off. In a row. Skiing. Romancing. Relaxing.
Would a jumping, cheering woohoo in the parking lot be weird? Probably.
But what the hell. She relented to a giddy, under-her-breath giggle before swinging the door open and sliding into the sleek car. Foot on the brake, she pushed the start button, and the engine roared, her music firing up seconds later as Bluetooth connected.
Shoulders up, down, relax.
Head back, deep breath in, deep breath out.
A fake relationship was probably so much safer than if she tried to actively date anyone right now. And fun. With Pike? Hell yes.
She shifted into gear and watched her speed and corners as ice had already begun to creep under the shadows.
When her rust-bucket had kicked-the-bucket a few months back, she’d searched for weeks before splurging on the pretty, gunmetal gray car. Naturally, on their as-rare-as-possible meet-and-greet, her big sister had seen the car and declared it was a foolish purchase. What was she going to do when carseats came into her life?
Ha. At twenty-seven, with a guy like Tucker for a boyfriend—at the time, carseats were miles off. Further, now.
But escapist drives along the coast? Those were very necessary—in the present. Case in point, Tucker was out of the picture before she’d even had to renew her birth control prescription, so carseats were even further off.
But the price was right, as they were trying to unload last year’s floor models. The speed was a perk. And, most of all, when she floored it up the onramp, aviator sunglasses on, she felt like she was flying.
A few miles west, and she turned off and drove into her apartment complex. The buildings had been repainted “azure” blue shortly after she’d moved in. Despite sounding lovely, it was an overwhelming shade that might occur somewhere in nature, but nowhere in Oregon. At her assigned number in the covered spaces, she spun her hand over the wheel and backed in.
Feet cautious on the solid sheet of ice as she stepped out, the granules of salt providing more traction than melt, she wove through the shrub-dotted courtyard and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The wreath on her door smelled as fresh as a forest as she rattled the keys, the fake red berries de-legitimizing the au natural northwest vibe, albeit a pretty colorful contrast.
On the other side of the door, she heard tiny claws scratching against the tile floor. A devilish grin on her lips, she jingled the keys again.
“Yip,“ called the wiry little guy on the other side of the door. His message was clear: Hurry your ass in here. I’m hungry and I have to pee.
Quieting her giggle after her moment of fun, Devon took pity on the little guy and twisted open the lock. “Sorry, long day. Too many numbers, too little time,” she said as she dumped her purse and grabbed the leash from the hook.
Keeping her coat and work clothes on, knowing his bladder wouldn’t hold on much longer, she hooked up his leash and led the way down the stairs, while he bounded and hopped gratefully along behind her.
At the foot of the stairs, Diesel tugged on the leash, diving into the bushes and instantly hopping on three legs as he marked, marked, and marked again, until finally releasing a full bladder load onto the foot of the concrete bench. “Really?” she said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching.
The brown wiry pup, no bigger than her foot, bounded through the gravel courtyard, sniffing anything larger than a baseball, then finally backed up to a rosebush and dropped a steamer. Devon’s chest vibrated a delirious chuckle as she watched him wiggle his butt to finish things off. Proud of his smelly accomplishment, he raced back to her on the retractable leash.
Unable to resist, she squatted down and stroked his bony head. “One thorn in the butt, dude, and you’re going to realize that’s the stupidest place to poo.”
Diesel trotted at her side as she bagged the load and disposed of the smelly package in the communal dumpster. As they headed home, winter bared its teeth and gusted through the courtyard.
Thin fur, tiny dog. Diesel wanted no part of it.
Lovingly, she rolled her eyes and scooped him up. “It’s not that cold,” she muttered. Well, maybe it was, but according to her research when she’d picked this region of the country, winters were supposed to be mild.
Diesel had spiky French bulldog fur and not a lick of cold tolerance. Unless a squirrel crossed his path, then nothing else mattered. “You are not ever riding in my purse,“ she said firmly, holding him up and dodging an overeager tongue to the nose. “Stroller? No effing way.”
As soon as they got inside, she cranked up the heat and flicked on the gas fireplace before filling his dish. She glared into the echoey fridge. With the trip she’d had planned, she hadn’t wanted to buy a bunch of fresh food, so she was down to frozen chicken, frozen pizza, and eggs. And then she’d been too angry to bother.
Not at Tucker. Angry at herself for falling for another jackass.
When she’d first moved out on her own, she’d debated writing a cookbook on the crap you could make from the pantry dregs, when rent was due and the current paycheck was dedicated to keeping the electricity on. Rolling her shoulders, she tugged her wavy hair into a lazy knot and rolled up her sleeves. Metaphorical sleeves, as she still wore her standard work blouse, the sleeves long-since rolled up.
She cracked eggs into a pan, added canned jalapenos, canned tomatoes, and a mountain of frozen grated cheese as the eggy goo started to solidify. Her phone buzzed on the counter behind her. The number of possibilities of who might be texting was… slim.
Anxiety—not the good kind—fluttered under her skin and heated her to a beet red. Tucker. As much as she’d rather ignore the text and eat first to show him she didn’t care… she’d rather get it over with.
Hey doll.
Doll? A growl rattled her lips, and she bore her canines like Diesel when he saw a big dog he naively thought he could take… until it looked at him. Okay, so not attractive, but the moniker had the potential to be sweet… maybe, in some universe… no, it was just demeaning. And it irritated the shit out of her, as he tended to use it when he wanted a favor. He thought it was comically endearing.
Have a sec?
Dammit. She texted back. Nope.
She scooped her eggs onto a plate and leaned against the countertop, glaring at the phone while she shoved a bite in her mouth. Ugh, even the jalapenos tasted like cardboard thanks to the bastard’s untimely text.
Her phone jangled a peppy version of Jingle Bells. Asshole couldn’t take a hint.
Fine. She picked it up and swiped to answer. “What do you want?”
“Hi. What are you doing?” he asked.
Nope. “Packing.” Or she would be shortly. Repacking, anyway.
“Oh. Where are you going?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh. I was just… my family was all excited that they were finally going to get to meet you, and I didn’t have the heart to disappoint them, so I said you were coming. Will you reconsider? We can re-break-up after the holidays, if you still want to.”
A temporary reinstatement of the relationship to make him look good, when he’d ditched her because he was too chickenshit to commit? She puffed out her cheeks. “Nope.”
“Come on, Doll. I got scared, that’s all. It’s a big step.”
“Yes. It is.” She waited. Scooped in another tasteless bite. Diesel plopped onto his butt at her feet, staring up at her with his big brown eyes. She bent down and ruffled his ears.
“You know you mean the world to me.” She could picture those less adorable big brown eyes, dripping with something he thought was meaningful. Maybe even a pout on those lips.
“That’s it, isn’t it? I ‘mean the world to you.’ What about that big scary L-word?” she fired back, instantly regretting that she was slipping into another fight.
“People throw that word around and it becomes meaningless.”
Her gut churned, and she set down her fork. Breath heavy in her chest, she remembered why she’d never told him about her side gig. He was as romantic as a decaying hunk of rat poo. “Even if I wanted to spend another minute in your presence, I made other plans.”
“Oh,” he stuttered. “Maybe just for a few nights then, and we can tell them you have to get back to work? Bring Diesel. I miss the little guy.”
“I’m going skiing.” She probably should have left it there. “With Pike.”
“The musician you work with? The guy with the eyebrow ring? I thought you weren’t into the whole ‘bad boy’ thing.”
When did he get that idea? It was the couch-potato pothead thing that she didn’t care for, thanks to Tucker and his friends. “That’s him.” Damn. Was there anything better than throwing a superior new guy at your ex? Okay, probably, but right now, it was the best. “Nice guy would be a more accurate description.”
Hotter, more interesting, modestly successful. And definitely kinder. Pike looked the part of the bad boy, but behaviorally, he was pure sweetheart. And if she’d had half a brain, and Pike had shown interest sooner, she could be spending the holidays with his family as a real girlfriend. Rather than having this conversation with a dodged bullet of an ex. “Look. After six months of ‘hanging out,’ meeting the family and the dreaded ‘L-word’ were too much for you. I’ll say it. Love. Love love love. It’s a beautiful word. We were exactly where we were six months ago. Movie night at your place with pizza has limits in its romantic scope. Handholding does not count as foreplay. Energy drinks and donuts in bed at ten in the morning are not sexy. I want… I need more. Don’t call me again. Goodbye Tucker.”
Any response he could conjure was way too nauseating to consider, so she clicked out of the call and tossed the phone onto the counter.
Yeah, this fake date thing with Pike was her best plan ever. It might even be a real date in disguise, but she wasn’t about to ask if Pike had been trying to ask her out, or if it was a pity invite that happened to benefit them both. Talk about awkward.
Either way, it was a perfect setting for a sweeping romance.