Morgan sat at the breakfast table, bouncing her feet, both of which were engulfed in new Homer Simpson slippers. She’d opened them just twenty minutes ago, along with a set of pajamas, a bright red stocking cap with the Duff label stitched on the cuff, and a fleece blanket that looked like the quintessential big pink donut.
Every Christmas since she could remember, her parents had showered her with Simpsons stuff—likely due to the fact that it was Christmas morning when she showed up at the Moris’ house all those years ago, with a secondhand jacket and a vise grip on her Bart Simpson doll.
She was adopted. That fact had never been kept a secret from her. How could it have been when she remembered sitting slumped in a pilled maroon chair in the caseworker’s office, her swinging feet barely grazing the carpet. At the ripe old age of ten, she was planted on her new and improved mom and dad’s doorstep. Ta-da!
She saw it immediately. Because although ephemeral, it was unmistakable. The slow pressing of the lips, the eyes that slipped into sideways glances, each parent blaming the other, as though to say, You wanted this. This bruised and brittle girl. This girl who bites and screams in her sleep. This girl who brings out the worst in everyone she touches. All this excitement built up and suddenly, here she was. The anticlimax, a firework that fizzled without even the smallest pop, a punch line that didn’t land quite right.
Oh well, final sale. No returns.
She waited for her dad to finish with the silver shaker, then grabbed it and sifted powdered sugar on her waffle. From across the table, Grandpa Teddy’s eyes crinkled at her. His freezer bag filled with watermelon Jolly Ranchers rested by his plate. It had taken Morgan six bags to complete. The other flavors were dumped in an old Halloween bowl downstairs. She still had to sort them.
To her mom, she’d gifted a new set of baking pans and a funny oven mitt. Her dad got a new wrench set and a bag of socks.
The whipped cream can crackled as she sprayed some on her waffle and added a swirl to her coffee. Grandpa Teddy held his mug out for her to do the same. He smiled like they’d just done something devious.
It was barely 8:00 A.M., but Christmas at the Mori household had run its course. They’d opened their gifts, said their thank-yous to one another, and folded the scraps of wrapping paper to be reused next year. After breakfast, her dad would go back to the factory, Grandpa Teddy would fall asleep in his chair, and her mother would fulfill some more last-minute black-market cookie orders.
Morgan wondered what the Reynoldses were doing. Eleanor would be perfectly put together, she was sure—all made up wearing diamond earrings and a silk pajama set she hadn’t even worn to bed the night before. Don would be dapper, of course, at the breakfast bar making her coffee. Blake, Cora, and Charlie would coordinate in buffalo plaid pajamas; Carlisle would be in a festive adult onesie; David would be brooding in black; and Bennett would be dressed as if for a meeting—button-down shirt, black slacks, hair gelled and swept to the side.
Her heart palpitated at the thought of him and the moment under the mistletoe. He’d invited her over last night. His email popped up in the right-hand corner of her computer screen while she scanned. It had just turned midnight.
Merry Christmas, Morgan Mori.
Merry Christmas, Bennett Reynolds, she typed back.
I’m afraid we have a problem.
The statement had chilled her blood. What kind of problem could there possibly be between her and Bennett Reynolds? Did he want his money back? Because she’d already spent some of it on her family’s gifts. The rest was stuffed in the Nestlé tin.
A new email appeared before she could respond: Santa accidentally left a present for you here.
Her stomach flipped. They’d gotten her something? How was she supposed to repay them? Pretty sure I was on the naughty list this year, so …
Come over in the morning, he said. 10ish?
And so here she was, back at the Reynolds estate for the third time this week. Morgan deposited her grandpa’s unintentionally vintage car between Bennett’s Porsche and the Land Rover she’d deduced as belonging to Cora and Blake. Don drove the Tesla.
Bennett sat on the sun porch, his back to the window. She felt a little like she was sneaking up on him, stalking him. She knocked and watched as he turned, caught her eye, and disappeared. Within seconds, the door fell away and he stood before her, in all his primped and polished glory. Not a hair was out of place. Bennett Reynolds was a masterpiece. “Miss Mori. Merry Christmas.”
Morgan smiled, attempting to mask her nervousness. What was it about him that kept her so on edge? Perhaps it was the ease with which he moved through the world. Or the way his eyes constantly scanned her, like she was a code he wanted to break.
“Can I interest you in a coffee? Espresso? Hot cocoa?” He threw the question over his shoulder as he wandered into the kitchen.
Morgan heel-toed her boots off and followed him toward the breakfast bar, her gaze settling on the fancy silver espresso machine. It looked like something out of a steampunk novel, with its myriad of gears and wands.
“How many shots?” Bennett was already behind the counter, sliding a cup under the machine’s dual sprockets.
“Four?” She heard the inflection in her tone. Her normal shot count was six, but she should exercise some self-control. She was a guest in someone’s home, after all. Then again it was Christmas, a day of merrymaking made possible only by shots—whether espresso or alcohol.
“You sure about that?” His eyes lifted.
“Unshakably.”
“It’s pouring six.” When Morgan regarded him quizzically, he added, “Shot counts are like body counts.”
“Body counts?” As in bodies left for dead, she wondered. What did he know?
“You ask a woman how many people she’s slept with, you take her answer and add two. Guys, you minus two.”
Morgan turned his words over in her mind. All was quiet inside the Reynolds house. And yet, a wake of warmth remained, as though the place had been teeming with warm bodies not so long ago. She and Bennett were alone. She could feel it. She kept her hand steady as she accepted the steaming cup. “So, what’s your count, Mr. Reynolds?”
His keen eyes locked onto her face. “Two,” he whispered, with a look that said he knew she didn’t believe him for a second. He grazed her cheekbone with the edge of his thumb, then. It was an intimate gesture. She felt something stir inside her, something carnal and dark. If she was at The Ruins, she’d turn her head and let his thumb slip into her mouth. She’d bite down, just a little, so he knew she had teeth and that she was willing to use them. Then, he’d drop to the floor.
But they weren’t at The Ruins. They were in the wolf’s den. “You ready?” he asked.
Morgan was about to ask what for when she remembered her reason for coming over. “To see what Santa deposited under the wrong tree?”
They took their places in the living room, Bennett kneeling by the tree and Morgan sitting on the couch where Christopher had sat yesterday. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and breathing in the roasted aroma of the espresso. The place was already picked up from this morning’s gift opening. They were a vanishing bunch, the Reynoldses. So alive and in command of the moment, and gone the next. “Where is everyone?” she asked, finally.
“Family snowmobiles. They hit the trail about an hour ago. Well, everyone except David. I think he’s painting. Or brooding.”
Family snowmobiles, what a concept. Of the people she knew, most of their family gifts consisted of a board game or a tin of popcorn. “You didn’t want to go?”
“Had better plans.”
She smiled appropriately, knowing that she was indeed his better plan. “So that’s it, huh? The vagabond present that wandered under the wrong tree.” There was, indeed, one lone gift wrapped in silver foil. A red bow perched on top.
“That’s the one.” He retrieved it from beneath the boughs and handed it to her.
The gift was about the size of a mailbox and weighed several pounds. She could tell by its weight that it was expensive. Tilting the box on its side, she slid her finger under a triangle of folded foil and began to unwrap. The foil fell away to reveal a white box with black and red type.
“You didn’t,” she said, stopping abruptly. The gift was still half-wrapped.
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“Bennett, I—” She what? Couldn’t believe it? Couldn’t accept it?
“Love it?” he finished hopefully.
Morgan sighed. She felt hollow. The stirring inside her was gone, evaporated. A new wave of feelings erupted in its place. Gratitude. Disbelief. Utter mystification. She finished tearing away the paper to reveal the newest Canon EOS 5D Mark IV, complete with prime lens.
“I know these things have a ton of gadgets, so there’s a gift card, too.” He pointed to a tiny red envelope taped to the top, inside of which, as promised, was a gift card for $2,500.
“Bennett, this is insane. I can’t—”
“Process how happy you are?”
“Accept this. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
The puerile light in his eyes extinguished. The color faded from his cheeks. Even his hair seemed limp. Morgan instantly felt regret, but it was true. She couldn’t accept the camera, or the gift card.
Clearly unfamiliar with rejection, Bennett climbed up on the couch to sit beside her. “You can,” he coaxed. He wrapped his arm around her. She breathed in his bottled scent of bourbon and smoke and felt cloaked in calm, like the feeling of a blanket settling over her or a drink snaking its way into her bloodstream. “Remember last week, when I told you I make a fuck ton of money? This didn’t even cost close to that.”
It wasn’t so much about the money as it was the intimacy of the gift. To wield a camera again—one even better than the one she’d had before—was a revival. Of power. Of independence. Of a means to make her way in the world yet. “Bennett, we don’t even know each other.”
And she intended to keep it that way. She couldn’t ruin him as she had so many others. What was that thing he’d said about body counts, add two? More like two dozen, in her case.
“I know everything I need to know.” His fingertips walked over the back of her hand then, sliding into place between her knuckles. She felt him squeeze, felt a shot of endorphins rush through her, felt dizzy as he tilted his head toward her, his lips plush and inviting her to sink her teeth in.
The back door opened.
Cora’s laughter echoed in the hall, followed by the sounds of boots thumping on the mudroom tile.
Relieved, Morgan broke free from Bennett, sliding over to the next cushion. Bennett looked away, nonchalantly raked a hand through his hair.
“Morgan!” Eleanor exclaimed. “What a joy to see you two days in a row. Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas.” Morgan waved as the long-lost Reynoldses filed into the kitchen area. Eleanor removed her earmuffs and her scarf and dusted the snow from Don’s shoulders. Cora bounced Charlie on her hip; he looked like a snowbaby, all rosy-cheeked and bundled up in a white teddy bear suit. She heard a light banter, then, as who she guessed to be Carlisle and Blake hung up their jackets.
“Coffee or hot cocoa, anyone?” Don clapped his hands and set forth behind the counter.
“May I have a London Fog, darling?” Eleanor called. She smiled, showing her teeth, eyes shining brightly.
“Yes, love, but only because it’s Christmas. You know these things are wretchedly tedious.”
“I’ll have one too, please, Don,” said Cora. “Oh my God, Morgan, did you get Bennett to make you an espresso?” Cora shared a look with Eleanor, then turned back to Morgan. “He must really like you. Bennett lives to be served, not to serve.”
Bennett rolled his eyes. “Look who’s talking, Miss Can-You-Shovel-the-Walk-So-I-Don’t-Get-Snow-on-My-Boots?”
Cora laughed and raised her right hand. “Guilty. But in my defense, Louboutins were not made for snow.”
“They were made for show,” added Blake. He’d taken off his jacket and Morgan startled at all the colorful ink on his arms. Now that he was only wearing a T-shirt, she could see that he was covered in tattoos. The edge of one even crept out from underneath his collar. They stopped abruptly at his wrists, though. Probably so he could wear a long-sleeve shirt and no one would be any the wiser. She hadn’t been.
There was something different about all of them, wasn’t there? Now that she was aware, she noticed the dimple piercings in Carlisle’s cheeks, and where was her mane of blond hair? Surely it couldn’t all be tucked into her hat.
“Thank you, honey.” Cora leaned over to plant a kiss on her husband’s lips. She entwined her arm with his then, and rested her head on his shoulder. With Charlie still on her hip, it looked as though they were posed for a family portrait, and Morgan was reminded again of her other camera, the one with all their Christmas photos on it. She looked down at the new hardware in her lap.
“Ooh, did you give it to her? What do you think, Morgan?”
“It’s…” Morgan took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you,” she said for the first time, turning toward Bennett. “I’m…”
“In shock?” Cora laughed.
Morgan nodded. Yes. What was this strange new world into which she’d tumbled? Walking into the Reynolds estate really was like wandering through a wardrobe. Everything was better here. Nicer. Even the people. Who just gave someone—a stranger, essentially—thousands of dollars’ worth of gifts?
“You really don’t know what this means to me.” A tear slipped down her cheek and she let it. She could help her parents catch up on bills. Buy a new car. Leave. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
Don handed steaming mugs to both Cora and Eleanor. He returned to the espresso bar, pouring a shot of whiskey into his own.
“You could grace us with your presence again,” suggested Eleanor. When Morgan looked at Bennett, she added: “Come to the cabin with us. For New Year’s.”
“Cabin?” Morgan reached back in her memory for the last batch of photos she’d scanned, and thought she remembered catching glimpses of an A-frame structure in the woods.
“Aw, yes!” said Cora, as though speaking for Morgan. “That would be so fun. We go up every year. Well … we do now, again.”
“It’s a hike,” said Carlisle as she hopped up to sit on top of the breakfast bar. She took her hat off to reveal a head of short blond hair, shaved on one side. And when David wandered in through the sun porch smelling of aerosol and standing next to her, she knew where she’d seen the two of them before.
The Ruins.
Carlisle’s mouth twitched like she could read Morgan’s mind. The key burned the inside of her wrist. It was possible that they had been the ones to leave it for her, Morgan thought. That the black sheep of the family had lured her home.
Suddenly, she felt Bennett take her hand. “Well, what do you say?” he asked.
How long had Morgan sat there, staring silently at the pair of them? Their presence awakened something inside her. Fear. Dread. A homesickness for a place she no longer had. The smell of spray paint took her back to the night of the shooting. I found you. Her head swam.
“Yes,” she answered finally, only to appease the Reynoldses. She would cancel later. And as she gathered her things, she noticed how David’s and Carlisle’s eyes never left her. They weren’t sheep at all. They were wolves.