Page 22 of Boyfriend
“My—?”
“Stepfather-slash-uncle. Your stepfuncle. Besides—I already have a pet name for you picked out. It would be a shame not to use it.”
I snicker nervously. “I’m terrified now. But fine. Two can play at this game. I’m going to call you…” I hesitate. What’s a slightly silly but ultimately believable pet name for Abbi?
Honey is too generic.
Kitten?
Sugar pop?
Hmm.
“It’s not so easy, right?” She sounds a little smug. “The name has to fit, or people will see through us.”
“Eh. I made your stepdad into a believer. And I did it without a pet name.”
“Pfft. Price was suspicious of you,” she points out.
“Was not,” I argue just because it’s fun to goof around with Abbi. If she were my only company for the next three days, I’d actually be looking forward to Christmas.
“He was too,” she chirps. “Do you want to argue some more? Or are we going to sing something at the top of our lungs? I just found the Avett Brothers singing ‘If We Make It Through December.’”
“That sounds more than appropriate,” I admit. “Blast it, baby.”
And she does.
Seven
A Little Overheated
Abbi
After getting off the highway, Weston begins to wind my little car down narrow country roads, while snow falls gently past my window. It’s cozy here in the car with him. I almost wish the trip would never end.
I know Weston doesn’t really need me here. But it’s obvious he’s dreading this party, and that he feels truly grateful for my company. And that’s given me a useful, optimistic feeling that Christmas hasn’t brought me in years.
Let’s face it, if not for Weston, I’d be holed up alone in my apartment right now, thinking sad thoughts about decorating past Christmas trees with my mom. This is so much better than that.
Eventually Weston turns down a driveway between two towering pines. And as we roll toward the house, it’s clear he’s totally undersold the cool factor of this place. There’s a stunning two-story clapboard house in front of us, with a slate roof and a wraparound porch. The doors are painted a cranberry red that’s set off against the snowdrifts.
“Wow,” I breathe. “It’s like parking in front of a Christmas postcard.”
“Didn’t I mention that my dad is an architect?” Weston asks, hopping out of my car.
“I get it now.”
When I climb out, he offers me the keys. “Here. In case you feel the need to make your escape from this looney bin.”
"Way to sell it, Griggs." I pocket the keys.
His smile is tight. “Thank you for coming with me, Abbi. I really appreciate it."
“Hey. It's really no trouble. I don't mind getting out of town for a couple of days. It's nice to have a change of scenery." That goes for both gorgeous property and Weston's handsome face in front of me. “Look, Christmas is a real drag for me these past couple of years. I get stuck inside my head. It's too much alone time. It makes me sad.”
“We have that in common, then,” he whispers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the window curtain twitch. And maybe that’s why I suddenly stand on tiptoes and give Weston a kiss on the jaw.
