Page 23 of Boyfriend
Whoa. He smells of woodsy aftershave. I have to force myself to rock back onto my heels, instead of leaning in for even more.
He grins. “Is someone looking out the window?”
“Yup!" I give him a big smile. “I’m going to win this thing, Griggs. Now introduce me to your bonkers family. I'm ready.”
"Yeah, okay.” We share a private smile. “But you've been warned."
As he turns toward the house, he reaches for my hand. As his roughened fingers envelop mine, this feels strangely real. I know it’s a game, but his palm feels so solid against mine.
He pushes open the door and leads me inside. There’s a shoe rack, so I lean down and unzip my snowy boots. He sets our bags down on the floor and toes off his hiking boots. “Dad? Stevie? We’re here.”
I follow him into a soaring great room with a huge stone fireplace that takes up one entire end of the room. Some ingenious person has installed a beautiful wood stove insert into it, so the fire inside casts off heat and light, but no smoke.
In front of the fire is a big plush wool rug and a lot of comfortable furniture. There’s a coffee table the size of a small country there too, and I’d bet any amount of money that the Griggs men spend most of their family time right there in that spot.
The view is killer. Outside the long row of windows, the lake is visible at the end of what must be a rolling lawn in the summertime. But right now it’s covered with snow. Someone has cleared a strip of the ice on the lake, and I see three people whip by on ice skates.
“Whoa. Can you skate right outside your front door?” I ask.
"Yup," Weston says, using tongs to toss another log onto the fire. “Want to try it tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” I hedge. “There's no way I could skate as well as you, though.”
“That's a good thing, Abbi,” he says dryly. “Otherwise the hockey team recruited the wrong person.” He gives me a coy smile, and my belly does a little flip.
I don't know how this happened. Suddenly I'm friends with Weston Griggs. And I'm spending Christmas with him in this winter paradise. Not that we'll be making out in front of that roaring fire.
But a girl can dream.
“Hey, Dad!" Weston calls. "You here?"
“Sorry!” comes a shout from the back of the house. And then a big, strong man appears in one of several doorways leading into the room. “I was just finishing up a call. This must be Abbi. Welcome.”
My first thought is wow. Mr. Griggs is a silver fox. He’s a handsome older version of my fake boyfriend. I can see where Weston gets his thick, wavy hair and those intelligent eyes. He steps forward, holding out a hand to shake mine.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Griggs,” I say.
"Oh, please call me Mickey. The pleasure is all mine," he says with a chuckle. His grip is firm as he gives my hand a polite clasp. “So happy to have you join us for Christmas.” Then he steps up to his son and gives Weston a playful cuff on the biceps. "That's for not coming home to see your father ever. But I guess you’ve been busy."
“It’s hockey season, Dad. You know you can come to a game anytime. Where’s Stevie?”
“Right here.” Another strapping Griggs man steps into the room. Stevie’s hair is lighter than Weston’s, and he’s a little shorter, maybe. But the gene pool has been good to this family. “So you’re the mysterious girlfriend.” His eyes narrow. “I’m fascinated.”
Weston makes a grumpy noise, and his hand finds mine and squeezes. “Be nice, Stevie. Is that any way to greet a guest?”
His brother looks pointedly at our joined hands. “Nice to meet you, Abbi,” he says politely enough. “I cleared out of the double room for you two.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Weston says quickly. “You’re staying longer.”
“Oh I insist,” he says with a smirk. “Let me help you carry your bags upstairs.”
“We got it,” Weston grumbles. “I’ll grab our stuff out of Abbi’s car.”
“Thanks, Westie,” I say in a soft, sweet voice.
His brother snorts. Loudly. “Westie?”
“Shut it,” Weston says to his brother. “Be nice and offer Abbi some lunch. I’ll be right back.”
