Page 92 of A Lucky Shot

“Su casa es mi casa.”

“I don’t think that’s how that goes.”

“Close enough.”

“Jackass.”

Stephen liberated a half-empty bag of nori snacks from a drawer and flopped onto the couch. “Well?”

“Not going home.”

“Why?” Green flecks coated his teeth. Josh handed him a bottle of water.

Josh dropped beside him. He crossed an ankle over his knee and stole back one of his snacks, its salty crunch crackling in his mouth like a map in the desert. “Parents are heading to Melbourne. Grace is staying in Van, but you know.”

“Shit.” Stephen tossed the empty bag on the coffee table and swished the water in his mouth in contemplation.

“Yeah.” Josh raked his fingers through his hair and bit back a sigh. It wasn’t spending the holiday alone that was the problem, per se. It was the fact that every choice he’d made in the past three years made him alone at Christmas. Again.

Stephen brushed seaweed confetti from his pullover onto the coffee table. “I’ll ask Libby’s family to set another place for dinner tomorrow night.”

Josh swept the nori remnants into his hand and dumped them into the sink. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Her folks are great. They’d be more mad at me for not inviting you if they found out you spent Christmas alone.”

“I don’t have anything to bring.”

“Bring a bottle of wine and your charming self.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“They aren’t formal. You could show up in a tutu and they’d be happy.”

“It’s pretty short notice.”

“Cass is going to be there.”

What happened to the cabin? Maybe she didn’t head out until Christmas morning, and he’d have one more chance to see her before the break. Josh ran his tongue over his teeth. “What time is dinner?” he asked.

“Seven. I’ll text you the address.”

He couldn’t see Stephen’s expression with his back to him, but he could hear the triumph in his voice well enough.

Dick.

The house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, its rusted brick facade pitted with years of weathering. A yellow glow spilled through the open curtains in a stretched square on the front lawn’s perfect snow, while multi-coloured lights winked through the branches of the Christmas tree like Morse code.

If he had to hazard a guess, the dots and dashes spelled here lives a happy family. He’d lay good money down that there were ugly Christmas sweaters on display. Matching ones.

Josh stepped out of the Uber into a blast of wind that gusted glittery snow up the hem of his jacket and under his sweater.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he bleated.

The driver snorted, unfazed by the blasphemy, and waved as he drove off.

Fine. Anyone driving on Christmas Eve was either not religious, needed the cash, or needed to stay away from family. Any combination of those reasons, plus the fact that his ride had been blessedly silent, deserved five stars. Josh added the rating and a fat tip at lightning speed and sheathed his hands in his pockets before frostbite set in.

The door flung open as he was finishing his last rap and he dipped forward like he was about to slap a bet on a poker table. A wall of heat and steam curled around him through the open door and Libby yanked him inside.

---