Page 83 of Hat Trick

The even better news? I woke up the next morning with a sense ofpurpose.

The bad news? I haven’t heard from Marshall, and each day that goes by makes me wonder if I screwed things up for good. Charlie and Zoe respected my wishes to stay out of it—their significant others are his teammates and best friends—and working through it all on my own proved to me one thing: I’m strong enough to handle anything that comes myway.

I spent New Year’s Eve alone after deciding it was best to take some time away from my mom—maybe permanently. After our heated conversation on Christmas, I didn’t have it in my heart to go another battling round with her. She’d made her decisions in life for whatever reasons suited her. Over and over again, she’d chosen men over me. Or her friends over me. Or, really,anyoneoverme.

Hard as it’s been to find lately, I know my self-worth, and begging for answers she’ll never give me isn’t worth my time orenergy.

Marshall Hunt, however, is worth every bit of energy I’ve got housed in my five-foot-fiveframe.

Bracing my shoulder against my massive packages, I stab the elevator button up to my fourth-floor apartment. I need to call Holly as soon as I put everything down. I—we’ve—been waiting for my order for two weeks now to arrive in themail.

The fact that no one even batted an eye when I picked up six, life-size cardboard cutouts at the post office proves one of two things. The first: Bostonians are jaded human beings, and nothing surprises them anymore. The second: they were too busy wondering where they could buy a life-size cutout of Marshall Hunt forthemselves.

The thought of him alone sparks a need in me that I haven’t been able to quiet since I fled his house before Christmas. And, just saying, but I’m fortunate that Google has Incognito mode because my search history in the last two weeks would make me out to look like some kind of weird stalker. Fun fact: Marshall has some of the sexiest GIFs on the internet right now. In case you werewondering.

Juggling my three Marshall’s and three Gwen’s, I wait for the doors to pingopen before stepping onto my floor. With a shimmy and a prayer, I wrap my arms around my most prized possessions and shuffle my way down the emptyhallway.

The doors are all decorated with wreaths and little garland-dressed trees by the welcome mats. Most of the tenants haven’t taken down their holiday decorations, which can’t be said for my door which is remarkablyempty.

Asusual.

“Almost there,” I mutter as I waddle awkwardly, trying to keep my legs from tangling with the mass clutched to my chest. Then I do another shimmy as I ungracefully unlock thedoor.

First step when I drop off my load inside? CallHolly.

Second: Stage the cutouts so they’re all in place when she arrives to take theirphotographs.

Third: Ask Andre Beaumont for Marshall’s newnumber.

One firm kick of my boot to the door later, and I shove it open with the back of Cardboard Marshall’s handsomehead.

It’s time to make the magic happen and show Marshallexactlywhy he should give meanother—

What.

The.

Hell.

The cardboard cutouts flail to the ground as my hold loosens from shock. I turn slowly, taking in the sight of my apartment transformed into some sort of winter wonderlandretreat.

A decked-out Christmas tree sits in the corner of my living room, its red-and-white lights twinkling brightly. Beneath it are an assortment of presents. My TV has been exchanged for what looks to be an electric fireplace. The fake flames hiss and crackle as though the wood they’re burning isreal.

Garland and tinsel is strung throughout theroom.

My gaze catches on the balloons dancing along the ceiling, along with signs boastingHAPPY NEWYEAR!

Looks like Zoe and Charlie were incredibly busytoday—

My heart stops at the sight of his hard, athletic body strolling toward me down the hall. Jeans, socked feet, and a plain black T-shirt are accompanied by a red Santa hat perched jauntily on the top of hishead.

“You did this?” My voice emerges rusty from shock. “All ofthis?”

Marshall points to his hat. “I had some help from a few of Santa’s elves.” Lips turning up in a small grin, he adds, “They bitched and moaned the entire time. I plan to lower theirwages.”

I don’t even know what to sayorhow tofeel.

“There are New Year’s decorations,” I say, as though that makes adifference.

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