Page 122 of Snowed In

“Fine.” He sighs in defeat. “Which one were you going to wear?”

I am not showing up in one of my brown work coats. Fucking Trent and my wounded pride.

“This one,” I mutter, snatching my peacoat from his hands.

I take a step back to bar any opportunity for him to assist. Once I have my arms stuffed into my sleeves, I find him looking far too smug.

“Knock it off,” I warn, rolling my eyes and reaching for the door. “This won’t work if we bicker the entire time.”

“Sure it will. They’ll think we’ve been together forever.”

Ten minutes later, I’m still trying not to pout over our argument about how he thinks his four-wheel-drive truck was the better option to drive in a Minnesota winter. I can’t believe I’m headed to my family’s Christmas withhim.

I don’t get him. I thought we had a mutual dislike, but he keeps… doing things that seem contrary. Now that I’ve had time to cool down from his surprise arrival, logic tells me this must be his ass-backward way of apologizing for getting us stuck in that cabin. Sighing, I lean my head back against the seat and decide to throw out the white flag.

“So, whyRonny?”

“Why Ronnywhat?”

Ugh. I have to spell everything out.

“I don’t know. You tell me,Vincent.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Excuse me if I didn’t want to be the seventh Vinny Carmichael in my family.”

Geez. That sounds like an episode ofThe Sopranos.

“Fair enough.”

The following silence feels akin to sitting in a dirty puddle. This is such a bad idea.

“Is there anything you need me to know before we get there? Any dos or don’ts?”

I want to tell him that sounds like pre-date conversation but bite my tongue. Shaking my head in defeat, I stare out my window at the familiar scenery of Aunt Joyce and Uncle Bill’s neighborhood.

“Unless you can pull off the impossible and act like you worship the ground I walk on, no. I just want to get this over with.”

Chapter Seven

Iforgot that while Ronny has been a sore on my ass for the last two years, everyone else at Sal’s loves him. He’s acted shockingly perfect in every regard so far. Quiet but polite and, dare I say, charming, whenever someone speaks to him. Maybe he has experience with apology dates.

Yeah. That tracks.

“So, you said the two of you work together?” Mom calls from across the dinner table. “How come I never heard you mention him before?”

Shit. Are we busted already? At least Trent is out of earshot.

Ronny’s shoulder bumps into mine, playfully. “Marshall was a tough one to figure out. I was done for the first time I saw him, but he didn’t know I existed.”

“Oh, I find that hard to believe,” Mom reassures him.

“No, it’s true.” He chuckles at her coy approval. “He made me work for it.”

“Shame on you, Marshall. Ronny’s so sweet.”

Right now, he’s sweet. Because it’sfake.

Great. Everyone is looking at me like I’d have to be daft to reject this Italian god.

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