Page 48 of Holiday Hostilities

And comfort is going to be key for me today if I’m going to work out a plan to get me through Christmas unscathed. Would renting a campervan and driving myself to Florida be entirely unhinged?

The apartment is unusually quiet. Greg’s done with his 6am bagpipe practice, and I can’t hear Romy’s hysterics. I can only hope that she’s out assisting with the livestock round-up on the highway for which I suspect she’s at least partially responsible.

I exit my room to find Shannon facedown on the couch in the living room, fast asleep. I’m in half a mind to wake her up and remind her for the ten thousandth timeshe has her own room, but instead, I tiptoe to the kitchen and open my cupboard, hoping to scrounge up breakfast before any more roommate antics begin.

Each of us has our own designated cupboard, and a shelf in the fridge. Well, we’resupposedto.

This system apparently doesn’t matter at all—my food cupboard is suspiciously lacking for having filled it up last week after a big trip to the grocery store. My coffee grounds are depleted, and my nut-free cereal and granola bars have vanished. On my shelf in the fridge is a platter of jello shots that certainly do not belong to me.

I swear under my breath, debating again whether to wake Shannon up—this time, to interrogate her about who might’ve been in my cupboard. But, that would mean having to speak to her.

At that moment, there’s a sharp knock on the front door.

“Wonder who that could be,” I mumble, idly hoping that it’s not the police looking for a statement about rogue turkeys. Or the turkeys themselves seeking vengeance for being unceremoniously freed near a highway.

I fling open the door to the sight of a large, well-built frame propped up against the doorframe.

“Aaron!” I say in surprise.

He looks freshly showered and is wearing a black t-shirt with a Cyclones logo and gray sweatpants. That sexy black baseball cap—the one that’s always annoyed me with its sexiness—sits backwards on his damp hair, and he’s holding two takeout coffees.

“Hi,” he says, his face a mask of composure. There’s no hint of his usual cocky smirk anywhere.

“What’re you doing here?”

One brow rises up and his eyes sparkle teasingly. “You’re not gonna invite me in?”

“No!”

“Where are your manners, Lil Griz?”

I open my mouth to retort, but then?—

“Is your friend back with Elliott’s bail money?!” Romy yells from her room.

“Ugh.” I sigh. “Let’s talk outside.” Without a second thought, I lay a palm flat on Aaron’s chest and push him backwards, hard. Of course, the guy doesn’t budge an inch at my efforts.

He stands there for a moment, a solid, warm brick wall under my palm, but then, with a grin, he moves back. I step barefootonto the sticky hallway carpet, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Aaron looks me up and down, his eyes lingering on the strip of bare stomach where my tank top ends and my sweatpants start. When he looks up, I swear I see heat flaring in his gaze, but he blinks, and I think I must have imagined it.

“We match,” he says, his voice a little husky as his eyes find mine.

I laugh nervously. “We do.”

“I brought you coffee.” He holds up one of the cups. “Americano with a splash of oat milk. Exactly what you ordered at Essy’s.”

I swallow thickly as I accept the cup. “Thanks.” My brows pull together as I peer up at him. “So… you came all this way just to bring me coffee?”

“No, I—” He stops, and I watch in fascination as a red blush crawls up his neck. “I have an idea.”

“What kind of idea?”

He takes a deep breath, almost like he’s summoning strength. It’s the same face he makes when he takes a shot on net during a game, I notice.

“Youshouldmoveinwithme.”

I blink. My ears must be deceiving me. “Pardon me?”

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