Page 1 of Christmas Wishes

Prologue

KEATON

The eerie quiet in the apartment reminded me of the unnerving stillness after a dumping of snow. Normally, after getting home from work, I’d turn on music, a podcast, TV—anything for background noise. Unfortunately, today, my thoughts gave me more than enough background noise.

When I’d gone to work this morning, I’d expected dull conversations around the coffee machine about our Thanksgiving breaks and stuffing my face with the last of my holiday leftovers at lunch. I sure as hell hadn’t anticipated getting called into a meeting at the end of the day and told that Winchester Publishing was laying off twenty percent of its staff. I was among them.

I should’ve guessed something was up. I’d been laid off before, and the signs were obvious in hindsight with closed-door meetings, nebulous time blocks on leadership calendars, and harried HR staff.

Getting laid off just after Thanksgiving was a dick move, but at least they’d saved me from spending the holiday explaining to my enormous family that I had to find a new job.Again. They probably had a betting pool on how long this job would last. Big money to the lucky fucker who bet six months.

The most shocking part was they’d also axed my best friend and roommate, Arlo. I’d known from his stories about work over the years that he gave his heart and soul to the place, but it wasn’t until he’d gotten me a job there that I’d understood how much people relied on him. He never asked for credit, which was probably why they’d deemed him disposable. The fools.

As the most recent hire with a basic admin job, I was easy to cut. Arlo wanted a career in publishing, but I only cared about paying my bills and having leftover money to support my beauty habit.

“What are we gonna do?” Arlo asked from where he sat beside me on the couch. The hitch in his voice told me he was beginning to spiral.

I’d expected it and had been thinking about how to help him since we’d gotten back to our apartment a short while ago. Sometimes, the best thing to do with Arlo’s anxiety was to ride it out. Sometimes, it was to talk about it, and other times, distraction was the key.

Distraction.That’s exactly what we need.

“I know what we’re going to do. We’re going to get drunk and not worry about it tonight. We’ll be all responsible and shit tomorrow.” I half expected Arlo to shoot the idea down and suggest we start job hunting immediately, but he surprised me by agreeing.

Within five minutes, we’d filled shot glasses with the bottle of tequila I’d snagged from my parents’ house at Thanksgiving.

I tried to keep the mood light by reminding him of ridiculous stories from work. If too much silence lapsed, Arlo’s brain would take over, and I wanted him to have at least a small reprieve from the stress before it fully settled in.

I didn’t doubt we would find other jobs. I’d bounced around enough over the years that I’d learned a little about a lot of things—enough to get me a good response rate with invitations for job interviews. Once I got an interview, I was golden. I could schmooze with anyone.

Arlo might struggle with the interview, but anyone with half a brain would hire him because he was an incredibly hard worker with great ideas. We’d be okay. I was sure of it.

Once we’d finished the lone lime in our kitchen, we moved on to questionable mixers with the tequila, then taking swigs from the bottle. Arlo was giggly and adorable. Not in ahubba-hubbaway, but in anawww, my platonic bestie is such a cutie pieway.

Arlo started talking about the Travel Tuesday deals, and I immediately pictured Arlo and me sunning ourselves on a gay cruise, so I suggested it. Well, Arlo was more likely to hang out under an umbrella to avoid burning his pale skin. A side effect of being a natural redhead.

Arlo looked horrified. “You know we can’t travel together. It would be terrible, especially if the two of us were trapped on a boat.”

“We could take our own vacations.” I took another drink from the bottle. I doubted Arlo would go for it, but we’d learned long ago that we weren’t compatible travel buddies. We did great as friends, roommates, and coworkers, but travel partners? Polar opposites. Not in the way that we enhanced each other’s experience, but the kind where we had to compromise so much that we risked ruining our trip and resenting each other.

He preferred audiobooks, and I liked upbeat music. He enjoyed museums, but I wanted to go shopping or walk around the city. He wanted shade when I craved the sun. Neither of us could truly relax and enjoy ourselves on vacation with the other.

Arlo startled me when he suddenly sat straight from his slouched position. “We should sendeach otheron vacation as a big Christmas gift. Wouldn’t that be fun? You plan a trip for me, and I plan one for you.”

Who is this, and what have they done with my best friend?That idea was way too adventurous for Arlo’s comfort zone. It was a reckless use of a severance check, and I loved it. My kind of idea.

I straightened as the idea took hold. “A surprise? We book airfare, lodging, and everything for the other person?”

An idea began circling my brain. If I played my cards right, I could help Arlo do something he’d been too scared to do for over a year. “I’ve got an addendum. We send the other with a dare. Something we have to complete during the vacation.” I kept my expression neutral so he didn’t get suspicious.

Ever since Arlo had discovered the identity of his late father last year—a man he’d never known—he’d been debating reaching out to his dad’s family. They were nowhere near us in Minnesota, which had made it difficult. But if I got to book a surprise trip for Arlo, I could send him to Dahlia Springs, Oregon, where that side of his family lived.

Arlo would probably send me somewhere warm if it was cheap enough. He’d never sentence me to a vacation with more snow. God, I hated the stuff.Yeah, this could work out perfectly.

Arlo and I went back and forth on rules. He thrived on structure, and I didn’t mind because it made him feel better. Though I preferred to go with the flow.

“And no bed bug-infested roach motels either. It’s gotta have at least a three-star rating.” Arlo jabbed his finger in my direction in an unusually loud outburst, but it was warranted.

I dropped my head back on the couch and groaned. “I said I was sorry! How many times do we have to relive that?” That road trip from hell had been a complete nightmare.

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