Page 3 of The Crush of Christmas Past
My heart lodges in my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact.
Thankfully, it never comes.
The tires catch, and the car jerks back onto solid road with a teeth-rattling thud.
Asher blows out a sharp, relieved laugh. “See?” he croaks. “All good.”
“Uh-huh.” The only reason my breakfast hasn’t ended up on my lap is because my stomach is knotted too tightly.
Noticing my white-knuckled grip on the side of the seat, he gently pats my hand. “Breathe, Candy Cane Cutie.” The nickname lands flat, his usual charm dulled by the tremor threading through his voice. “I’m sorry, Isla,” he adds, guilt tugging at the edges of his words. “I’ll drive more carefully.”
History hovers between us, but my friend knows better than to exhume the memory of the crash that cost me everything.
As we crawl along the road, I focus on the basic rhythm ofinhale, exhale.
Eventually, my lungs restart.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
Everything will be fine.
When we reach our destination, the sun dips behind the mountain, casting a golden halo across the sky.
Two massive stories of wood, stone, and cheerful charm greet us. I have a special connection to the house that has gifted me some of my brightest days and sheltered me through the darkest, but it’s the vast property behind the chalet-style home that triggers an onslaught of memories.
Late nights singing off-key around the fire pit, cheeks flushed and voices hoarse. Hockey games on the frozen pond, won by whichever team had fewer icicle toes. The infamous Mega Snow Maze and its twisted mess of tunnels. We were once trapped for so long, Asher’s dad had to rush to our rescue with a shovel in one hand and a thermos of hot chocolate in the other.
At this time of year, the place is a scene straight out of a snow globe. My sanctuary where the disorder of the outside world melts away, leaving only comfort and peace.
Too bad today, I’m the harbinger of mayhem.
Somewhere between the gate and the garage, I start reevaluating every bad decision I’ve ever made.
Top of the list? Agreeing to this farce. Close second? Being Asher’s bestie.
“Time to deck the halls with deceit,” I mutter.
Asher pulls up directly in front of the house and kills the engine. “Relax, Lala.” He taps the furrow between my brows. “Just pretend we’re starring in a Hallmark movie.The Christmas Charade. Or maybeMistletoe Match.Ho-Ho Hoaxhas a nice ring to it, right?”
“Last month’s marathons finally make sense.” I shake my head and groan. “You’ve spent weeks indoctrinating me with a fake love agenda wrapped in flannel propaganda.”
“Sentimental scams take commitment. And research. I’m pulling out all the stops. We’re gonna sell this so well we’ll get canonized in carol form.” As he puffs out his chest, the silver bells on his aggressively festive reindeer sweater jingle.
“What other tricks are you hiding up your sleeve?” I ask, stepping out of the car. The temperature has tanked, and I shiver despite my long coat. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. The less I know about this crime of passion we’re about to commit, the easier it will be to claim plausible deniability.”
“Did I mention how grateful I am for you yet?” Asher slings an arm around my shoulder and tugs me against him. “You’re officially off the hook for a lifetime of presents. Helping me get through this week without drowning in pity is the best gift you could ever give me.”
“And our breakup will be the best giftyouwill giveme,” I shoot back.
“Always so feisty, Tinsel Treasure.” He tousles the top of my hat-covered head before dragging me onto the porch. “Come on,” he says, swinging open the front door. “Showtime.”
As soon as we enter, I’m wrapped in warmth. It seeps through the wool of my coat, sinking into my skin. It’s not just the heat, though. The feeling of comfort lives in the sounds and scents infusing Evangeline and Graham’s place in December. Crackling fire, laughter spilling from the living room, kitchenclatter in full swing. The air is steeped in baking spices and fresh pine, with a softer, sweeter note threading through it.
Love.
My muscles loosen instinctively, tension surrendering to holiday spirit. This is familiar. Safe. It calms the still-panicked parts of me caught in a tug-of-war between fight and flight.
Maybe everything will be fine. It’s only a week, after all. Seven days of sugar, sparkling lights, and seasonal cheer. I simply need to play up the festive vibes and lean into the company of my favorite people.
