Page 26 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
I grit my teeth and check the time. Everyone should be aboard the ship by now, so I might as well get my responses over with. I must’ve been pretty out of it yesterday to think I could get away with zero contact between me and my family for the next two weeks. So I try placing a call to my mom, but the connection fails. Next, I compose a text telling her I’m trying to get a call through to her, and that I promise to send an update soon.
The text doesn’t go through.
Tossing the phone on the bed, I rake my hands through my hair, but just end up angering the bump on my forehead. “Man, I hate this,” I mutter under my breath. Nothing about being stuck here with Sara Hathaway can come to any good. Forget Christmas. Forget a replacement cruise next year.
This entire situation sucks.
I’ve got to get out of this house. I need fresh air. An escape. I want to forget for just a moment that I’m a prisoner of this concussion. So I tug on a pair of cargo pants, my North Face jacket, a beanie, and some gloves. Then I head out of the guest room. Sara’s still in the kitchen, and she’s clearlytalking to her mom.
Great.
At least one of us is.
“Believe me,” Sara says on the tail end of a sigh. “I want all this over with as much as you do, Mom.”
Whoa. I freeze at the edge of the hallway.
“No. Absolutely not,” she protests. “You have no idea how much I wish I were home already.”
A rope of frustration snakes around my gut, tightening itself until I can barely breathe. But I shouldn’t be surprised Sara can’t wait to leave Abieville. After our last summer together, her parents have had a full decade to get into her head. To change the woman I loved. She’ll never want someone like me. She’s been indoctrinated.
The Hathaway way.
Hot regret courses through my veins. I’ve gotta get out of here before I overhear even worse. Creeping toward the front door, I pass the open archway where I might be visible, so I crane my neck peeking into the kitchen hoping I won’t get caught. Then, since I’m not looking where I’m going, I plow right into the console in the entryway.
Crap.
Chapter Eleven
Sara
“Crap!” Three blurts somewhere behind me.
Seconds later the front door opens, and his boots clomp onto the porch.
“What was that?” My mom’s eyes widen, filling the phone screen. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, and she’s wearing a winter-white cashmere sweater and matching slacks at nine in the morning.
VeryKatherine Hathaway.
“I have no idea.” I make a show of peeking over my shoulder even as the door clicks shut. Three better not be trying to go somewhere without me. But I need to deal with my mom without giving his presence away. “Probably a bear,” I say.
My mother frowns. “That’s not funny, Sara.” She’s in her standard perch on the Chesterfield sofa in the living room. The New York City skyline jags behind her through the sliding glass door to the balcony.
“You’re actually just hearing the TV in the other room,” I tell her. “I got Netflix, Hulu, and Prime set up for ourfuture guests.” This part’s totally true. I figured out all the streaming platforms last night before my first check on Three. But I can’t think about him and his white T-shirt and his sleep-rumpled hair right now. Not while my mom’s examining me like this.
Or any other time.I’m freshly inoculated.
“Well, thank you, dear.” My mother sends me wry smile. “I would’ve known that already, if you’d called to update me. I’ll admit, I was a little worried at first when we didn’t hear from you. But Daddy assured me you had everything under control. Youdohave everything under control, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” I force a quick scoff. Good thingunder controlis relative. “And again, I really am sorry I didn’t text or call. I just got … busy.”
“Yes. With all the streaming platforms. So you said.” My mother’s lipsticked mouth quirks. “So what else has been going on there? Tell me everything.”
Everything?
Three’s warning not to mention him leapfrogs across my brain, and he’s not wrong. My goal in coming here was to prove how competent I am, not to demonstrate I can’t operate an oven. So I’m going to focus on the agenda Ididpromise, and eliminate the rest.
“Well, I can tell you the pictures from the contractors don’t do the renovation justice,” I gush. “The kitchen is a perfect blend of modern farmhouse”—minus a fewextrareindeer—“and the property is even prettier than I remembered. Then again, the trees weren’t covered in snow when we stayed here in the summertime. They’re like these tall, silent sentinels surrounding the house. It’s really beautiful, Mom.” My throat clogs a little, as I think about all the details I’m leaving out. “Oh. And you should see Abie Lake. It’s one big sheet of ice now. I’ll bet you can even skate on it.”
