Page 48 of The Holiday Fakers
“Okay, see you in a bit.”
She quietly slips out into the corridor and closes the bedroom door behind her.
My gaze is unfocused as I stare at the door. I know I should be pleased that Piper’s so matter of fact about this arrangement, like we’re coworkers having to share a room at a conference, or like it was with Ethan when I used to stay over in his room.
But part of me wants more.
This is what happens when you go almost a year without sex.
I shake my head at myself and focus on unpacking. There’s plenty of room in the closet, with only a few items from Piper’s childhood.
My hand lingers on her cheerleading uniform like a creeper.
Turning abruptly away, I sit on the edge of the bed, a few petals falling to the floor.
If I survived seeing the Lockes again after all this time then I can keep my thoughts about Piper in line.
In my mind’s eye I see Martha, the spitting image of her mother, and my heart squeezes. I’d never allowed myself to think of having kids, but if they could be like her? A sweet little girl who could comfort a grown man with such compassion?
An image of children pops into my head,mychildren. Two little girls and a boy, chasing each other around the Locke family yard, the three of them laughing and calling out, utterly absorbed in the moment. They all have Piper’s eyes and her smile.
What the fuck?
Springing to my feet, I rub a hand across my face to try to erase the image of what will never happen, then go to the window and pull back the drapes.
Gentle snowflakes drift down, lit in every color by the Christmas lights on the neighbors’ houses. It’s picture-perfect, a scene movie directors spend a fortune trying to recreate.
I did the right thing coming back, even if it’s many years overdue. It might be the season for forgiveness, but I know now that Piper’s family would have forgiven me, no matter the time of year.
The sound of the door snaps me out of my funk, and I turn as Piper enters, dressed in oversized pink-striped pajamas. Her face is freshly washed and her smile hits me in the gut.
“There are fresh towels in the closet and also the bathroom for you to use,” she says.
I nod, not wanting to open my mouth to reply in case I say something stupid about how pretty she looks, then grab my wash bag and nightclothes, and head out.
Inside the bathroom, the whole space smells of her—fresh and floral.
It’s got to go.
Turning the dial to arctic cold in the shower, I wash myself with brisk efficiency.
Five minutes later, my body and teeth are clean and I’m headed back down the hall. I usually sleep naked, but tonight I’m wearing light gray sweatpants and a navy T-shirt, bought especially for this trip, to appear decent in front of Piper.
My heart pounds in my throat as I lightly knock on the door. I don’t hear a response from inside, so I wait.
A few moments later, Piper opens it.
“Come in,” she says, her eyes darting down my body before she quickly looks away and turns toward the window.
The music is off, and so are the lights. The only illumination in the room comes from the candles and the colored lights outside, reflecting off the falling snowflakes.
It’s the most romantic setting I’ve ever been in, but then I see that the rose petals are gone from the bed, and Piper has placed a line of throw pillows down the middle.
This is good. We’re on the same page.
Piper beckons me over to the window, her golden hair like a halo around her beautiful face.
My feet move slowly but inevitably forward, and I force myself to keep a little space between us.
