Page 16 of War on Christmas

“A while ago. You were just too wrapped up in Drew to notice,” I answer. Then, not really sure why I’m sharing this with Bethany of all people, I add, “He wants to be my friend again, but I’m going to seduce him instead. Don’t worry. I’ve already informed him.”

Jeremy looks around the shop curiously, and when he finds Bethany and me behind the counter, his eyes stop on me and his face lights up with a warm smile. Bethany titters next to me—Really, can’t she get a grip?—but I keep my own face carefully blank as he approaches. His Jedi mind tricks won’t work on me.

“Bethany, it’s good to see you.” He inclines his head, indicating the shop surrounding us. “The shop looks amazing, by the way.” Bethany giggles—Jesus Christ—then Jeremy turns to me. “Freya.” His smile widens. “My dear, oldfriend.”

“Mmm.” I purse my lips and take my time perusing him, not even trying to hide the deliberate slide of my eyes over his body. He had liked that last night. Me looking at him. Showing my interest so openly. The gray fabric of the suit clings to his thick thighs—no emaciated poet here—and his shoulders press into his coat. “Nice suit,” I finally say. “What’s going on? Hot date? Important business meeting? Funeral?”

I mean it as a cool, flippant joke. Pretty on-brand for me, really. But when his eyes widen and he chokes back a laugh, I belatedly remember that his stepdad just died.

He’s literally going to a funeral.

“Jesus Christ, Freya,” Bethany mutters at the exact moment that I grimace and say, “Holy shit. Are you going to the funeralrightnow?”

I’m rarely ashamed of my dark humor. It’s my thing, and I own it. But that was a bit far. Even for me.

He’s trying to hold back his laughter. His eyes are apologizing even as the chuckle drags out of him in fits and starts, like a cat that started swallowing a string and has it forcibly removed from its mouth. Bethany rolls her eyes and mutters, “I’ll go grab those flowers for you. We would have delivered, you know,” as she strolls to the back of the shop where we keep pre-ordered arrangements. My face is growing hot—Good gods, is this whatblushingfeels like?—when I realize that snowy bouffant lady is standing directly next to Jeremy and has heard our entire exchange.

And now I recognize her. Fucking perfect. If I was going to run into someone, couldn’t it be Mrs. Davis-Green? I’d welcome a visit with D.G., but no such luck. Instead, I get Mrs. Milton, the front office secretary from our high school who definitely hated me.

“Jeremy Kelly,” she singsongs, her mauve-colored lips lifting in a smile. Struggling to gain control of his laughter, Jeremy turns to the tiny older woman and wraps her in a hug. His big frame swallows her for a moment, so all that’s visible is the white puff of her hair through the circle of his arms.

“It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Milton.” And damned if he doesn’t sound like he means it. “How have you been?”

They exchange pleasantries about Mrs. Milton’s retirement and Jeremy’s job, and the entire time they’re chatting, I frantically rearrange myself behind the checkout area, trying to hide from Mrs. Milton’s eagle eyes. I’m half crouched behind the short, spinning display of florist cards when I hear her flinty voice spit out, “Freya Nilsen.” I straighten, like she called me out during a game of hide-and-seek, and she adds, “I’m glad to see you.”

I guarantee you she is not. My rivalry with Jeremy drove her crazy, and she was not an unbiased observer. Whenever we got sent to the office for whatever spat we were having that day—“accidentally” spilling red paint on his Dave Matthews Band T-shirt comes to mind—she’d roll her eyes at me and huff a “You again.” Then she’d turn to Jeremy with a sympathetic smile and say, “I’m so sorry, dear.”

No, she was never my biggest fan. I gather my dignity around me like an elven cloak and give her my most regal nod. “Likewise, Mrs. Milton.”

She narrows her brown eyes at me, and I’m tempted to stick my tongue out at her, but Bethany comes rushing out of the back room with a large blue-and-white funeral wreath. Lilies, roses, mums, carnations, and blue delphinium. She hands it off to Jeremy, then gives him a skinny metal stand as well. Mrs. Milton gives me one final glare before slinking off to do her shopping.

Jeremy sets down the wreath stand to grab for his wallet, but Bethany waves her hands at him. “No, no. Mom and Dad want to cover this.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, brow wrinkled. “I’m happy to—”

“Nope,” Bethany cuts him off. “They just want you to come by while you’re home. Especially for Sunday dinner if you can make it.”

“Well, that’s kind of them,” he says, then adds, “They’ve always been kind to me.”

That would be because my parents are, at heart, kind people. The reminder has me tugging at my scarf for extra air. They’re kind, simple people who’ve just never quite known how to interact with their black sheep of a daughter. So, I’ve been stuck in limbo, never really fitting in with my family (except for Thad) but not kicked out either.

Jeremy looks up from the wreath to smile at me. “Well,friend, I’ll see you la—”

“Can I come?” I blurt out. “To the funeral?”

Jeremy assesses me for a long second, like he’s trying to analyze my offer.Does he think I’m going to jump him in the cemetery in my quest to seduce him?I wonder. EvenI’mnot that depraved. I just don’t like the idea of him facing it alone. Not that he’s upset about Gary, but itisa weird situation with his mom and everything. He could use a—I sigh. Well, he could use a friend.

“That’s ok,” he says. “I know you weren’t planning for a funeral and—”

“But Jeremy, that’s the best thing about having me as a friend,” I interrupt, hopping from the stool. I unzip my black winter parka to reveal my black jeans, black sweater, and black boots. “I’malwaysdressed for a funeral.”

Twelve

JEREMY

AsadamantasFreyawas about coming to the funeral, she’s silent on the drive to the church, her breath misting over the cold window as she stares outside. I’ve always liked that about her. Her comfort with silence. Since childhood, I’ve been valued for my ability to chat and prattle, to fill moments of quiet with amusing anecdotes and harmless observations. Because lesser mortals are desperate to fill that void, afraid of what demons we might find there.

Freya, on the other hand, pulls up a chair and makes friends with them.

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