Page 32 of War on Christmas

Me: On it. See you tonight.

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“What’s going on?” Freya asks.

I’d been waiting in her parents’ kitchen, having an afternoon cup of coffee with her mom, when Freya walked in from the garage only to stop short at the sight of me. Her brow draws down, her eyes narrowing as she watches me. Quickly, I shoot Mrs. Nilsen a smile and jump up to grab Freya’s coat and purse and hang them on the coat rack. Freya kicks off a pair of red flats in the back hallway as I grab her hand and drag her toward the basement stairs.

“Thanks for the help today, Mrs. Nilsen,” I say over my shoulder, and she waves me away with a smile. Was it a little awkward seeing her and Mr. Nilsen today, given what Mr. Nilsen walked in on last night? Nope. It wassuperawkward. However, they both seemed determined to put me at ease, so I’d let them.

“I told you, sweetheart,” Mrs. Nilsen says, “call me Mary.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a wink, and Freya rolls her eyes. From the basement, a series of giggles and shouts erupts.

“Um, I repeat: What’s going on?” she asks, trying to peek around my shoulder down the stairs.

“I’m getting you in the Christmas spirit,” I say. “Or is it Yule spirit for you? Solstice spirit?”

Freya’s mouth quirks for a second. She’s clearly pleased, though she’s trying to hide it. “Either works for me,” she says magnanimously.

I smile. It took some coordination—phone calls to Mrs. Nilsen, Bethany, and even Bethany’s husband, Drew—but once the idea occurred to me, it was a boulder tumbling downhill. I had to roll with it. Rubbing my thumb over the back of her hand, I pull her the rest of the way down the stairs, where Bethany’s kids are waiting for us, all grinning with mouthfuls of popcorn and candy. Andy, the littlest, jumps down from his spot next to Abi on the ’70s floral couch and runs to Freya, Twizzlers clenched in his chubby fist.

“Auntie Freya!” he shouts, and Freya pulls her hand away from mine so she can crouch. Andy’s arms wrap around her neck in an enthusiastic hug, and Freya squeezes him back.

“What are these yahoos doing here?” she asks, her gaze taking in the pizzas, bags of chips, and boxes of movie theater candy. Abi even helped me string up some Christmas lights and set up a hot cocoa station—complete with marshmallows, candy canes, whipped cream, and sprinkles—on an old card table where we used to play out Caves & Conquerors campaigns.

“Well,” I grab the back of my neck, knowing I’m giving her a half-truth, “I figured after so much time away from your family, you’d want to see your niece and nephews, and what I planned for tonight was kid-friendly. So, I coordinated with Bethany and had Drew drop them off.”

They are also—although I don’t say this part out loud—there to keep thingsfriendlyinstead offrenziedbetween Freya and me. Four perfect little cockblockers.

Don’t get me wrong—I’ve accepted my fate. There is no way Freya and I are going to bejustfriends. And I’m looking forward to that. A lot. I’m simply trying to slow things down enough that I can prove to her we’re more than just sexual chemistry. That we’re friends too. Compatible. That deep down, she and I are made of the same stuff. Dark and dorky and broken but ultimately hopeful.

“We’re watching a scary Christmas movie,” Andy tells Freya with wide eyes, and she stands, ruffling his dark hair.

“Bruh, it’snotscary,” his older brother—Aiden?—says from a recliner that’s older than me. (In seventh grade, I spilled half a can of root beer that’s still embedded in that chair’s stained upholstery.) “It’s like a baby movie. You’ll be fine.”

Freya turns to me, her gray eyes hopeful. “It’s not—”

“Yes!” Abi interrupts enthusiastically from the couch. She was quiet and moody when Drew dropped her off, giving her dad the cold shoulder when he said goodbye, but she’s been friendly toward me. Probably because I’m not the one who grounded her into the next millennium. Or maybe because I held her hair back while she puked? Her voice grows big and dramatic as she sings out, “The Nightmare Before Christmas!”

“Itsoundsscary,” Andy says, his nose wrinkling.

I wince, rethinking my plan. I know nothing about kids. I don’tdislikethem, but I’m an only child, and my mother’s family wanted nothing to do with her once she got pregnant with me with no husband in sight. So, not only do I not have nieces or nephews, I didn’t even have cousins growing up. Maybe this is a horrible idea and I’m condemning Bethany and Drew to weeks of Andy’s nightmares and sleepless nights, which definitelyisn’twhat I’m going for. But before I can walk the entire thing back, Freya sinks down to eye level with Andy again. She pulls his hand toward her mouth and takes a bite off his Twizzlers, making him laugh.

“Tell you what,” she says around a mouthful of licorice. “Try it and see if you like it. And if at any point it feelstooscary instead offunscary, let me know, and Jeremy will take you upstairs to Grandma and Grandpa. Deal?”

Andy looks up at me, questioning, and I nod.

“Just say the word,” I tell him.

“What word?” he asks, and Freya smiles.

“Just tell Jeremy if you want to go up by Grandma and Grandpa,” she clarifies, and he takes a deep, fortifying breath, his little cheeks puffing out, before nodding. Brave boy.

Within minutes, the lights are out and I’m settling into the corner of the couch, Freya squeezed in next to me with Andy on her lap. He’s happily munching on popcorn as the opening music begins, and Freya turns to pin me with a direct, no-bullshit stare.

“What?” I whisper.

“One: Thank you.” She smiles, and my stomach somersaults. I’ll take one of Freya’s rare, hard-won smiles over a fake, dime-a-dozen smile any day. “Two…” Here she raises a single, dark eyebrow. “Using children as human shields?” she asks, tipping her head toward Andy. “Really? Hardly a clean fight.”

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