Page 3 of Stuck with Me

Maverick wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s disgusting how much he dotes on Cammie. Disgustingly adorable. I’ve never seen Cammie so happy.

“Hey, Maverick, pass me the green sprinkles, please,” I call from where I’m seated across from him at the table in the Martin’s modest dining room.

An array of holiday themed cut out sugar cookies cover the table. I’ve only decorated two so far while everyone else has finished at least half a dozen. Trying to force my mind to remain in the present and not spiral with memories of Gigi being alongside us in the prior years is a challenge.

But I’m not the only one missing her. Gigi and Cammie’s grandma, Nettie, were inseparable. They were opposite in a lot of ways, but what one lacked, the other picked up the slack. Where Gigi was the spunky and spontaneous one, Nettie is mindful and cautious. Tonight, Nettie is quiet while she stays busy going back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen to bring out more finger foods.

Nettie and Pete have given me very little information regarding the relationship between Gigi and Mr. Cabin-Stealer’s grandfather. All I know is Pete and Mr. Cabin-Stealer’s grandfather were cousins. But he and Pete didn’t remain that close over the years.

Maverick holds up the bottle and quirks a brow before tossing the sprinkles to me and I catch it. I shake the green sugar crystals onto my white frosted tree cookie, finishing only my third.

“So, how long did Mr. Cabin Stealer stay at the Brew Box today?” Cammie asks.

I groan. Nico Moretti is the very last person I want to think about right now. When Nico leaned across the table and narrowed those intense brown eyes at me, it felt like my body might spontaneously combust.

Fuck me.

“Long enough.”

“Did you two work something out or is he still coming to the cabin?” Cammie asks.

“I wish. He’s still planning on coming.”

“Bet he won’t be the only one coming, huh, Rosie?” Jones barks out a laugh.

The joke, if you can even call it that, isn’t funny. Not in the slightest. What is he? A thirteen-year-old boy?

“And who will you be bringing to the cabin this year, Jonesy?” I flip the topic to him, straightening in my seat. “You finally corrupt that sweet girl who works at the jewelry store into going out with you? Or have the women in this town finally caught onto your slutty antics and you’ve had to broaden your search to the surrounding areas of Colorado?”

“Ha, ha,” Jones says sarcastically. “Very funny. As a matter of fact, Rosie-Posie, you guessed correctly. Though I wouldn’t call it corrupt.”

“Noooo,” I groan.

“You serious, Jones?” Cammie asks.

He gives one confident nod. “Yep.”

“Dude, how old is that girl?” Maverick asks.

“Sabrina is twenty.”

I gasp. Loudly. And then I chuck the closest bottle of sprinkles at him, almost hitting him in the head. “Twenty? Twenty-fucking-years-old? Jones, you perv.”

Grandpa Pete clears his throat from the living room. “Rosalie,” he says, using his scolding-grandpa voice. Since my own grandfather has been gone for several years, Cammie’s grandpa has taken over the role. “Language.”

It’s sort of adorable how he calls me out on my cursing when he’s been known to throw out f-bombs on the regular. But I love him. And even more, I respect him.

“Sorry, Grandpa Pete.”

“The age thing isn’t a big deal.” Jones shrugs. “Not for us anyway.”

“Rosie has a point,” Maverick chimes in. “The girl can’t even drink. What’s she gonna do while the rest of us are drinking spiked eggnog and playing strip UNO?”

Jones waggles his eyebrows. “I think you’ve forgotten that when you guys bust out the strip UNO, me and my date go tobed.” He uses air quotes when he says bed. “How gross would that be when my sister is there?”

Poor, sweet Sabrina has no idea what she’s getting herself into. Not that Jones is a bad guy. Deep down, he has a good heart. It’s just been buried by hurt, betrayal, abandonment, and lots of alcohol and women.

I give Jones a sly grin. “I’m excited about Sabrina coming. We’ll have plenty of time for girl talk.”

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