Page 8 of A Tiny House Christmas

“Why are you talking like I’m going to be living in it?” she asked.

He flicked on lights, taking in the small space. The air was colder in here, the night’s chill sticking to the unheated interior. Their shoulders pressed together as they stood in the entry.

“It’s yours for as long as you need.”

“You mean if I decide to be a chicken and hide away forever?” She stared at him through narrowed eyes, waiting for the penny to drop. “Because that’s not my style as well as a pretty terrible plan.”

Joey’s gaze slipped from hers, and she was on him in a second. “What happened?” she demanded.

Joey scratched his chin with a thumb. “Your mom called looking for you. Guessed I’d know where you’re at.”

Karlene’s eyelids drifted lower as she winced. “How bad was it?”

He walked further into the small home, cranking up the thermostat on his way by. He opened the fridge; the light illuminating the empty white cavern.

“I should go talk to her.” Karlene sighed. “To everyone.”

“I’d let them cool down a bit. Nothing good’s going to be said today.”

Karlene’s expression dropped, and he hated the way he was hurting her, adding to the pain she was already carrying. He’d argued with Mrs. Spragg to no end. But Kar’s mom had insisted the family needed time, and it was best if her daughter stayed with him while they cooled down and wrapped their head around it all so they didn’t hurt her feelings. Could she stay with him until they got over the shock? That had been last night.

“If I keep hiding, it’s not going to make anything better.” Karlene straightened her spine, that fiery look of determination he loved so much flitting across her face. “Can you give me a ride into town?”

Joey stood in the back bedroom’s doorway, facing her.

“What?” she asked, concern in her expression.

“I’m sorry, Kar, but your mom said it would be best for you to stay here for a bit. She doesn’t want to fight.”

“How long?”

He shrugged.

“But tomorrow’s Christmas!” Karlene dropped onto the edge of the nearby armchair, sliding off Joey’s big boots, blinking back tears.

Joey, at a loss, focused on practicality.

“Bedding’s clean.” He flushed the stale water out of the toilet, then tipped a head toward the door. “Let’s get you fed.”

“I just took off my boots.” She looked at the boots, coated with dust. “Your boots.” She sagged off the armrest and into the deep cushions.

He turned his back to her at the door, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Come on.”

Without hesitation, she came to life, leaping the few feet between them and launching herself onto his back. He gave her a piggyback ride across the driveway and into the big house. Her legs were wrapped around him, her body warm against his torso. If she had to be exiled, he was glad he was the one she’d come to.

Karlene knew she looked a fright in her slept-in borrowed clothes, and no doubt sleep and tear-smeared makeup and messy hair. But the way Joey was looking at her with his sweet, dancing eyes as well as how he was fighting a grin as he let her down off his back and opened his front door… Well, she wasn’t sure how to feel.

Self-consciously, she wiped the skin under her eyes. “What are you laughing at?”

“Your hair looks worse than when you sleep out all night.” The corner of his mouth crooked upward, his tone fond as he allowed her to go past him into the warm home.

She ran her fingers through her tangled locks, then stole the hat off his head. She pulled it down low over her own brow and marched off to the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, she removed the hat and flinched. Yesterday’s mix of hairspray, teasing, straightening and curling to give her a fancy do had not traveled well. Today it looked more like a toddler had styled her hair. She borrowed Joey’s brush, hacking at the knots as though they were solely responsible for her aching and confused heart.

Satisfied with the way she now appeared less like someone insane, she returned the hat to her head and went back to the kitchen, snagging a cup of coffee and a piece of toast from an abandoned plate by the sink.

Joey appeared from another room, pocketing his phone, his dog Brody at his heels. Joey eyed her half-eaten dry toast.

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