Page 1 of Poinsettia Lane

CHAPTER ONE

EVERLY WOULD GIVE up her entire book collection for the ability to fast forward approximately twenty-four hours. She’d skip straight past the extravagant annual holiday party where her parents' old friends put on airs as they gather at her house. Much to her disappointment, time is an immovable construct, so the holiday party is unavoidable. She’ll be forced to hear constant condolences and well wishes and “if only they were here to see this” while attempting to impress a bunch of people she doesn’t like, or really even know.

Ladies and gents, the Moore Winter Holiday Gala, AKA the annual bane of Everly’s existence and fuel to her crippling anxiety.

Everly’s parents started the annual event well over 30 years ago, before either her or her sister were born, and when they passed, their friends expected Everly to continue to host it in their place. So she does.

Although she hates it, Everly tells herself that it’s good for her to mingle and keep in touch with them. It keeps her parents closer, and it’s respectful to their memories. Even if it does destroy her mental health for a couple of weeks every December.

Her night was spent tossing and turning, with visions of toppling Christmas trees, rotted hors d’oeuvres, and flat champagne. There was even one nightmare in which everyone was dressed only in their underwear. Realistically, Everly knows none of that will happen, but you try telling that to her other self, Anxious Everly. Anxious Everly is having a really hard time believing thiswill work out, and Anxious Everly gets very catastrophic when she hasn’t had enough sleep.

Here we go again.

Everly takes a few moments to practice her breathing exercises, mainly so she doesn’t feel like she’s letting her therapist down, and then decides to do one last sweep through the lower level of the house to clear it of any debris or personal items. This task somehow ends up with her re-organizing the coat closet off the front foyer—entirely unnecessary—followed by folding the ends of the toilet paper in each of the restrooms like they do in her hotel.

“Maybe I need a pet,” she mutters, stifling a yawn with her elbow, then startling when her phone buzzes across the floor next to her. “Frankie” flashes across the screen and Everly swipes to accept the video call from her best and only friend, only for them to cackle when they see Everly slumped on the cold bathroom floor in her robe and slippers, her hair up in a messy bun. Everly blinks in consternation at the situation she’s found herself in as Frankie grins, sweeping their curly brown hair out of their eyes and squinting at her through the phone screen.

“What are we up to?” they ask.

“Heck if I know.” Everly throws her hands in the air, lost.

Frankie nods, a sympathetic look on their face.

“Mhmm. Coffee first,” Frankie says, circling their hand at Everly to encourage her to get up from the bathroom floor, then holding up their full mug in cheers when she does so.

Everly huffs as she shuffles into the kitchen, both grateful for her friend checking in on her and annoyed she let her anxiety get the best of her already. She’s always envied Frankie’s solid sense of self; they’ve known who they are and how they identify from a young age and have fully embraced it.

Everly starts the coffee, then returns her attention to her phone where Frankie is eyeing her expectantly.

“What?” Everly asks.

“I know you have a list,” Frankie says. “Let’s hear it.”

Before she can pick it up, the doorbell rings.

~~~

“One, sec,” Everly says, setting her phone and coffee on the console table in the foyer on her way to the front door.

Everly is so caught up in her own head about what she needs to do in the next couple hours that she doesn’t check who is at the door before flicking the lock. As soon as she swings the heavy wooden door open, she immediately slams it shut again and whirls around, pressing her back to the door.

“Who is it?” Frankie yells from the video call.

“I don’t know, some guy,” Everly calls back. A really hot guy. All she caught was a glimpse of rich, golden-bronze skin, dark scruff, and strikingly light eyes, but it was enough to startle her right out of her senses. Why is there a hot guy on her porch? And why is she still wearing her robe, and slippers, and is her hair in a wet, disheveled bun?! God, she’s a mess. Why does she always feel like such a mess?

From the other side of the door, a deep voice with an accent she can’t quite place says, “This is 2574 Poinsettia Lane, right? I’m delivering the potted poinsettias and tree, from Magnolia? Magnolia Nursery.”

Everly is pretty sure her eyes can’t get any wider, and a nervous sweat is starting to bead on her brow. Did she just slam the door in the face of some poor delivery guy? Seriously, there must be something wrong with her. She tries to fix her hair as best she can, while also noting she doesn’t have on a lick of makeup, then realizes it feels early still. Like, really early.

She quickly checks the time, noting that it’s not even mid-morning yet. Did she not confirm the delivery time? She swears she had everything ready and planned down to the second. Turning around, Everly straightens her pink robe, pastes what she is sure is the fakest of fake smiles onto her face, and slowly twists the handle, opening the door.

“Hi, sorry about that, you startled me. Um, yes, the flowers and the tree, right this way and I’ll show you where they need to go.”

As she resists the urge to flee and shows Hot DeliveryGuy through the empty foyer into the main entertaining room, he brings a whiff of fresh pine and earth inside with him. Nervous energy compels her to flutter her fingers around her hair and fidget with her robe. What must he think of her, answering the door in a short robe and damp hair? She should start putting a dollar aside for charity every time she embarrasses herself.

“So you want everything in here?” he asks, gesturing to the space around them.

“Oh, well most of it, yes. The tree definitely, but I’d like some of the poinsettias back out here in the foyer as well, and maybe even a couple outside on the steps? What do you think?” Why is she asking his opinion? This is her party, she doesn’t need anyone else’s approval on where the flowers go.

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