Page 27 of Festive Faking
“Night, Mac.”
I heard the tiniest sniffle. Fuck.
This was a disaster. Why did I have to go and open my big mouth?
“Night, Aspen.”
Regret hung heavy in the air, but I turned over and asked a higher power to please let us make it through at least one day without incident.
Our track record to this point wasn’t great, so I clung to that prayer like a lifeline.
For the second day in a row, Aspen was gone when I woke. Both times, it felt like my fault.
After showering and dressing, I made the trek to the main house, the same as yesterday. When I let myself inside, the mouth-watering aroma filtering from the kitchen had me hastening my steps. My stomach rumbled in anticipation, but I stopped short when I found only Jett and Tripp sitting at the table.
The last time she’d run off before the sun, Aspen had at least made it to breakfast. Even if she hadn’t been particularly chatty, she was present.
The full weight of my fuck-up slammed down on me, making it hard to breathe.
I rubbed over my sternum, hoping to loosen the vise grip around my lungs, while both men stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
Peeking around nervously, I cleared my throat. “Aspen around?”
Jett wasn’t in the mood to share his daughter’s whereabouts, likely suspicious as to why I didn’t already know. His sharp, blue gaze remained locked on me even as he resumed eating.
Tripp, on the other hand, dipped his chin, answering my question. “Went into town with our mom.”
“Oh.” I gripped the back of my neck. “Any chance I could borrow a car to head that way myself?”
With no idea how long Aspen might be gone, I wasn’t too keen on sitting around all day. Even if I didn’t manage to bump into her at some point, I could stretch my legs and check out the shops.
“Sure.” Tripp reached into his pocket and withdrew a set of keys. “Take mine.”
I snatched them out of the air when he tossed them in my direction. “Thanks. I owe you.”
Halfway down the porch steps, Tripp’s voice halted me. “Hey, Mac!”
“Yeah?” I looked over my shoulder.
“They’re gift-wrapping at the church. Likely be there ’til around lunchtime.”
“Thanks.”
Hustling to the truck, I sat there for a minute, letting the cabin warm up.
I wasn’t about to crash Aspen’s day, but I’d be damned if I let her hide from me. If she was going to reject me flat out, she owed me the courtesy of doing it to my face so I could eliminate any possibility of a relationship with her from my mind and move on.
Avoiding an awkward breakfast with the Sullivan men meant my first stop was the cozy little coffee shop on Main Street.
Deciding to people-watch for a while, I ordered a large coffee—with unlimited refills—and a croissant.
The teen behind the register read out my total, and before I could pull out my wallet, a voice said from behind, “It’s on me.”
Recognition tickled at the back of my brain, and I turned to find the man from last night—the one Aspen had screamed at, with the whole town as witness.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it.” I offered him a tight smile.
“Please.” He ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair. “It’s the least I can do for ruining your night.”
