Page 42 of Jingle Bell Jilt
“Tell your girlfriend Merry Christmas too.” Lowell grins at me.
“She isn’t my girlfriend. Aren’t you the one who was just telling me she was a stranger? How did she move from complete stranger to girlfriend in a matter of minutes?”
“That was before we knew she was hot,” Keaton chimes in.
“I’m pretty sure hot girls can be serial killers,” I counter. Shay clears her throat and I jerk my gaze up to her. “Not that she’s a serial killer. But I’m just saying. You guys need to change your girl safety rating system.”
“Bye, Evan,” Keaton says, and his face disappears. That kid has always been able to dish it, but he’s not very good at taking it.
“Bye, guys.” I lift a hand and give a little wave to my dad and Lowell before they both disappear from the screen.
I shut my laptop and just stare at it. What am I supposed to say after that? I don’t even know where to start.
“Are you ready for breakfast?” Shay interrupts my thoughts. “I think everything is done.”
“Yep.” I hop up. Maybe if we’re eating, I won’t have to talk much. And then, if I’m lucky enough for a Christmas miracle, she might just forget about everything she just heard.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
EVAN
Ilean back to give my over-stuffed belly more room in my jeans. “Shay, that was an amazing breakfast. Where did you learn to cook?”
She smiles as she reaches for my empty plate. “My mom’s a really good cook. She cooks more simply, but I learned the basics from her.”
I put my hand out and shake my head. “Uh, no. You’re not doing the dishes. I will take care of them.” I’m struck by how natural this all feels. It’s like we’ve always been together for the holidays, and this is the friendly debate we have every year.
She waves away my objection. “It’s not a big deal, really.” She glances back at the kitchen. “Besides, I wasn’t a very tidy cook. I think I used almost every dish in there.”
“If it’s not a big deal, then I can do them.” I fold my arms across my chest to show her that I’m serious. She lets out a chuckle and I realize I’m not pulling off the I-won’t-take-your-crap look very well.
“I don’t think you could look menacing if you tried,” she says. “I mean, you’re handsome enough that perhaps you could still be a serial killer but not a very scary one.”
My face heats. “About that…”
She shakes her head. “I’m just teasing you. Your family seems really nice. They seemed sad you weren’t there this year.”
I shrug. “I’m sure they forgot all about me when they got to the theater andDie Hardstarted.”
She puts the plates back on the table and sits down. “Your dad sounded nice too. I’m sorry I acted like he wasn’t when we were at the Christmas store yesterday.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I know what he did sounds harsh.” I feel like I need to add a “but,” but there’s no “but” to add. What he’d donehadbeen harsh.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t seem like a bad guy. He sounded genuinely interested when he was talking to you.”
“I suppose,” I mumble. How do I keep ending up in these awkward conversations that I want to end right from the start?
She puts her hand on mine. “I’ve been thinking about it. And I know it’s not my place, but I think that maybe your dad deserves the benefit of the doubt.”
She’s right. It isn’t her place. I want to tell her that, but she looks so sincere like she just wants me not to hurt anymore. And while that’s a lovely thought, it just isn’t something that she can wave a magic wand and take away.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m discovering that grief is an individual thing. Like, we all handle it differently. My mom, in her well-meaning way, believes I should handle it the way she does. Which I’m not.”
I nod at her, not sure how my dad’s poor handling of Christmas has led to Shay’s grief over being jilted.
“Maybe your dad didn’t change everything because he wanted to but because he had to—it was the only way he knew how to grieve.”
I shake my head. “You lost me.”
