Page 58 of Holiday Hopefuls
“No. No way.” I shake my head so hard my bun comes loose. “I can’t bring him with me. That wasn’t the agreement.”
Connie shrugs. “What exactly was the agreement, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Rolling my lips in and out, I weigh the consequences of giving Connie the skinny. On the one hand, I could not tell her and keep whatever modicum of dignity may remain. On the other hand, she already knows Oliver’s not actually my boyfriend, and that’s not really all that great. So I give her the story from the beginning, ending with how awkward I left it when he dropped me off Thanksgiving night.
“Did you ever pay him?”
I knew there had to be another shoe to drop. “That’s embarrassing,” I mumble. “I wonder if he would take a check.”
Ignoring me, she continues, “I’ll take that as a no. So you didn’t leave it with any other plans to see him or his family?”
“Nope.”
“What about Blythe? You’re at pilates three to four times a week. And you said she now lives next door to Ian.” Crap, I’m gonna have to find a new workout studio. I’ve carefully avoidedthe classes she teaches, but I’ll need them soon to keep up my stamina.
A look I like to call ‘Callie’s about to be violently ill’ takes over my face.
“Got it,” she nods, needing no further explanation. “Does it matter that he texted you about twenty minutes ago?” Connie holds up my phone with a message notification from the one and only Oliver Rhodes. “He said you left your scarf in his car and he just found it today. Then he asked if you wanted to come by the practice tomorrow to retrieve it.”
My wide eyes look between her and the phone. Shaking my head, I take the phone from her and toss it in the cupholder. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why? Because it’s against the agreement? The deal is over, Calloway.” Connie folds her arms. “Now, you can do whatever you want. But if you want Mom, Dad and the others to continue on this trajectory of ‘let’s be nicer to Calloway,’ then I think you need to go see him. Tomorrow. Just mention Aspen Point to him—he may surprise you.” Before I can halfheartedly disagree, my sister gives me one more knowing look before stepping out into the cold.
Familiar dread creepsinto my chest as I walk up the snow-covered cobble walkway of Rhodes, McNalley & McNalley Therapy Collective.
At least I was invited this time.
The same bell rings above the door as the nosy Mrs. Lanahan looks up, smirking when our eyes meet across the reception areathat suddenly feels much too small. “Lovely to see you again, dear.”
A timid smile breaks the frozen state of nausea on my face. But just as I open my mouth to defend myself, I hear him.
“Don’t forget to practice counting with the breathing. I really think it’ll make all the difference. Remember, we don’t always want to say what we’re feeling in the moment.” Dr. Oliver Rhodes emerges from the hallway, looking as stupidly handsome as ever. Apparently, my memory hasn’t done him justice since my hormones are halfway to the nearest closet and begging him to follow.
A woman in her forties with two teenage boys walk out with him, one of the boys listening intently to the man who was my fake boyfriend. The sullen teenager nods in confirmation.
“Great,” Oliver claps the boy on the shoulder. “I’ll see you all after the holiday, okay?”
The family says their goodbyes, walking right past me.
But Oliver finds me immediately. His shoulders relax, like tension has kept him prisoner all day. A grin brightens his face. “Callie, you came.”
“I texted you that I would,” I remind him.
He strides right up to me, hesitating only when he’s within breathing distance.
It’s an odd thing, seeing someone you pretended to date. What are you supposed to do for a greeting? Kissing seems a little weird, since we were never actually romantically involved. Even if we did kiss in front of our families. Hugging seems oddly casual. Shaking the guy's hand just feels wrong.
Oliver blinks a couple of times before settling on, “Why don’t you come back to my office? Do you remember the way?”
“She doesn’t have an appointment, Dr. Rhodes,” Mrs. Lanahan calls in protest from her perch.
Oliver grins down at me as I march past him toward his office. “It’s okay, she’s my girlfriend.” He snickers, catching my eyebrow raise.
Only when we’re in the safety of his office do I say, "Girlfriend, huh?”
