Page 5 of Touchdown Under the Mistletoe
I watch the Quinns’ faces as reality sinks in. They won’t be able to spend Christmas in their home—probably not even New Year's.
Before I can stop myself, I blurt, “You can stay at my parents’ place and celebrate Christmas with us.”
“That’s okay, we’ll just call a hotel,” Mrs. Quinn says.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure they’ll all be booked. It’s the holidays after all. Seriously, just stay at our place.”
“Do you guys even have the space?” Mrs. Quinn asks.
“Yeah, it’s going to be a full house. My folks, Aspen and her husband Maddox, their baby, and some of my aunts and uncles. And cousins.”
Mrs. Quinn’s eyes widen. “Oh, we couldn’t impose on your family like that.”
“You wouldn’t be imposing. Trust me, my mom lives for this kind of thing. The more people to feed, the merrier. She’ll take it as a personal challenge. And we’re all neighbors, right?”
Mr. Quinn glances at his wife. “Well, itwouldonly be temporary. And it beats having to frantically look for a place to stay.”
“It’s settled then,” I say and glance at Riley.
Spending Christmas with her might just be the best thing that happens to me this year.
Chapter Three
Riley
I hadn’t even unpacked my suitcase yet, so I’m ready to head to the Steelbirds next door in approximately five minutes. Physically, that is. I’m so not prepared mentally.
Two weeks. Minimum. That’s how long we’ll be living next door with Travis and his entire extended family, according to the plumber’s grim assessment. Two weeks of trying to act normal around the guy I used to write embarrassing letters to about my favorite books and what Shakespeare and Stephen King have in common. I remember rambling about how they’re both ridiculously prolific and don’t shy away from the dark side of things. I even wrote that Macbeth and Carrie could practically share therapy notes, in an attempt to sound funny and clever at the same time.
And still, Travis always wrote back, sounding intrigued and interested. Not once did he laugh at my geeky obsessions.
“Riley, honey, can you grab the photo albums from the hallway closet?” Mom calls from downstairs, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I’m not leaving those behind.”
“Mom, we’re going next door, not evacuating to another state,” I shout back, but I get up from my old bed anyway.
If I don’t grab the photo albums, Mom will just worry about them the entire time we’re at the Steelbirds. I tuck them into atote bag hanging off my standing mirror. I catch my reflection and realize my cheeks are still flushed from being outside in the snow with Travis. Or from thinking about him for the last couple of hours and how he called me ‘the girl next door’ like it meant something.
It doesn’t, though. He has Sienna Montgomery—beautiful, talented, famous, perfect Sienna Montgomery, who probably never gets flustered.
“Riley! We’re loading up the car!” Dad yells.
The car? Last time I checked, the Steelbirds lived within walking distance, hence the term neighbors. But knowing my mom, she’s probably forcing Dad to take the car so she can bring half the house with her. You know, just in case of another disaster.
I head downstairs with my suitcase, and my jaw drops to the floor. Mom has packed like we’re moving permanently, Dad is trying to figure out how to fit everything in the car, and water is still seeping across the kitchen floor despite our best towel efforts.
“Maybe we should make two trips,” Dad suggests, eyeing the mountain of luggage.
“Or we could leave the extra winter coats here since we’re literally going next door,” I offer while side-eyeing Mom, who is wrangling armfuls of coats into a suitcase.
She gives me a look. “Riley, we are not showing up at the Steelbirds’ house unprepared. What if there’s an emergency and we need extra coats?”
“An emergency that requires multiple winter coats? What do you think is going to happen? Another ice age?”
“You never know!”
I roll my eyes but decide not to keep pushing the subject. Mom’s clearly stressed, and the last thing I want right now isto get into an argument about why the planet will probably not freeze over this Christmas.
Twenty minutes and one overpacked car later, my parents are pulling into the Steelbirds’ driveway. I walked the few yards here, partly because the back seat was already occupied by Mom’s “essential” throw pillows and the army of extra winter coats, partly because I’m not incapable of taking a few steps through the snow.
