Page 17 of Seeds of Christmas
“Adults play rock paper scissors all the time. It’s a legitimate conflict resolution strategy.”
“I’ll drive,” I say firmly, because if I let this continue, we’ll be here until spring semester. “I like driving. I’m good at it. You can navigate.”
Carter grins. “Bossy. I like it.”
Heat crawls up my neck. It spreads fast, that tell tale flush that screams “I’M EMBARRASSED” to anyone with functioning eyes. “I’m not bossy. I’m…decisive.”
Two words I’m not sure anybody else would ever use to describe me, but Cater Wolfe seems to bring out this side in me.
“Right. Decisive.” He’s still grinning. “My mistake.”
Professor Bam drops the keys into my palm—warm from her pocket, which is a detail my brain decides to fixate on for some reason. “Drive safe. Check in when you can. Get the work done, don’t let me down.” She pointedly looks at Carter, “and have a little fun too. Field trips are supposed to be fun.”
Fun. Right. I can do fun.
I’m great at fun.
I’m definitely not about to spend the entire trip overthinking every interaction with Carter Wolfe while simultaneously pretending I’m not attracted to him.
This is going to be fine.
5
RHIANNON
The first ten minutes are awkward.
Not unbearably so, but there’s this silence that feels like it needs to be filled. I focus on driving—the truck handles differently than my car, wider and heavier—and Carter stares out the window at the passing landscape.
Campus gives way to residential neighborhoods, and suddenly we’re driving through a postcard.
Every house is decorated. Not just decorated—committed. Mountain Springs goes all out for the holidays. Inflatable Santas wave from lawns. Reindeer made of white lights graze in front yards. Roof lines drip with icicle lights in blue and white and rainbow colors. One house has an entire nativity scene with a light-up baby Jesus that’s frankly a little terrifying in its intensity.
A group of kids in puffy winter coats are playing together outside, shrieking.
“It’s like the entire town threw up Christmas,” Carter observes.
Despite myself, I smile. “It’s a lot.”
“It’s amazing. Look at that one—” He points to a house absolutely drowning in lights. I slow the car down. There’s a projection screen on the garage showing a loop of Santa and his sleigh. The mailbox is wrapped like a present. “That electric bill is going to beinsane.”
“My mom would love it. She’s one of those people who starts decorating the day after Thanksgiving.”
“Same with mine. My dad pretends to hate it, but he’s always the one on the ladder hanging lights.”
I focus back on the road.
“I kind of love it. It’s fun to decorate.”
He’s smiling now, watching the neighborhoods slide past. “My apartment doesn’t have any decorations. Jake wanted to get a tree, but I vetoed it. Seemed like too much effort when we’re barely there.”
“That’s sad.”
“Nahh, it’s practical.”
“It’s sad,” I insist. “Christmas needs decorations. Even cheap or simple ones.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
