It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, even if it isn’t all the way real.

*

Chapter Fourteen

Countdown to Christmas:
4 Days

IN THE MORNING, it takes me a minute to figure out where I am.

I sit up on my elbows, hair a wild tangle about my face, and squint at the bedroom. “What happened in here?” The red pickup truck and fresh-cut Christmas trees décor have been swapped for a nautical theme. A ship steering wheel takes up one wall. The curtains are white with a lobster print. Instead of Christmas trees, we’ve got signs that say gone fishin’ and joe’s crab shack. Even the design on my phone case is different, seashells instead of elves.

“Felt like we could use a change,” Hall announces, rolling off the bottom bunk. His sweater displays Santa Claus in board shorts, surfing the waves. “It was getting stale in here.”

“Very beachy.”

“I thought about bringing in real sand to cover the floor with.”

“Grandma would murder you.”

He glances nervously at the door. “I might’ve already put some in the den.”

“In the den?”

“A beach theme needs sand!” He magicks together an outfit for me, laying it out on the bed: a seafoam maxi dress, floppy hat, and oversized sunglasses. It wouldn’t be at all out of place in Hawaii or Los Angeles, but we’re in Colorado, days away from Christmas. You’d think he’d be trying to stuff me into every outfit from A Christmas Prince, forcing a wardrobe change once an hour.

“What would you like to do today?” he asks, a blurry hurricane zooming from here to there, making adjustments to his beachy knickknacks. There’s so much driftwood. And starfish.

Ordinarily, I’d say I want to go back to bed. Followed by grazing on snacks in bed while playing on my phone, until at least three in the afternoon. But this is Hall’s first holiday with a family, and I’ve been shamefully half-assing it.

After I dress and return from the bathroom, Hall takes one look at me and stands up straight, eyes widening. He takes a step forward, then back, resting a forearm against the wall. “Wow.”

“I take it you like the dress you picked out.” By his reaction, you’d think I was wearing something unbelievably hot, but it’s only a simple dress, albeit more form-fitting than what I’d usually wear.

He slips his hands into his pockets, laser-focused. “Do a little spin for me?”

I oblige.

He gives a low whistle, eyes dark and glittering with appreciation. “I was right, you look like a dream. Like a sea nymph. Like . . .” He circles me, then stops in the doorway and leans against the frame. “A goddess from Atlantis.”

I blush. “Oh, stop.”

“Never.”

I do another spin, because I am incorrigible and I love how slack-jawed it makes him. “Today, we’re going to make salt dough ornaments together.”

He stares at me like I’ve asked him if he wants to get married. His attention darts to the ceiling above my head, and I watch the minutiae of anxiety play across his features, a blush on his throat.