I braced myself on the vanity with both hands, forced my gaze away from that gorgeously naked—and, somebody come save me, slick and wet—body and down to the sink where I had to calm my breathing and remind myself that this was a job for Kennedy. A job. I hadn’t hired her so I could ogle her in the bathroom like some sort of creeper. But developing an actual attraction to her had caught me off-guard, and I knew it would cause problems if I didn’t step carefully.

  Just get through today and tonight, I told myself. Then, tomorrow afternoon, you guys can get in the car, finally breathe, and head home. The thought of that—of the whole charade coming to an end—eased the stress for me a little bit. And also caused new feelings of uncertainty that I was just not ready to analyze.

  When I let my gaze drift back upward, the steam on the glass obscured much of my view, and that was probably a good thing, despite being a little bit disappointing. Kennedy was lathering her hair, her arms up, head back, her hands massaging the shampoo into her scalp. The suds were trailing down the middle of her back in a creamy white line to her beautiful ass, and I was jealous of them. Meanwhile, I stood there, still in my towel, and tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump of arousal in my throat, to tear my eyes away.

  This was bad. Oh, this was so bad.

  I shook myself. Literally gave a full body shake while Kennedy’s face was in the spray, and I was sure she wouldn’t notice. Then came the mental pep talk where I told myself I was a grown-ass woman who had control of herself, not some fourteen-year-old boy who thought about sex once every five minutes. I told myself to pull it together, to act like the professional I was. Another shake. I turned my back to the shower, avoided the mirror, pulled the towel off, and focused on the pile of clothes I’d brought in.

  As I stepped into my bikinis, I did glance up at the mirror once more, quickly.

  Kennedy didn’t meet my gaze in the reflection because she was looking right at my naked body.

  Chapter Eight

  Turned out we were right about Melody. She was in the hallway when Kennedy and I exited the bathroom, both of us dressed and with wet hair. Melody said she was “looking for something for Mom” in the hall linen closet, which seemed awfully convenient. When Kennedy and I exchanged a knowing glance, I felt myself warm inside. It was like we were a team, and I hadn’t felt that with anybody in a very long time. And when she grabbed my hand, entwined our fingers, and led me up to the attic, I felt it even more.

  We dried our hair, did our makeup, and changed from the cozy clothes we’d taken to the bathroom into nicer outfits for Christmas. Getting dressed ended up being the most interesting process yet, even more so than being in the bathroom together. We stood at opposite sides of the room, backs to each other, but every now and then, one of us would glance over a shoulder toward the other. We caught each other looking more than once, smiled, blushed, kept going. I hadn’t asked Kennedy to wear anything in particular for the holiday, but when I finished dressing and turned around, she was wearing a deep, deep green dress that clung to her curves like it was sewn just for her. Three-quarter-length sleeves, a hem that fell just above her knees, and a V-neck that didn’t plunge so much as casually lead my eyes gently toward the peek of cleavage there. Her hair was down, sunset-colored waves skimming just past her shoulders. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup—mascara, eyeliner, lip gloss in a deep crimson—and she was easily one of the sexiest, most beautiful women I’d ever laid eyes on. Not an exaggeration. A fact.

  “My God, you’re stunning.” It slipped out before I could catch it, and I knew Kennedy wasn’t wearing blush because her cheeks blossomed with pink, and she glanced down at her feet for a second or two. When she looked back up and met my gaze, her eyes had gone dark, were slightly hooded.

  “You’re one to talk,” she said, and her voice was so low and husky that my stomach fluttered with arousal. “You look…” She said nothing more, just shook her head. In a good way.

  I was wearing a black sweater dress. It wasn’t at all revealing—in fact, it had a mock turtleneck and long sleeves. But the material was ribbed, and the dress clung to me in all the right places, which is why I bought it, and I will admit that it wasn’t what I’d intended to wear that day. I’d brought another, simpler outfit and tossed the dress in on a whim at the last minute—I always prefer to have too many clothes with me than not enough. But something about the atmosphere since we’d arrived, the way I’d been feeling—which was only amplified by our shared bathroom time—had me pulling the dress out and stepping into it without really thinking about what I was doing or why.

  Kennedy’s reaction made me glad I did.

  We stood facing each other, still at opposite ends of the room, and again, the air felt charged. Crackling. Electric. We said nothing, but we didn’t have to. Our gazes held, and that was enough.

  “Ready to head down?” I asked, part of me wanting to stay in that attic with her, just like that, until spring.

  She gave a nod, stepped to the door, and waited for me to meet her there. Her hand on the knob, she looked at me and said, very quietly, “You look beautiful, Sasha.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled the door open and waved for me to go first. I swallowed hard, wet my lips, and headed down the stairs. Comments like that? When it was just the two of us? Not part of the deal. I hadn’t paid for that, and it meant more because of it.

  At the base of the stairs, I could hear voices and laughter. Ray had arrived, Cat was there, Yorkie gave a yip or two. Kennedy made a sound, and I followed her gaze down to our feet. One of my mother’s mittens was on the floor, a sizable hole chewed at the tip of it.

  “Oh no. God, I really need to keep a better eye on him.” She picked up the mitten and looked stricken.

  I grabbed her arm. “It’s totally okay. My mom told you she wanted to watch him, so this isn’t your fault.” I gestured to the mitten. “Come on.”

  It always amuses me how a kitchen is a place of congregation, no matter how large or small a room it is. Everybody stood in my mother’s right then. It was loud. It was hot. It was crowded. It smelled delicious. And the smile on my mother’s face was wide and bright, which made everything else just fine.

  “Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that,” she said when she saw the mitten in Kennedy’s hand and the worried look on her face. “I have endless mittens. And if I run out, I can knit myself some more.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Kennedy said, her face red regardless of my mother’s reassurances. “I haven’t had him that long. He was my, um, roommate’s. She didn’t train him, and she sort of just left him, and I admittedly haven’t worked with him as much as I should. My schedule’s a little crazy. I wasn’t paying attention, and I should’ve been.” She held up the mitten casualty with a grimace.

  Yorkie sat on the blanket pile in the corner and looked very pleased with himself, watching us with interest as if he understood every word.

  “Listen to me. Do not be sorry. You have no reason to be. I told you to leave him here with me. Yes, he likes to chew things, but he’s a baby still. He’ll learn. And he has been wonderful company for me.” Something in my mother’s expression softened even more as she turned to look at the little guy. “Haven’t you, Nicholas?” A glance back at Kennedy and a sheepish grin, and she said, “You’d mentioned you were open to a new name, so I’m auditioning that one. Because it’s Christmas? Saint Nicholas? Get it? What do you think?”

  Instead of answering her, Kennedy turned to me and said, “Okay, your mom is seriously the most adorable woman on the planet.”

  And those warm and mushy feelings I was starting to have around her? Yeah, they tripled. Because when somebody adores your mom, her stock skyrockets. You know?

  Oh, this was so bad.

  * * *

  It was only the second Christmas without my father, but I’m shocked to be able to say that it was a great day. My mother was happy, that was the big thing, and I knew it was in large part because she thought I was happy, which meant all her kids were. She repeated an old saying to me once, that a mother is only as happy as her saddest child, and of the three of us—at least in her eyes—the saddest child was me. For the record, I didn’t really consider myself sad, but I could admit to being a little bit lonely, that I had times I wondered if that was how my life was going to go for always: running a very successful business by day and going home to an empty apartment at night. Much of the time, I was just fine with that. But the holidays could be hard.

  “Jennifer, come here.” It was Cat, holding her phone. “Sasha said you’re a horror movie fan. Me, too! Did you see the trailer for Blood Moon? It’s crazy. Here. Watch.”

  To Kennedy’s credit, she stayed in character and did not shoot me a terrified look as she sidled up to my sister. The kitchen filled with bloodcurdling screams and highly tense music, and I watched the color drain from her face until she was white as the snow outside. I rolled my lips in and bit down on them, tried to busy myself for the two and a half minutes the trailer lasted.

  “Wild, huh?” Cat asked, her eyes wide with excitement when it was over. “Opens next month.”

  “Totally.” I saw Kennedy’s throat move as she swallowed hard. “I’m so there.” She came back over to me, and I bumped her with a shoulder.

  “You okay?” I whispered when Cat left the room. “You looked like a woman with a tic, trying to keep your eyes open, but also wanting to close them.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. I mean, I’ll have nightmares for the next week, but other than that, I’m absolutely fine. No worries at all.” But the grimace she gave me turned into a soft smile, and I felt better. I think she did, too.

  We exchanged gifts in the early afternoon just before we ate. By five o’clock, Melody and Ray had to leave to visit with Ray’s family. Melody hugged us both and took a moment to squint at Kennedy, like she was sure she’d missed something, and she wasn’t giving up. I won’t pretend I wasn’t relieved to see her go because I felt like Kennedy and I could both breathe again. Cat’s boyfriend, James, stopped by to pick her up and give my mother flowers, and then they headed off to visit his parents, though Cat planned to come back later and spend the night again. She had her own place, but I knew she liked to come stay the night with our mom on occasion, and I was thankful for that.

  I usually headed home after Christmas dinner and was glad I had decided Kennedy and I would stay a second night because the idea of leaving my mother alone on Christmas night—even with Cat returning later—didn’t sit well with me. Not that year. I was worried she’d end up getting lost in sadness and missing my dad, and while I knew that would probably happen anyway, I didn’t want her to be alone when it did.

  “I’m so glad you two are here,” she said later that night as we set up the Scrabble tiles at the new dining room table. And that right there was enough.

  The ease with which Kennedy slid right into my family was both amazing and unnerving. I was notoriously bad at Scrabble—which was likely why Mom wanted to play it—but Kennedy gave her a run for her money. While the majority of my words consisted of three or four letters, Mom and Kennedy dueled with seven-letter and eight-letter and ten-letter words, things I had to look up.

  “There is no way fizgig is a word,” Kennedy said to my mother, her laughter infectious. “You made that up.”

  My mother shook her head, laughing as well, and gestured to me. “Nope. It’s a firework. Sasha?”

  I flipped through my dad’s old crossword puzzle dictionary, the pages worn, the spine cracked, until I found the F section. “Uh-oh,” I said and shot a sad face at Kennedy. “Fizgig. Noun. A type of firework that makes a loud hissing sound.”

  “No!” Kennedy made a humorous sound of defeat and dropped her head to the table with a clunk.

  “One hundred seventeen points, thank you very much,” Mom said, marking her score down as Kennedy closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “I give. I give.” She held her hands up. “You win. You are the official Scrabble Queen. I bow to your prowess.” She dipped her head and Yorkie, er, Nicholas yipped in apparent celebration from somewhere.

  When Cat came in, we were still cracking up. I met my little sister’s gaze over my mother’s shoulder, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. She shot me a huge grin, her eyes wet, and I knew we were both thrilled to hear our mother’s laughter, something that had been missing from the house since our father got sick.

  Cat wrapped her arms around our mother’s shoulders from behind. Mom grasped Cat’s forearms with both hands. “Hi, baby girl of mine. I’m glad you’re back. Did you have fun with James?”

  I wanted Cat to have time with Mom, so I pushed my chair back and began putting Scrabble tiles back in the box. “I think we’re going to head up,” I said, then glanced at Kennedy for confirmation.

  “Good call,” she said with a nod. “I am so full and so tired, and this was one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had.” The expression on her face was genuine. Either she was an even better actress than I thought, or she was telling the truth.

  “That makes me so happy,” my mom said and reached out a hand to grasp Kennedy’s.

  The guilt really hit me then, and I swallowed hard, tried to tamp it down as I put away the game.

  “I should take Nick out,” Kennedy said, but I saw my mother tighten her hold on her hand.

  “I can do it.” Then my mother—the woman who raised three daughters, worked full-time, and survived the long and drawn-out death of her husband—made a face like a small child. Shrank back into herself and said in a soft and uncertain voice like she was asking if she could stay up past her bedtime, “Do you think he could sleep with me again tonight?”

  Kennedy’s face softened, and her smile was warm. “Hell, I think he should live with you. He definitely loves you more than me.” She squeezed my mother’s hand. “Of course he can sleep with you. I will still let him out, though, so you don’t have to do that.” Heading toward the kitchen, she clucked her tongue and called, “Come on, Nicholas. Outside.” The clicking of little doggy nails on the hardwood under the table near my mother’s feet went right into the kitchen to the back door as we all looked at each other. “Has he been there the whole time? I figured he was on the blankets.”

  “Nope. Right here.” Mom grinned. “With his chin on my foot.” It was obvious the dog felt like he was home.

  Kennedy just shook her head, her face a sketch of happiness, and went to let him out. As soon as the door clicked shut, Mom turned to look at me.

  “That girl,” she said, Cat’s arms still wrapped around her. “Will you please, please keep her?”

  I didn’t answer, mostly because I wasn’t sure how.

  “The way she looks at you.” Cat shrugged as she stood up straight and let out what could only be described as a dreamy sigh.

  “Right?” my mom chimed in. “And the way you look at her. You two are almost too perfect for each other.” She nodded, clearly thrilled that her stubbornly busy middle daughter had finally found somebody worthwhile.

  I tried to ignore the wave of guilt that hit again, but when I did that, I had to focus on what they’d said. Did I look at Kennedy a certain way? Did she look at me like that? I mean, her look was one thing, since I was paying her for it. But did I look at her that way?

  “Ready?” Kennedy interrupted my train of thought. Which was a good thing, since it was about to chugga-chugga-chug itself right off a bridge.

  “I am.” We said our good nights. I kissed my mother, hugged her, and she whispered that she loved me in my ear.

  Kennedy held out her hand, and I didn’t even hesitate before taking it, feeling its warmth, its solidity. I turned back to look over my shoulder. Cat sat at the table. Nicholas the Yorkie was perched on my mom’s lap like he’d never sat anywhere else. My mother’s smile lit up the whole room.

  My heart was full.

  I followed Kennedy upstairs.

  Chapter Nine

  We were both quiet as we got ready for bed. I was exhausted, and when Kennedy took her turn down in the bathroom, I sat on the bed and tried to examine why.

  I mean, there was the obvious, that I was playing a role, in a sense. Not the way Kennedy was—and not as well, frankly—but I was pretending. Wasn’t I? When I’d started this whole charade, it seemed like a great idea. And I could admit to finding immense satisfaction in Melody’s disappointment at not being right. Yeah, yeah, I know she actually was right, but she didn’t know that, and I took the time I could to bask in one of my very few sisterly victories over her. But as I sat there and tried to calm my racing thoughts, I also had to admit that I was fighting a much wider array of emotions than I expected.

  I sat with that for a moment. Took a deep breath.

  Be honest with yourself. Truly honest. The thought echoed through my head, and I closed my eyes and did my best to let the truth come through.

  I liked Kennedy. A lot.

  It’s not that I hadn’t expected to. She was, as I’ve already said, a nice person, kind, funny. But I liked her liked her, and it wasn’t until that exact moment that I actually let myself hear that, feel it, roll it around. In any other circumstances, I’d be interested. I might ask her on a date. Take her to dinner and a movie. Or something else. Something fun and unusual because I thought she was the kind of person who would like fun and unusual.

  The door opened, startling me. I must have jumped because Kennedy made a face of apology. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I waved her off. “Oh no, that was me. Daydreaming over here.”

  Kennedy dropped her stuff on her bag. “Is it daydreaming if it’s nighttime?” She pulled the covers down and got into bed, and it shocked me how easily and nonchalantly she did it. Like we’d been sharing a bed for years.

  I smiled softly. “I guess not.” I exhaled and got in bed next to her, tried not to notice the warmth coming off her body.

 

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