The Saturday before Thanksgiving was bright, the sun sparkling off the snowy ground and trees like flakes of diamonds all fluffed up into piles. I was standing at the stove in my sweatpants and one of my dad-sweaters cooking French toast and bacon and everything felt perfect, for once. Nothing actually was perfect, but it felt like it, and I was perfectly willing to ignore reality, if just for the morning.
As usual, Rachel was sitting at the table going over paperwork. I’d long since figured that, between her and Joe, she had the head for math, which is why she did most of the bills and financing for the ranch. I glanced over and saw that her mug was empty. If I offered to refill it, she might want to talk. But I was in a good mood—I could risk it.
“More coffee?” I asked, holding up the pot.
“Sure,” she said, looking surprised. “That’d be great.”
I walked over and refilled her mug before sitting down to eat my French toast. Rachel set down her papers and slid her reading glasses off.
“Y’know, Caitlin,” she began cautiously, “you and Adrian seem pretty serious. Did you want to invite him over for Thanksgiving?”
I choked on a bit of French toast. “I’ll invite him,” I said, still clearing my throat, “but I think he might want to be with his family.”
“Okay,” Rachel said with her usual smile, “just let him know that he’s welcome here anytime. We’d like to get to know him.”
I nodded and munched my breakfast cautiously, wondering if she’d say more, but she simply slipped her glasses back on and returned to the paperwork. I finished breakfast without having to engage in further conversation and headed upstairs only to find that my phone was ringing, which was weird, because nobody ever called me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell where it was ringing from. I finally found it in the pocket of some jeans that were buried in my hamper.
“Hello?” I said, nearly dropping the phone.
“Cait?” It was Adrian.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Uh—” I looked around. “Standing in my room? In my pajamas?”
“Get dressed; I’ll be by your place in twenty minutes to pick you up.”
I immediately tensed. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “And dress warm.”
He hung up and I stared at my phone. He could really be arrogant sometimes. Didn’t even ask if I wanted to hang out. Just assumed I had nothing better to do. The fact that I did not, actually, have anything better to do, was completely irrelevant.
I ran into the bathroom for a quick shower and dressed in dark skinny jeans, an off-white sweater, my feather-print infinity scarf, brown leather gloves, gray knit hat, and birthday boots, which I was just lacing up when I heard Rachel call up that Adrian was here. I raced down the stairs.
“Adrian and I are going out for a while; we shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“Okay,” my aunt said with an amused smile that made me blush for some reason.
I opened the door and just about ran into Adrian.
“Hi.”
I was a little stunned by his physical presence and had to crane my neck to look up at him. “You usually wait in the truck.”
He smiled and closed the door behind me. “I wanted to surprise you. Actually,” he said, pulling a thin, black piece of fabric from his pocket, “the surprise hasn’t started yet.”
“What?” I began to ask, but then he was wrapping the cloth around my eyes and tying it so I couldn’t see. I frowned in his general direction. “Just for the record, saying ‘The surprise hasn’t started yet’ while pulling something out of your pants is super creepy.”
“Yeah—I regretted it immediately but it was too late to switch to something else.”
“As long as we’re on the same page.” I felt my face with my hands. “Is this a blindfold?”
“No,” he said dryly, “it’s a kitten. Of course it’s a blindfold.”
He prodded me forward, one hand on each of my arms. I walked like a zombie, hands out, legs stiff.
“This would be a lot easier if you just trusted me not to let you walk into the truck.”
I rolled my eyes underneath the blindfold. “How do I even know we’re going to the truck?”
“We are. Don’t make me use my Jedi mind tricks on you.”
“My eyes are closed, so you can’t.”
He let out a sigh. “Just let me walk you to the damn truck.”
I looked up at him—well, tilted my face in what I thought was the direction of his—and frowned. “Fine.” I forced my legs and arms to go limp. He pushed me forward gently and we reached the vehicle without incident.
“May I ask where we’re going?”
“That would defeat the purpose of the surprise,” he said, pulling down the snowy drive after we were settled.
“At least promise me this won’t be embarrassing. Or dangerous.”
“Would I do that to you?”
I, well, “looked” at him with a heck-yes-you-would expression. Or as much of one as I could muster with half my face covered.
“I only embarrass you when it’s necessary.”
I snorted. The truck bumped along the driveway to the main road.
“Adrian,” I said after a moment. “Now that I can’t awkwardly make eye contact with you, we should talk about our fake-relationship rules.”
There was a moment of silence. Then, “All right.”