Instead of subjecting myself to another ‘kind’ assault from my family, I grab my faux fur coat, slide it on then head straight for another glass of champagne. The table near the back door is full of glasses, so I swipe two with one hand, giggling to myself when the glass clinks together loudly, and tiptoe toward the patio and make my escape.
Fresh air and copious amount so of champagne are the only way I'm going to make it through this godforsaken Christmas party. The only way I’m going to survive being stuck with my family for the next week and all of their bothersome Christmas festivities is to drink whatever and whenever it’s available.
I hate the holidays.
Actually, I loathe them.
Like more than anything.
Call me a Scrooge. The Grinch. The girl who hates Christmas.
The fact that I'm even at this stupid party to begin with is only due to the fact that my mother majorly guilt-tripped me into coming home for Christmas this year.
I was perfectly fine hunkering down for another New York winter, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls, and avoiding my family, phone, and email at all costs. The perfect vacation from work. One that I so desperately needed.
But instead, here I am. Enduring an entire seven days with my parents and brother because my mother is on a crusade to bring us all back together for the holidays. Oh, what fun it is…not.
Ho-freaking-Ho. Merry my ass.
Thankfully, my Apple Watch shows that it's after eight, which means I can potentially sneak away soon, in a few hours, if I'm lucky. Hopefully, the copious amount of champagne I've consumed so far will make the next hour or two a tad more bearable.
I push open the French doors, letting them fall shut behind me, and step out onto the patio. It's lightly snowing, and cold as a witch’s tit out here. But I’m alone, and the silence is a welcome reprieve after the last hour of small talk with extended family members that I can barely remember.
Shaking my head, I set the glasses down on the table. The outdoor dining table and sectional are surrounded by overhead heaters, as well as a massive fire pit in the middle, but that does nothing to stop the bitter cold from creeping in through my coat. Goosebumps erupt on my skin, and I rub my hands together to try and fight off the chill.
It’s better than in there, I tell myself.
"Why are you standing out in the freezing cold...in that?" From behind me, a deep, gravelly voice interrupts my solitude.
He drags the last word out, laced with arrogance and bravado.
Without turning around, I know exactly who that voice belongs to. The same voice that sends a different kind of shiver down my spine, one that has absolutely nothing to do with the cold.
Parker Grant.
Charming playboy, handsome doctor, and the most sought-after bachelor in our hometown.
And...my brother Owen’s best friend.
The same guy I've had a crush on since I was a preteen, when he was a gangly, tall teenager only a few years older than me. The guy I doodled in all of my notebooks, my first name with his last, covered in hearts. The first real crush I ever had, and the first one to subsequently break my heart, without him ever knowing.
Years later, and even now, all he has to do is speak and my thighs clench together in unrequited anticipation.
Not that I am still pining away for him. I let go of that silly teenage crush long ago. When I realized that I would never be the kind of girl he was looking for. I was simply his best friend’s kid sister who tagged along and annoyed them, any chance I got.
I glance back over my shoulder and see Parker leaning against the pillar in a black sports coat and a tie covered in candy canes around his neck. So sinfully delicious, even with that ridiculous tie that I allow myself a few short seconds to drink him in before I turn back toward the dark tree line and take another hefty sip of champagne, draining half the glass.
"This dress is vintage Valentino, thank you very much."
He laughs, rough and low, and I swallow thickly, feeling it settle in the pit of my stomach.
"The party’s inside, and here you are out here…all alone." He comes to stand next to me, resting his thick forearms on the balcony’s railing. When he looks over at me, his dark, unruly hair falls across his forehead, and I immediately want to reach out and brush it away. "What's not to enjoy, Quinny?"
The use of my childhood nickname has me squinting my face in disgust. Typical Parker. We used to bicker constantly, he and Owen taking any opportunity they had to tease me.
"Can you not call me that? We’re not kids anymore, Parker."
I sway slightly when the wind picks up. His hand darts out to steady me, sliding into my coat as he grips my hip tightly. The warmth of his fingers seep through my dress, and I clear my throat, grabbing onto the rail to ground myself.
"Trust me, I know." The deep, seductive tone catches me by surprise, and I find myself leaning slightly into his touch. His eyes drag down my body slowly, then flit back up to mine.
His eyes burn with intensity. The deep brown of his irises seemingly black in the darkness.
What's happening right now?
I've clearly had too many glasses of champagne.
Is...Parker...flirting with me?
No, of course not. Quinn, no more champagne for you. Actually, no, maybe I need more champagne because I'm clearly losing my mind.
I snap out of it, remembering his question. I tuck my long, dark hair behind my ear and avert my gaze. "I’m out here because I hate the holidays and I hate being home even more. My idea of a good time is not being stuck in a room full of people I barely remember and rarely ever see."
Parker frowns, revealing a shallow line between his dark brows as he does. "You used to love Christmas. You were obsessed with ice skating, decorating the tree. What happened?"
I grew up and realized that life changes in the blink of an eye. That’s what happened. Once my parents divorced and my father moved out, everything changed. My parents hated to be around each other, so that was the end of us all being together.
Our holidays were split. Birthdays. Weekends.
I couldn’t wait to leave this town behind, so the second I could, I fled to New York to pursue my career.
I didn’t have time to enjoy things like holidays, especially not with my father, who I hardly knew anymore. Not when my only focus has been to advance in my career and make a name for myself.
I shrug, swirling around the remaining champagne at the bottom of my glass. “Life, I guess. I’ve got exactly zero Christmas spirit, and I’m counting down the seconds until I can board a plane back to what I now call home.”
“It’s been a while since you’ve been back home. I mean to Strawberry Hollow at least.” His tone is cool and carries a hint of an unasked question.
Exactly four years. But who’s counting?
“It has. My mom is on a mission to bring us all back together for the holidays. And you know Stacy…when she gets something in her head, it’s happening.” I sigh.