Julian and I hit a local big box store next. The clothing selection is grim, with me shuddering in my sneakers as I choose the most unattractive pair of flannel PJs, underwear with the days of the week plastered across the back, and a pair of paint-splattered jeans that would send the fashion police into full SWAT mode.
Julian gives me free rein over picking his clothes while he chats with Sam about a few things regarding next week’s work schedule. I have a blast putting together the ugliest outfit for him, which he immediately rejects.
I pout. “I’m offended you don’t trust me.”
“No amount of trust in the world could convince me to wear those jeans.” He frowns at the acid wash denim fit for an eighties music video.
“If you had your way, you’d wear plain ones and a black T-shirt.”
He lifts his full basket of clothes in the air. “Exactly.”
Ugh. “I’m going to put all this back.” I head back toward the men’s section with my cart, only to become distracted by the Christmas section near the checkout lanes.
Most of my holidays became opportunities for the Creswells and their agent to show off my design skills by having me make curated collections to be featured in magazines and social media pages. And while I love coming up with new ways to reinvent holiday classics, I can’t help getting caught up in the nostalgic decorations lining the shelves.
Vibrant tinsel. Novelty ornaments. Multicolored C9 light bulbs. Everything about this holiday display reminds me of my childhood, and I want to take part in it without worrying about designing something perfect or aesthetically pleasing.
I want to have fun.
After struggling with intense sadness and chronic numbness for the last few months, I plan on clinging to my excitement and riding the high for as long as humanly possible.
Like a child with no self-control, I throw random objects into my cart. Tinsel shiny enough to blind someone. A nutcracker drinking a beer in a tropical shirt. Packages of themed ornaments that will no doubt clash with each other.
I go through each row, throwing whatever makes me laugh into the cart. At first, my haul was easy to navigate with one arm, but now I struggle to push it forward with all the added weight.
My neck prickles, and I turn to find Julian walking up to me.
“Is all this for that Christmas tree you bought for me?” He takes over manning the cart.
“On second thought, I think I’ll keep the tree. We can’t have you ruining your Ebenezer Scrooge image or anything.”
“No.”
My eyes widen. “You want the tree?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Jerk.
“What’s all this about?” He pivots the cart toward the checkout lane.
“Some decorations for your tree.”
His eyes drop to the nutcracker cracking open a Corona. “And the rest?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“What are you planning?” His right eye twitches.
“Like I’d tell you.”
“Dahlia.” That rough voice of his tugs at my lower half.
“It’ll be great! I promise!”
I never thought going on a road trip with Julian could be a good time. Between fighting for control over the playlist and laughing over terrible restaurant reviews while searching for a spot that serves Detroit-style pizza, I find myself actually enjoying his company. It’s a dangerous admission, and one I’m too afraid to acknowledge for more than a fleeting second, solely because I’m worried it won’t last after we return to Lake Wisteria tomorrow.
I don’t want to get my hopes up, so I’m careful not to set unrealistic expectations, although Julian makes it nearly impossible when he smiles at the jukebox.
The hostess drops our menus at the booth closest to it before going over to check on another couple.
Julian shuffles through the songs before swiping his card to pay and taking a seat as the beginning chords of one of my favorites, “Brown Eyed Girl”, starts to play.
The memory of my dad spinning my mom around our living room to the same song flashes in front of my eyes. Mom would laugh often and worry less whenever my dad was around, especially when he danced with her.
Julian slides into the booth across from me, and the memory disappears.
“I love this song.”
“I know.” He grabs his menu while my heart thumps hard enough to almost jump out of my chest.
I drop my head into my hands with a sigh.
I’m exhausted by the time we make it to the fancy hotel Sam booked for us, with my eyes drooping and my posture slumping.
“Here you go.” The concierge slides the key toward Julian.
“And the other one?”
The man’s gaze flicks back to the computer screen. “You only booked one room.”
Julian’s shoulders tense. “That’s impossible.”
“I only have one reservation booked under Lopez.”
“Try checking for a room under the name Mu?oz,” I say.
A few clicks of the mouse confirm I don’t have a room. Julian walks away to call Sam, only to come back with the scariest scowl I’ve seen from him.
“He didn’t answer.”
I doubt I would answer my boss at midnight either, especially if I couldn’t book a second room like he wanted.
“Can we reserve another room now?” Julian taps his fingers against the counter.
“I wish I could, but we’re booked solid for the night. Most of the hotels in the area are, since we have three conventions, a hockey game, and an NFL player’s wedding all happening this weekend. You could drive around and try your luck, but—”
“I want to speak to your manager.”
Oh no. I better save Julian before he goes full entitled billionaire on this poor man.
“Thank you for trying anyway.” I grab the key off the counter.
“We’ll go searching for another hotel,” Julian protests.
“I’m exhausted and want to get some rest.” While my energy levels have improved significantly along with my mood, I’m still more tired than usual.
“But—”
“Come on.” I lock elbows with Julian as I steer him away from the desk.
The anger pouring off of him keeps me quiet as we make our way up to our room. With the way he huffs and puffs, I’m a bit afraid for Sam’s job security.
“At least the room is beautiful.” I note the single positive before reality smacks me in the face.
Julian’s hands clench and unclench as he glowers at the bed.
The one king-sized bed.
“Well, isn’t this going to be fun?” I bite down on my tongue.
Although the lavish room has its own sitting area with the newest smart TV, it becomes clear that the leather couch and chaise lounge are more for looks than comfort.
“I’ll be back.” He shuffles past me.
I latch on to his arm and hold him back. “And you’ll go do what? Threaten the guy? He already told us they don’t have another room, so you’re only wasting your time.”
Julian’s eyes shut. “What a nightmare.”
“It could be worse.”
“How?”
“Imagine if I snored.”
He mutters something to himself before escaping into the bathroom with his plastic bag filled with clothes and toiletries. A pipe groans before the soft patter of water echoes through the room.
With Julian gone, I’m able to fully process the idea of sharing a bed with him. While our circumstances aren’t ideal, I’m sure we can be mature adults about it and keep to our respective sides.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Julian