The Twelve Holidates: a Sweet Christmas RomCom Novella

by Emma St Clair

  “How do you have a date for the Christmas Eve party?”

  Because Sam, feeling sorry for me, set me up with a friend of a friend.

  “The usual way dates happen, Weston.”

  “You asked someone?”

  He’s so still behind me, eyes boring into my back. I can see the tightness of his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders.

  Is this jealousy?

  I’m too emotional right now to have a reaction. Coming to grips with my feelings this week has been too much effort. Holding so much back, questioning every move he makes. I’m exhausted.

  “I did. Because you already have multiple dates. I didn’t want to be alone.”

  “You wouldn’t have been alone. I wanted to go with you. I thought after this week we’ve had …” Weston starts to speak, then trails off, shaking his head and turning to stare into the hills rising up above the parking lot.

  “What did you think?” I ask, carefully.

  Just tell me how you feel. One way or the other. Put me out of my misery.

  Though, I guess if he rejects me, I’d be in more misery. But a few words of assurance from him would burn off this fog of emotion instantly. I bite my lip, not wanting to hope.

  I see the moment he shifts, shoulders sagging, chin dipped low to his chest. There was a time I could read West so easily, when I knew what he was feeling, and usually why. This is defeat, but it’s a reaction I don’t understand.

  I debate spinning around, grabbing him by his stupid shirt and yanking his lips to mine in a kiss. No way to misinterpret that. No way to come back from it either. Not a second time.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Weston says, finally.

  If that’s not a period at the end of the sentence, I don’t know what is.

  Dates 11, 12, & Lucky 13

  Weston

  I can’t believe so much of my success tonight rests in the hands of my two younger brothers. I swing my gaze between the two big idiots, doing my best to look like I’ll totally annihilate them if they mess this up.

  But who am I kidding? Seth and Aaron have never been intimidated by me. I may have finally filled out in a way that’s proportional to my height, but my brothers play defense for Texas A & M. They’re monsters. Standing shoulder to shoulder as they are right now, they could take out a water buffalo.

  “We’ve got this, big bro,” Seth says, clapping a meaty hand on my back.

  “We’ll follow the pretty ladies and keep them away from you. Easy. They won’t be looking at you when they see us anyway,” Aaron says, puffing out his chest. Probably true.

  I roll my eyes. “Nice and humble. Just what the ladies love.”

  “Oh, trust me. We know what ladies love,” Seth says.

  Forget what I said about taking out water buffalo. My brothers are the buffalo. Or maybe more like wild hogs. Either way, they’re definitely animals.

  They break like this was a football huddle and start moving away, probably to the kitchen to get their egg nog on.

  “By the way, I never said they were pretty!” I call. “Mom picked them, so who knows. Either way, you agreed!”

  They rumble something from the kitchen that I hope is an agreement. That will have to do. If I had done a better job this week with Taylor, I wouldn’t need their help. If only I had just laid it all on the line rather than trying to slowly woo her with dates that ended up being more ridiculous than romantic…

  But she just went through a big breakup, I remind myself. Easing into this seemed like a wise decision.

  A safe decision. It was too safe. And after years of loving Taylor, I should have played it anything but safe. Now, no thanks to Mom, Taylor thinks I’m dating half of Austin.

  Tonight is going to be a train wreck. I know it. This should have been our last two holidates, plus a bonus one I added. Lucky number thirteen.

  Instead Taylor will be with some other guy. I already want to punch him in the face, whoever he is.

  I do understand why she was upset about the women Mom enlisted to come. I should have mentioned it to Taylor, so she knew I wasn’t in on it. I knew, but I didn’t agree. And I really didn’t think Mom would invite more women. I should have insisted Mom uninvite them. But I didn’t. I can’t blame Taylor for coming with a date when she thought I had multiple dates.

  And yet … it stings. I really thought we were building toward something this week, that we had taken steps forward. I know I didn’t imagine the attraction blooming between us. The night we spent together in my bed, it felt like we were both struggling with restraint. Maybe I should have given in and let myself kiss her the way I wanted to.

  I’ve wanted to do things right. And stealing a first kiss without telling her how I feel and while impacted by pain meds definitely didn’t feel right. Tempting, but not right.

  Now I’m trusting that my two muscle-headed brothers will play their best defense ever against the women Mom invited tonight. Hopefully there are only the two I know of: Gisele, the foot model (not to be confused with Gisele the supermodel), and a barista named Kitten. Yes. Her name is Kitten.

  “Who agreed to what?”

  Grandma’s voice startles me, and I turn to see her coming out from behind the dining room curtains. Was she hiding behind there? I shouldn’t be surprised. Though she’s rail thin and slightly stooped, her bright eyes have the same glittering and deadly quality as a vampire from a horror movie.

  “Uh, Grandma. Hi. I didn’t see you there.”

  Hiding behind the curtains like a psychopath.

  “That’s the point, boy.”

  She laughs, and it makes the hairs stand up on my arms. It is the definition of a cackle. We should invite her to pass out our Halloween candy every October. It would be like having our own little haunted house.

  “Now, boy. What are you plotting?”

  I blink at her, watching as she lifts a coffee mug to her lips. Three guesses as to what’s inside, and not one of those guesses is non-alcoholic.

  “It’s nothing.” I wave a hand dismissively, forcing out a laugh.

  Her beady little eyes narrow, and she throws back whatever is in her mug before slamming it on the table. Wiping her mouth with the back of her wrinkled hand, she steps closer. I fight the urge to tuck tail and run.

  I know she’s my Grandma, my dad’s mom. My blood. But she’s at best, intimidating, and at worst, terrifying.

  “What is it? A prank? Kidnapping? A bit of light treason? I want in. These parties are always boring.”

  The scent of alcohol and, inexplicably, something like cotton candy wafts from her to me. She must see me sniffing, because she says, “Whipped cream vodka. Best invention of the twenty-first century. Now, are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”

  A finger lands on my chest, and I swear, the thing is like a talon. I weigh my options. I could let my Grandma, who hates Taylor, know about my desperate last-ditch plan to confess my feelings. Or I can refuse to tell her and potentially have my soul stolen, dismantled, and sold for parts.

  “Are you sure you want to help? It’s … about love.” I clear my throat, waiting as though for test results at the doctor’s office when I’m pretty sure I already have strep throat.

  “Love is—” She pauses, licking her dry lips as her eyes continue to glitter at me like they’re lit from within.

  My mind tries to fill in the blank. You just never know with Grandma.

  Love is …

  Stupid.

  For sissies.

  Vile.

  “Love is the only thing worth doing in this life,” she says.

  I realize the glittering in her eyes is tears and not the flickering of torches lit from the underworld. Grandma is … emotional?

  I barely remember my Grandpa, other than to know he was the gentlest, sweetest man on the planet. If Halloween is the holiday I associate with Grandma, Christmas would have been his. He was like a big, jolly old St. Nick. Maybe he softened her edges? I can’t remember Grandma any way other
than this.

  Grandma sniffs, and I find myself pulling her into a hug. I can’t remember the last time I wrapped my arms around her. She doesn’t do affection.

  “What is this?” She wiggles away from me, and one of her bony elbows almost punctures my spleen.

  “A hug, Grandma.”

  “No hugging! Now, tell me of this love plot. After you get me more vodka.”

  I pick up her mug, unsure if I should be feeding the beast, so to speak. Before I can hit up the makeshift bar in the kitchen, Grandma raises her hand.

  “Wait! Who’s the lucky woman?”

  Oh boy. “It’s Taylor,” I refuse to let my voice falter or my eyes drift away from hers. “It’s always been Taylor.”

  Her nose lifts. “That little tart from down the street with the dark hair and killer bod?”

  I choke out a laugh that sounds more like a smoker’s cough. “That’s the one.”

  Grandma’s face tightens, and her eyes narrow. “I always did like that one.”

  I stare at her in disbelief. “The last time you came for Christmas Eve, you called her a communist.”

  Grandma shrugs. “Your point? I happen to like commies.”

  Okay, then. Time to get Grandma a refill.

  I think overall, my chances of this working just went down considerably, but then again, were they ever that high to begin with?

  Taylor

  If I wasn’t already in love with Weston, however unrequited my love might be, I would be all about Chase.

  When I open my apartment door to find him standing there, a crooked smile on his handsome face and a single red rose in hand, I urge my heart to beat faster, or at least to give a little flutter.

  Instead, like a car engine that’s dying, it heaves a groaning sigh and gives up.

  “You must be Sam’s friend, Taylor,” he says. “I’m Chase.”

  I just stand there, somehow frozen into immobility, until he glances at the number beside my door. “Am I at the right place?”

  “Sorry.” I shake my head and manage a smile. “I’m Taylor. Good to meet you. I’m being awkward. I don’t usually do the whole blind date thing. Or whatever this is.”

  “Me neither.” Chase holds out the rose. “I know red roses are the romantic heavy hitters in the flower family, but because it’s Christmas, it was this or a potted poinsettia.”

  I laugh, taking the flower from his hands. Our fingers brush and I have no reaction to the contact.

  “This is great. Thanks. I won’t read too much into it. Let me get it in some water.”

  “I’ll wait out here,” Chase says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Stranger danger and all that.”

  I smile and leave him on the porch. Sam didn’t give me much information about Chase, other than to say he wasn’t looking for romance either and that I could trust him. It seemed perfect at the time. But the idea of showing up with someone other than Weston tonight has nausea rolling through my belly.

  “Let’s just say I think it will be win-win for both of you,” she had said, her eyes twinkling. I didn’t want to ask.

  I study him as I follow him down to his car, a Jeep that looks like it actually might see some off-road action. Chase, too, looks like he spends time outdoors, or at least in a gym. He’s closer to my height than Weston, with broad shoulders, dark brown hair, and a trim beard.

  He smiles as he opens the door for me, and I can’t help but notice the way his biceps strain against his polo shirt. Still doesn’t compare to Weston shirtless.

  “You won’t be cold?” I ask him, nodding toward his short sleeves.

  The temperature has warmed up overnight, fickle as Texas can be, but it’s not warm. I’m still wearing long sleeves and a sweater.

  “I’m always hot,” he says. Then, shuffling, he glances down at his feet. “I mean, temperature wise.”

  “I know what you meant.” I can’t help but smile. I can see his blush even in the dark.

  “Good. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m some kind of egomaniac.” He shuts my door and jogs around to the driver’s side.

  This guy is too cute. And so nice I feel a little bad that essentially he’s here with me as my human shield or fake date. I take a deep breath as he gets in and starts the car.

  “I probably need to prepare you for tonight. What did Sam tell you, exactly?”

  Chase gives me a sideways glance, a small smile on his face. “Not much, just that she had a friend in need of a non-date date. Why don’t you tell me about tonight?”

  How much do I share? I consider for only a moment, then decide that I’ll probably never see Chase again. Might as well go with brutal honesty.

  “I’m in love with my best friend, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t love me back. This is a joint family Christmas party. Our mothers have always wanted to set us up … until this year. When apparently his Mom decided to invite a bunch of eligible women for him to meet tonight.”

  Chase grimaces. “Wow. Okay. So, do we need to pretend to date, or …?”

  My cheeks feel hot at the underlying question, which seems to be, How far are we going to take this thing?

  “No. I mean, honestly, I just need someone in my corner. We don’t have to, um, do more than that. Just stick with me. If that’s okay.”

  He draws in a quick breath. “I don’t mind. Really. I can totally commiserate with your situation. That’s probably why Sam suggested me.”

  I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t, and then we’re pulling up to Weston’s house. It looks all lit up from within, bringing back so many memories of so many years. It all hits me square in the chest, and I clutch the gift that I’ve brought for his parents.

  “Anything else I need to know? Any other ways I can help?” Chase asks.

  I don’t deserve his kindness. Not when I’m basically using him. Though I guess if he knows about it up front, it isn’t quite so bad. Chase seems willing, maybe because of whatever makes him able to relate.

  I think about how much to tell him without making him bolt. “Well, Weston’s grandma will be here. She’s pretty ruthless. His dog may bite your ankles. He bites everyone. Just watch your pant legs.”

  Chase nods. So far, so good. But I’m not done.

  “Don’t be surprised if his brothers walk around with mistletoe on a fishing pole. They’re linebackers for A&M so no one messes with them. The eggnog is very spiked, and sometimes the night ends with a game of backyard fruitcake dodgeball, which is vicious but ends quickly. Either by injury or the fruitcakes disintegrating.”

  I look at Chase, who only blinks at me. “You’re not running away?” I ask.

  Chase laughs. “Sounds like a party to me. You ready?”

  “Nope.” I grin. “So, let’s go.”

  The party is the same as every other year, except for the dull ache in my heart, Chase’s comforting presence, and the two women draping themselves over Weston like cheap IKEA curtains.

  It’s hard to watch, even though Weston doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested in either woman. I’ve never been so thankful for his brothers, who have been prying the women off him like they’re barnacles. Eventually, it works, and the women shift their attention to Seth and Aaron, which lessens the jealousy moving through me like a menopausal heat map.

  Meanwhile, our mothers seem locked in a silent death match, and our fathers keep going out back to smoke cigars and escape the tension.

  All in all, worst Christmas Eve party ever.

  Except for one saving grace, the only thing that has kept me from sprinting out the door. And that thing is the dark look that has haunted Weston’s face whenever he’s looked at me. Or, more specifically, at Chase and me.

  Because if I had to name it, that expression on Weston’s face would be jealousy. That or murderous rage, because it matches the expression Weston’s grandma always wears. I’ve always wondered if they were actually related. Now, there is absolutely no question in my mind.

  I’ve been avoiding Weston all
night. Which is why I’m in the kitchen, pointedly bypassing the eggnog and wolfing down the cheeseball no one seems to like but me.

  “Getting reinforcements?”

  I shouldn't be surprised that Chase is the one who finds me. He hasn’t left my side for most of the night. Whether because he’s scared of Grandma or just trying to support me, it’s been nice.

  Still, Weston is usually the one who would track me down if I’m upset. The fact that he hasn’t is disappointing now that I thinking about it.

  “I’m eating my feelings,” I tell Chase.

  He looks down at my plate, then makes a face. “Is that a cheeseball?”

  “I know. Disgusting, right?”

  Chase leans over the counter, crossing his muscular forearms. “I mean, compared to fruitcake, it’s not so bad. Or whatever that purple stuff was on the buffet.”

  I have a mouthful of crackers, so I throw a hand over my face, laughing. Before I manage to respond, a voice comes from the doorway.

  “It’s beet salad,” Grandma says.

  Chase and I both straighten up. I’ve managed not to be alone with her, just as I’ve managed to keep my pant legs away from Uncle Tony’s snappy jaws.

  “Hi, Grandma,” I say. “The beet salad was wonderful, as always.”

  “You didn’t eat it,” she says. “Or your teeth would be purple. No matter. You look good. Your breasts look larger. They’ve grown from apples to cantaloupes. I see now why he loves you.”

  My eyes fly to Chase, whose face has turned a color closely resembling the beet salad I lied about eating.

  “I, uh …” Chase fumbles for words, his eyes going everywhere in the room except my (apparently cantaloupe-sized) breasts.

  Grandma waves a hand. “Not you, muscle boy. I mean my grandson.”

  Weston … loves me?

  No. That can’t be right, despite the way hope rockets through me like the cork of a champagne bottle. Everyone knows that we don’t listen to Grandma.