Page 116 of With the Assist

“No,” I say loudly enough that they both flinch. “There is no boyfriend.”

Emma doesn’t even try to hide her amusement. “That’s not what’s trending in the gossip columns.”

“We are not dating,” I say, heat crawling up my neck. “The media connects dots with crayons.”

Dad turns fully now, interest engaged. “Why would it be in the media?”

Emma raises an eyebrow. “It’s Nathan Wilder, Dad.”

“You’re dating Nathan Wilder?” He blinks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dad’s a hockey fan. He isn’t a die-hard fan or obsessed, but even a casual viewer has heard of Nathan. The reminder of how well-known Nathan is causes heat to rush to my cheeks. Why is he humoring me with all of this when he has to have more important things going on?

“We’re not dating.” I sigh and set the knife down.

Dad’s expression shifts into a slow, knowing smile. “Then why is he coming to Christmas dinner?”

“Because his family situation is complicated,” I say, defensive even to my own ears. “And no one should spend Christmas alone if they don’t want to. That’s it.”

Emma makes a humming sound that means she believes absolutely none of that.

“Sounds like you know him pretty well.” Dad grabs the silverware out of the drawer, making a show out of getting an extra fork for our incoming guest.

“Drop it,” I tell them both.

They mostly do, at least out loud.

A few minutes later, I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror, quickly putting on mascara and tinted lip balm for absolutely no practical reason whatsoever. I’m in the middle of debating whether I’m pathetic when Emma appears in the doorway.

“You don’t put on makeup for friends.” She picks up the blush brush, dusting it across my cheeks.

“I put on makeup because I look tired and it’s Christmas.”

“Okay.” She turns to leave, but pauses at the last second. “I think it’s good. For you, I mean. You had to grow up too fast. To take care of me. Of dad. It’d be nice if you had someone to take care of you.”

She walks away, leaving me to watch myself in the mirror. My breath comes faster, fighting through the bundle of nerves growing beneath my ribs. She’s wrong. That’s not what this is. I don’t need someone that way. I never have.

The doorbell rings, the sound causing a prickle at the back of my neck. I breathe deep for a count of five, then push my way to the front of the apartment.

“I’ve got it,” Dad calls.

I step into the hall as he opens the door.

Nathan stands on the porch with snow dusting his shoulders and a small cluster of poinsettias in his hands. He looks out of place in the most disarming way, his eyes flickering between us as if he doesn’t want to take up more room than he’s offered.

Dad smiles and welcomes him immediately. Emma leans around the corner to stare without shame.

Any illusion that this was a simple, harmless idea evaporates on the spot. Nothing is simple when it comes to him.

Dinner smells incredible by the time we all sit down. The table is crowded with dishes and far too much food. Nathan takes the seat I gesture to without hesitation, setting the poinsettias on the sideboard.

A pang of jealousy courses through me at the way that nothing seems to rattle him, at least not visibly. Meanwhile, around him, I’m constantly rattled.

My dad wastes no time.

“So,” he says, passing the potatoes. “Where’s your family from?”

Nathan straightens a little. “Here originally. They still live about twenty minutes away.”