Page 63 of Not Home Alone

GRANT: Did you explain to everyone why I chose that song?

MERRILY: Yes, I told them I kissed you after applying peppermint lip balm and didn’t mention where I kissed you. I’m pretty sure Harold figured it out, but he’s a gentleman so he didn’t mention it.

GRANT: Who is Harold? He sounds like trouble.

MERRILY: He’s 8 decades worth of trouble. Anyway, your gesture was a big hit with the cast and crew, so you have won over another 1.5 % of the town’s population. I’m sure a few people filmed it so it will also get around to Quinn soon. Good job.

Thumbs up emoji? That’s not good. She thinks I only did that for the way it looks to other people. Did I? Am I that big of a dickhead? Does it even matter if I’m not a dickhead if Merrily still thinks I am?

I don’t feel so good anymore.

Instead of driving to the office, I find myself heading home. Not to my dad’s house, but to mine. Merrily isn’t there, but I feel the need to be in the space she’s been sharing with me. Because I think just breathing air that’s still filled with tiny particles of her makes me a better person. And I think I want to be a better person now, or at least not someone that everyone thinks is a dickhead.

When I pull up to the house, I see the old lady walking down her driveway toward the curb, and my instinct is to pretend I just got a call so I can stay in the car until she’s gone. I remember the rumors. But she’s probably out here to bring in the bins. It’s cold and starting to flurry. And I don’t want to be a dick anymore, so I do the least dickish thing I can do in this scenario.

“Good morning!” I say, as I emerge from my car. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Grant Moody. Can I help you bring those bins in?”

She studies me with her witchy eyes, looking me up and down and seeing through me to my very soul.

“Yes,” she finally says. “You may.”

I pull the recycling bin up the driveway while she pulls the garbage bin.

“You’re the first person to offer to help me with something like this in years,” she says, matter-of-factly.

“Is that true? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“People can be dickheads,” she says, matter-of-factly again. “But they’re probably just scared of me because I’m so beautiful.”

I look over to see if she’s grinning or not. She isn’t. And she is beautiful, actually. “I can attest to being one of those people who’s been a dickhead to someone I found very beautiful. But I’m trying to get over it.”

“Well, if you have a minute, there’s a table I need help moving in my dining room. You can tell me all about it.”

“Deal.” She probably won’t murder me. I’m not scared. This might be the last day of my life, but at least I can die knowing that I didn’t hurt Merrily Tucker’s feelings again.

TWENTY-ONE

MERRILY

“You almost ready?”

Grant has been waiting for me downstairs for ten minutes. I am so not the girl who makes people wait, and I am never one to get nervous about a date, but… I’m making Grant wait and I’m nervous about our date. I’ve never met his family before, and I know they were at The Notcracker ten years ago, so I don’t want them to think of me as that poor girl who tried to stick her tongue down Grant’s throat in front of the whole town. I panicked this afternoon because I realized I only packed cozy clothes to wear for this trip. So I asked Joy how fancy I should be for this event, and she said I could wear a crystal-embroidered haute couture evening gown and Quinn would still ignore me and act like she’s Grant’s date, so I might as well wear comfortable shoes.

It was sound advice. So I’m wearing my leather booties with the black cotton maxi dress I had rolled up and tucked into the back of my suitcase, with my hair up and red lipstick. Because I feel I should proudly represent The Christmas Barn, I am also sporting dangly earrings with super cute penguins that are wearing Santa hats. “Queen Mariah, give me strength,” I say to my reflection in the mirror.

“Coming!” I call out as I exit the bathroom. Holding up my skirt as I descend the stairs, I hum “O Come All Ye Faithful,” because I heard on a podcast that humming can soothe your nervous system. I once tried humming “All I Want for Christmas is You” and it felt like I was having a panic attack and then I had a coughing fit. So I stick with the oldies.

Grant is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, watching me. He gives me a slow once-over that warms my belly and makes my South Pole tingle. I’ve seen him in a suit before, but tonight he’s especially well-groomed and wearing a festive red tie. He looks especially handsome. Clearing his throat, he says, “I don’t want to be that cliché guy who says ‘wow’ the first time he sees a woman wearing a nice dress. Because I hate being cliché and, to be honest, I think you look hot in pajama pants. But wow. You look beautiful, Merrily.”

And suddenly I feel less nervous. “Thank you.”

He reaches for my waist, somewhat hesitantly, and slowly closes in on my cheek for a quick kiss.

“I should probably tell you that I opted for vanilla-flavored homemade lip balm under my lipstick tonight. In case the peppermint would make you…”

“Stiff as a candy cane in front of my family?”

“Yes. That.”