(Not So) Alone for Christmas: A Sweet Romantic Comedy Holiday Novella Read online

  But he never had. Not in the way I’d always dreamed he would.

  I heaved a sigh, dropping my phone into my bag. “Hey.”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I came to surprise my family for Christmas.”

  “But they’re in Hawaii.”

  “Yeah. I just figured that out. Can I come inside? It’s freezing out here.”

  Bo glanced over my shoulder as if noticing the weather for the first time. “Did you bring the weather with you from Chicago?”

  I stilled. I hadn’t talked to Bo in years. How did he know I lived in Chicago?

  “The temperature would need to drop about thirty more degrees for it to truly compare.”

  He held the door open, and I hauled my suitcase into the entryway. Izzy, my parents’ golden retriever, immediately padded over to say hello. I crouched down and scratched her behind the ears. “Hey there, Izzy girl.”

  I stood up and shrugged out of my coat before draping it across the top of my suitcase. Bo just stood there, staring, awkwardness filling the silence between us.

  “So . . . you’re housesitting for my parents,” I finally said.

  “Yeah.” He shook his head as if still trying to wake up. “It was my mom who set it up. I’m building a house up in Ridgeville, and I’ve got an RV I’m living in onsite, but it’s a little drafty. She was worried about me with the cold weather blowing in, and knowing your parents were headed out of town . . .” He shrugged. “Here I am.”

  “Sorry to just show up like this. I won’t be here long. Just tonight, then I’m catching a flight out to be with my family.”

  He nodded. “You didn’t know they were going?”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “I know. It’s ridiculous. And probably my fault. I had plans, and then they got canceled, but by then I’d already told my parents I was busy, and Mom didn’t want to tell me what was going on because the whole trip was supposed to be a surprise, and also I maybe have a bad habit of ignoring my mother’s phone calls. So. There’s also that.” I was babbling. Definitely needed to stop the babbling.

  Bo smiled in a way that immediately took me back to high school, to the passenger side of his truck where I’d sat on the way to school every morning, living for the day he’d look over and notice I’d fixed my hair differently or had finally gotten my braces off. Sometimes I’d practice for a solid hour, going over the things I might say to him during the short ride to school. When I said something particularly funny or clever, he would respond with that smile, and all the practicing would immediately feel worth it.

  “I get it. I’ve been known to ignore a call or two from my mom.” He shrugged. “She means well, but . . .”

  “Sometimes the hovering feels a little suffocating?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  I forced myself to keep my eyes on his face, but his slightly tousled sleep look was distractingly sexy. It didn’t help that this was Bo. I hadn’t been able to resist him when he was super skinny, with mild acne and braces. I was hopeless against this version.

  He glanced down—apparently I wasn’t so great at the not-staring thing—and grimaced. “Sorry. Give me a sec.”

  He rushed down the hallway, likely toward the guest room behind the kitchen, and emerged seconds later, pulling a gray t-shirt over his head. “Do you need anything?” he said, stopping halfway between the kitchen and the entryway where I still stood. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving, actually.” I’d left in such a rush, I hadn’t had time to grab dinner. I thought longingly of the Chinese take-out I’d thrown out on my way out of town. It had made a nice lunch, but there were leftovers that would have lasted me a couple of days, at least.

  I followed Bo into the kitchen, Izzy quick on my heels.

  He paused. “Sorry. I don’t mean to play host in your house.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually lived here. You know more about what’s in the kitchen right now than I do.” It did feel good to be home, though. Izzy sat down at my feet, her tail thumping enthusiastically against the floor. At least someone in my family was there to greet me.

  “There isn’t much,” Bo said. “I went to the store today, but I didn’t really think about feeding anyone but myself. But . . . oh. What about this?” He reached into the pantry and pulled out a box of Apple Jacks then set it on the counter between us. “It’s your favorite, right?”

  I narrowed my eyes. It was my favorite, but I had no idea how Bo remembered such a random, inconsequential detail. But cereal would satisfy my hunger without making me feel uncomfortably full. “This is perfect.”

  He pulled a couple of bowls out of the cabinet then grabbed the milk from the fridge.

  “How do you even remember what my favorite cereal is?”

  “Halloween party, seventh grade,” Bo said, not even hesitating. “Well, my seventh-grade year. Which would have been your fifth, right?”

  I racked my brain, trying to remember a Halloween party that had anything to do with breakfast cereal. I shook my head. “I got nothing.”

  “It was the year my mom handed out the tiny boxes of cereal as party favors. Remember? I thought it was totally ridiculous, but she claimed the cereal was healthier than candy.”

  “Ohhh, I do remember that.”

  “You traded all your Halloween candy for every last box of Apple Jacks.”

  I laughed. I had totally forgotten, but the memory immediately crystalized clearly in my mind. “I built an Apple Jacks pyramid in my room. They lasted me until New Year’s.”

  We ate in silence for a few moments, me, sitting on a barstool at the end of the island, and Bo, leaning against the opposite counter next to the fridge. “Sorry to wake you up,” I finally said. “Do you always go to bed this early?” I glanced at my watch. It was only eleven fifteen, and he looked like he’d been sleeping a while.

  “Most of the time. My work requires me to be up early, so I’ve gotten in the habit of going to bed early, too.”

  “I get that. My work also starts early.”

  Bo nodded. “Teaching, right? Second grade?”

  I paused, my spoon hovering over my bowl. “Yeah,” I said slowly.

  He must have sensed my hesitation. “Sorry. Is it weird I know that? It’s just because our moms are friends. My mom gives me updates every once in a while.”

  It was a reasonable explanation, except my mom hadn’t ever mentioned Bo. And she was the queen of matchmaking. If Bo’s mom was asking about me, it stood to reason Mom would be filtering that information back to me in a skinny minute. “It’s not weird,” I said lightly.

  He looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

  “Okay, it’s a little weird, but only because my mom hasn’t mentioned you to me even once. And a man really only has to be breathing and single for Mom to think he’s worth my attention. She’s desperate for grandchildren.”

  The second the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could call them back. Why was I admitting so much to Bo? We hadn’t talked in years. I had always been chatty when tired, but admitting my relationship failures to Bo Bradshaw? Surely I hadn’t sunk that low.

  Bo chuckled. “That’s not a very high bar.”

  “Tell me about it. You wouldn’t believe some of the men she’s sent my way.”

  He rinsed his now empty bowl in the sink and placed it in the dishwasher. He cleared his throat. “That does explain things, though. Why your mom hasn’t mentioned me. If she’s only been on the lookout for single men, I wouldn’t have qualified.” He cleared his throat. “Not until recently.”

  A darkness passed over his face, clouding his blue eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

  “Bad break-up?” I asked hesitantly.

  He scoffed. “You could say that.” He ran a hand across his face. “But that’s all in the past. I’m hoping things will start to look up soon. You never know when someone new might walk through the door, right?”
r />   There was a hint of something—suggestion maybe?—in his voice that made my heart race and my hands tremble. I dropped my spoon and it clattered into my bowl, splashing milk onto my chin and all over the counter. My cheeks flamed red even as Bo handed me a paper towel. “Sorry. I . . .” I wiped my face first and then ran the paper towel across the counter.

  What was wrong with me?

  Bo’s tone had definitely been infused with what sounded like possibility, but that didn’t mean it meant possibility with me. Not that it would have mattered anyway. We were full-fledged adults with lives and jobs and friends—all in different states.

  I stood up and circled the counter to throw away my trash, even as Bo reached for my half-eaten bowl of cereal. “Are you finished?” he asked.

  I was never one to leave food behind, but with the way my stomach was knotting up, I didn’t think I could manage another bite. I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Bo rinsed the dish, adding it to the dishwasher next to his. “Do you have your flight info for tomorrow yet?”

  I dropped back onto the barstool. “Not yet. We didn’t get that far. There’s supposed to be an airline voucher for me . . .” I pulled out my phone as I talked, checking my email to see if Dad had sent anything over. Sure enough, there was an email waiting, containing all the information for the voucher. “I guess I’ll just call tomorrow and have them stick me on the earliest flight.”

  Bo grimaced and glanced at his phone. “You might want to call now and see if there are any flights going out tonight.”

  I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “What? Why?”

  He motioned toward the patio doors at the back of the kitchen that led to the backyard. “They’re calling for several inches of snow. I wouldn’t be surprised if the airport is shut down tomorrow.”

  I raced to the door, pressing my face close to the glass to see. Behind me, the kitchen light flicked off, making it far easier to see outside. Sure enough, snow had already accumulated on the back porch. I sighed. “They’re calling for more than this?” It wasn’t much by Chicago’s standards. But Chicago was well-equipped to handle snow. Far more equipped than a Southern city that rarely saw winter temps below forty degrees. I doubted the city of Charleston even owned a snowplow, and the airport would not be used to deicing their runway.

  “Five or six inches by tomorrow morning. The trouble is that it’s supposed to warm up on Christmas Eve, but then the temperatures are forecasted to drop right after, which means partially melted snow—”

  “Will turn to ice,” I said, finishing his sentence for him. “And that’s worse than snow.”

  “They’re calling it the storm of the decade,” Bo said, his voice close. He’d stepped up right behind me, looking out the window over my shoulder.

  I vaguely remembered hearing something on the news at the airport about a snowstorm hitting the Southern states. But snowstorms were a part of life in Chicago. I hadn’t given it a second thought.

  I moved back to the kitchen counter, grabbing my phone from where I’d left it on the counter.

  “The earliest flight is tomorrow morning at ten,” I said, scrolling through my search results. “But it already says it’s delayed.”

  “I really don’t want to be the one to rain on your Christmas plans,” Bo said, his voice gentle. “But I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

  I laughed a defeated laugh. Of course I wasn’t. I would have been better off in Chicago.

  I turned to look at Bo, cocking my head to the side. With the kitchen light turned off, only the lights of the Christmas tree in the family room off the kitchen lit the space. It was enough to see his face, but not quite enough to judge his expression.

  “What were your plans for Christmas?” I asked him. “Were you really just going to be here alone? With Izzy?”

  “Mostly. I had originally planned to drive up to Lexington on Christmas Day to be with my family, but with the weather, I’m not so sure that will happen. The farther north you go, the more snow they’re calling for.”

  “So we’re both stuck?” I tried not to let hope sound in my voice. But the truth was, I’d flown all the way home so that I didn’t have to be alone on Christmas.

  “I don’t have to stay here,” he said softly. “My Bronco can handle the snow. I can at least make it back up to Ridgeville and stay in the RV.”

  I shook my head. “You already told me the RV was drafty.”

  “I know, Maddy, but this is your house. And you’re here now. I don’t want to impose.”

  “It’s not my house. Not anymore. And my parents hired you to stay here. So really, it’s me who’s imposing.” I took a few steps toward the family room, soaking up the warmth and comfort of home. For all the things that drove me crazy about my mother, she and my dad had created a home where I’d always felt safe and loved and celebrated. That feeling of safety and peace permeated the space, even without them in it. “It’s a big house, Bo.” I turned back to face him. “Big enough for the both of us. Neither of us should be alone on Christmas.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in this throat. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  A few minutes later, I carried my suitcase up the stairs, nervous energy coursing through me. I was snowed in with Bo Bradshaw. Not exactly the Christmas I’d anticipated.

  I wondered if Jenna had landed in Greece yet. If I texted her, would she get it? I didn’t truly want to bother her, but I felt like I needed to tell someone—anyone—what was happening.

  Safe in my old bedroom, still looking all too similar to how I’d left it when I’d graduated and moved out, I opted to call Chloe instead. Jenna’s flight info said she’d for sure already landed, but it was early morning in Greece. Hopefully, she’d managed to find a bed and was sleeping off the long day of travel. Hawaii, on the other hand, was six hours behind me. Chloe was eight years younger than I was, so we hadn’t spent too much time together growing up, but she’d been out to visit me a few times since graduation and had firmly established herself as an ally when Mom needed some nudging to ease up on the matchmaking.

  Chloe answered after the first ring. “He’s gorgeous, right?” she said, without even saying hello.

  “Oh my freaking word! Why didn’t someone tell me? He answered the door without a shirt on, Chloe. I could hardly form a coherent sentence!”

  She laughed. “As soon as Mom told me you were at the house, I started hoping you’d call me! I think I was probably too young to truly understand your crush when we were growing up, but I totally get it now.”

  It was way more than a crush, but that was neither here nor there at this point. “Seriously. Talk about a glow up. He was adorable then. But now . . . I don’t even know what to think.”

  “Man, I think the guys at the gym are doing it wrong,” Chloe said. “Manual labor is definitely the way to go.”

  “Wait, manual labor? What does that mean?” I sat down on my bed and pulled off my boots.

  “He’s building his own house,” she said. “And he’s working on the farm and stuff.”

  Memories of Bo coming home from work back when we’d both been in high school floated to the surface of my mind. He’d worked at a research farm affiliated with Clemson University. I had no idea what he’d done there, but he’d always come home sweaty and exhausted and filthy, with enough free watermelons to share with the entire cul-de-sac. He’d gone to Clemson for college after he’d graduated . . . maybe he’d studied agriculture while there? “I had no idea that’s what he was doing,” I said. “What kind of farming? And how do you know all this stuff?”

  “He came by the house last week before we left town,” Chloe said. “To meet Izzy and pick up a key to the house. I totally flirted and tried to get him to ask me out, but it took him about three seconds to bring up the fact that when he graduated from high school, I was in the second grade. So. Things obviously didn’t go anywhere.”

  I chuckled. I couldn’t blame the girl for trying.

  �
��You should go to his website. It’s gorgeous. He has all this land and he literally grows everything. Strawberries. Peaches. Tomatoes. It’s like this whole big production thing.”

  I put Chloe on speakerphone and opened up the web browser on my phone. “What’s the web address?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Just Google it. It’s Bradshaw Farms, I think? Or something like that.”

  It was the first result on my Google search. The website was gorgeous, obviously professionally done, and detailed all the different aspects of the farm. There was a produce stand that operated nine months out of the year, educational tours, and pay-to-pick fields that were open to the public. There was a large pavilion on site that could be rented out for weddings or other events. The farm even hosted an annual harvest festival, complete with hayrides, a corn maze, and a barbecue cook-off. “Wow,” I said as I scrolled through the pages.

  “Right?” Chloe said. “I guess the farm belonged to his uncle, but he died a few years back and left it all to Bo, who just turned it into this amazing thing that does so much more than it ever did before.”

  “Wow,” I said again.

  “It almost makes you wish you weren’t flying out here tomorrow, right? I mean, Christmas with Bo Bradshaw? To be so lucky.”

  “Actually, about that. Have you guys been paying attention to the weather in Charleston?”

  “Ohh,” Chloe said. “It’s snowing, right? I’ve seen stuff about it on Instagram. Is it really bad?”

  “The airport has already shut down. The snow picked up right after my flight from Chicago landed.”

  “What the what,” Chloe said. “The one freaking time it decides to snow in Charleston and I’m not even there to see it.”

  “Oh, boo-hoo. Poor thing has to spend Christmas in Hawaii instead.”

  “So what, you’re just going to stay there?”

  “I hardly have a choice. At least for now. If the airport shuts down, I can’t even get back to Chicago.”