The bonfire. Hot cocoa with bourbon. Laughing with these strangers. And then… something about roommates?
“Oh god,” I groan. “I was dancing, wasn’t I? In the snow? And singing? Please tell me I wasn’t singing.”
Finn presses his lips together, clearly suppressing a laugh. “I would never tell you that you were belting ‘Santa Baby’ while attempting some kind of interpretive dancing.”
I close my eyes in mortification.
“You were enthusiastic,” Gabe offers in what I think is meant to be a comforting tone.
“Oh god,” I moan, sinking onto a kitchen stool. “Please tell me I didn’t do anything else embarrassing.”
The look they exchange tells me everything I don’t want to know.
“Define ‘embarrassing,’” Finn hedges.
I drop my head into my hands. “Just kill me now.”
“We don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” Finn says, “You were very insistent about it last night, being Christmas and something about nobody coming and how you were going to be pathetically alone unless we took pity on you.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “I said all that?”
Gabe clears his throat. “You were upset.”
“Distraught,” Finn clarifies. “There were tears. And you kept talking about color-coded activity schedules and themed pajamas.”
I had spilled my guts to strangers. My family drama, my loneliness, probably my entire sad life story.
“And we brought you home and tucked you in,” Finn continues. “You insisted that you wanted to know how it felt to be a canned sardine.”
The way I’d been wrapped tightly in blankets suddenly makes sense, the aspirin and water too.
“You also insisted I read to you, but you passed out after the first phrase.”
I groan again and finally set down the spray canister on the counter, accepting that these men aren’t home invaders but… guests? Roommates? I don’t know what to call them.
“So you’re telling me I drunkenly invited you all to stay in my rental cabin for two weeks, and you accepted?”
Finn shrugs. “The cottage is packed. Everett’s mom and sister are visiting because his grandma’s in the hospital, so he’s sleeping on the couch. We were crammed into his tiny bedroom, and this place has six bedrooms.”
“It was a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Gabe says, turning back to the stove and resuming his pancake flipping.
“I don’t usually… I mean, I’m not the kind of person who…”
“Invites strangers to move in? " We figured,” Finn says kindly, “but you seemed really sad about being alone for Christmas. And we really were uncomfortable in that tiny room.”
Before I can ponder this further, my phone rings from somewhere in the living room.
I follow the sound, digging it out from under a sofa cushion. The number flashing on the screen isn’t saved.
I answer, voice cautious but polite. “Hello?”
A familiar, irritated voice snaps back at me. “Melody, thank god. I need the Henderson file, and I can’t find it anywhere.”
It’s Marcus. Of course, it’s Marcus. How did he even get this number?
“It’s in the blue folder labeled ‘Henderson,’ sir. On your desk. Left-hand corner.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “The one I put there before I left.”
“It’s not—” There’s a pause, some shuffling. “Never mind. I found it. While you’re on the line, I need you to look up some numbers for me.”