12 Days of Mistletoe

6. Bonnie

SIX

bonnie

“Ooo! She’s here! She came!” a slim, middle-aged brunette bellows in my direction.

Is she talking to me? Is she pointing at me?

And then?—

“Uh—honey!” E.J. Eaton, in a black suit and a red tie, looking stupidly cute appears in front of me. And he’s calling me honey … Or maybe someone came in behind me.

“She’s a little shy. Give us one sec!” he says.

“Shy?” He will not call me shy when I’m slugging him in the gut.

He takes me by the hand and leads me to a far corner in the room, one far from the prying eyes of the people staring at us. The middle-aged woman looks as if she could devour me in one sitting and I’m instantly afraid.

“Excuse me,” I hiss. “Why are you touching me?” I yank my hand from his. The tingles spiking their way up into my elbow cease immediately.

He runs a hand through his russet hair, drawing my eyes there. “I’m sorry, Bonnie. You sort of fell into a mess I created.”

“A mess? I was just grabbing Scrabble.” I point to the closet of games.

“Those games aren’t supposed to leave this room.”

“Holy crow,” I quietly moan. “You are such a rule follower! Can you mind your own business for once?”

He shuts his eyes as if he might be in pain, then opens up those baby blues and locks his gaze with mine. “Listen, I am going to offer you a deal. Okay?”

I blink. A what? I peer around him, breathing in his pine and musk. It makes me a little tipsy, and for one second I forget who I’m dealing with—dog-hating E.J. Eaton.

“E.J., in what world would I ever?—”

“ Elliot . Call me Elliot.”

I pause—but only for a second. “Whatever name you might go by, why would I ever make a deal with you?”

He puffs out a cheek full of air. “Listen, if you take one photo with my family and pretend to be dating me, I’ll… I’ll pay your rent next month.”

Dating him? He’s kidding. He can’t be serious because—wait?—

“My rent?” Is this man for real? All to pretend we’ve been dating? How messed up is he?

This is wrong. And crazy. And yet?—

“Yes. Your entire rent for January. I will cover it one hundred percent.” He swallows, and those eyes are serious. He means it.

And all I can think about is little Abby Jones, low on Canine Compassion’s waiting list.

The dog that Abby is hoping to have our nonprofit purchase for her is almost exactly one month of rent for me. Yes, she’s in line for the grant we offer, and she’ll get that pup eventually, but how long will she have to wait? Our nonprofit is small and serves only a couple kids a year. How long will it take before Abby can get her dog? How many years will she suffer more than needed, all because she doesn’t yet have her service dog?

I am Abby. Dizziness, sweating, heart-pounding pressure until I can hardly breathe—all over the unknown and what might be. This dog could change her life. At ten . Not twenty-three, like I was when I got Noel, but ten .

I swallow. “Are you an honest man, Elliot Eaton?”

“You know I like to follow the rules.”

Oh, I do. He’s proved that time and time again in written form. “So, you aren’t going to make this deal and bow out on me?”

“You have my word. I’ll give you the cash directly after the photo is taken and my family has gone,” he whispers.

“Elliot?” the woman whom I thought might eat me earlier says from across the room.

“One second, Mom.” He swallows and peers back at me, his blue eyes on mine. “Deal?”

My heart patters in my chest. I don’t know this guy’s angle, but every single thunk in my chest seems to speak Abby’s name. “Deal.” I hold out my hand to shake, but Elliot snags my fingers and pulls me in for a hug.

I am engulfed and drowning in muscles and musk and one very tall man.

Heaven help me. It’s a blessed way to die.

Except that it’s not. Because I am absolutely, not even a little bit, attracted to an out-of-his-mind dog hater who leaves threatening notes and has to pretend to date girls.

“Thank you,” Elliot whispers in my ear, still embracing me, and my heart leaps with those two little words. They don’t sound like a hater’s thanks. They sound nice. They sound grateful.

But I know better.

The sooner this photo is taken and over, the better.

What do I care if I’m in some guy’s family picture? Who do I know that will see it or even care?

“Mom,” Elliot says, and his fingers slide too easily between my own. I lurch a little with the strange and foreign pressure of Elliot’s hand. “This is Bonnie. Bonnie, this is my mom, Marlene.”

The semi-scary woman smiles, a little forced, but it’s a smile. “Not Eldora or Esther?”

“ Mom ,” Elliot grumbles beside me.

“Yes.” She shakes her head as if she’s forgotten her manners. “So nice to meet you, Bonnie.” The woman snatches hold of my hand with both of hers, squeezing before releasing me.

“These are my sisters—” With a glance from the taller girl, Elliot adds, “That I’ve told you all about.”

“Right,” I say, finding my voice, though I couldn’t produce a name if I wanted to.

“Evelyn,” he says, pointing to the girl at our left.

Evelyn and Elliot—okay, his crazy mother does have a thing for E’s.

“And Jocelyn.”

Hmm, maybe not. But something is up with this lady. I’m not wrong.

“My dad, David.” The graying man behind the crowd of women smiles and waves. Thanks, David—no need to crowd me, I appreciate you. “Evelyn’s husband, Jackson, and Jocelyn’ s fiancé, Parker.”

“ Fiancé ,” Jocelyn says with a laugh. “That’s still new.”

Marlene titters along with her daughter, her cheeks pink, and for the first time since I saw her, she seems to be just an extremely happy mother. Maybe I had her pegged wrong.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, though the further this goes, the more I need Noel. Fake dating someone isn’t exactly awesome for my anxiety. The only thing keeping my body in order is a rent check that will cover Abby Jones’ dog fee.

Abby.

Abby.

I puff out a breath and Elliot does a double take my way. “You okay?”

I nod, ready to get this over with. Let’s snap that photo so the man can pay the lady. I nod toward the one remaining person in the room that Elliot or E.J., whatever his name is, hasn’t yet introduced me to. “And this would be?”

Elliot’s lips part in a smile—a loving smile. “May Elliot. My grandmother.”

“May Elliot?” My brows furrow. As in Mrs. May Elliot , my landlord? Holy heavens above—stupid note-writing Elliot is the grandson of the apartment complex owner. The possibility of her not knowing about his dog suspicions are slim.

“And you are Bonnie what?”

I am ready to spit out a lie—anything to not clue this lady in on who I am. It’s possible she wouldn’t remember me as a tenant. We’ve never met in person, we don’t see her in the building, and we don’t talk on the phone. But I do send her a rent check every month, signing my name, and because I’m me, I also send her a card with that check. Every month I send that woman a handwritten message along with my check. I always sign my full name. Mom taught us to be personable and grateful. Over the years, I’ve found that showing gratitude to others brings me peace.

“ Miller ,” Elliot says, while I hum out something unintelligible.

“I wondered.” May’s wrinkled face stretches into a grin. She stands from her seat to the side of the family and walks over to me. “Bonnie Miller. B4.”

Elliot looks from his grandmother to me, uncertainty in his eyes. Okay—so maybe he hasn’t told her yet. Maybe I can work that into this deal of his—no tattling on me to Grandma May.

May chuckles. “Darling girl,” she says before pulling me into a warm, grandmotherly embrace. “I look forward to your cards every month. And here you are with my Elliot. My favorite grandchild.”

“Hey,” one of the girls complains just behind us.

“Why did no one tell me? How long has this been going on?” May peers up at me. I’ve got to be five inches taller than the little woman.

“Mom?” Marlene says. “You know Bonnie?”

“I do. She’s been living in my building for three years, and for three years she has sent the sweetest cards thanking me for giving her such a lovely home.”

“You have?” Elliot says, looking down at me while May looks up. They’re like spotlights of adoring looks, and yet I’d like to run from the room. My pulse has picked up speed and I can feel the sweat pooling at my neck—the beginnings of an attack. I’d like to go back to bed, pretty please.

“Well, this is wonderful,” May says. “We’ve got Christmas plans and you are coming, my dear.”

“I am? Um, well, I probably have plans of my own. Don’t I?” I look at Elliot as if he can answer this question. I can’t afford to go to Hawaii, and Mom and Dad will be gone. The fact is, I have zero plans besides working, and at the moment I can’t come up with any fictional ones.

“Do you?” May says, her pretty blue eyes sparkling up at me.

“Well—” I can feel the wrinkles forming on my forehead, but I can’t smooth them out. I can’t stop my beating heart. I can’t even wipe at the sweat beneath my wool sweater. “I might. My sister will be in Hawaii. And my parents are going on vacation.” How are my family’s plans my plans? I think I contradicted myself all in one breath.

May laughs at my lame response. “Sounds to me like you’re free.”