A Very Merry Mess (Cider Cove Sweet Southern RomComs #3)

Ryanne

RYANNE

I’ve let down my hair and just opened the packet of makeup remover wipes when Lizzie appears in the doorway. I meet her eyes in the mirror, at a loss for what to say when I see the stars in hers.

“You’re home,” she says needlessly.

“Yes,” I say. “How was the movie?” I turn to face her and start wiping off my eye makeup.

“You didn’t go?” Lizzie’s glow fades slightly. “I thought you and Elliott were going to Claudia and Beckett’s couples night.”

“We did,” I say airily. “For a little bit. Wasn’t our vibe.” I motion for her to come into the bathroom further. “You and Aaron Stansfield?”

Lizzie steps into the bathroom and reaches up to remove the clips in her hair. It’s not curled and sprayed to the nines like mine, because she obviously got asked out at the last minute.

“No,” she says with a sigh. She runs her hands through her hair. “He’s cute and all, but…”

“You’re not fourteen,” I say. “And cute doesn’t cut it anymore.”

“Aaron’s hot,” Lizzie says in the same higher-pitched voice that I just used. “For someone else.”

I grin at her and toss my used wipe into the sink. I take out another one and say, “Yeah, for someone like Emma.”

“I texted her,” Lizzie says quickly. “She said it was okay, and we actually ran into them at the theater.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. I wait for her to go on, but she finishes with her hair and reaches for a wipe too. “And?”

“And.” Lizzie sighs. “You know what? It was weird. Emma says she doesn’t like him, but they’ve got something fizzing between them.”

“Maybe it’s him,” I say.

“Maybe. But she was holding Taylor’s hand until the moment she saw us. Then she dropped it and put more distance between them.”

“Hmm,” I say. “Seems suspicious.”

“Right?” Lizzie meets my eyes again. “I just wanted to go out. There’s nothing between me and Aaron.”

I nod, because I so get it. It’s no fun to see your friends getting dolled up and going out on hot dates when you’re not. Now that Claudia seems blissfully happy with Beckett, they’ll probably get engaged and married soon enough.

My worrisome mind goes to who will live on the third floor of the Big House. Tahlia can’t afford this place without roommates, and with Hillary gone already, and Claudia and Beckett…

I push the thoughts away, because I’m not leaving the Big House. I might even bring it up with Tahlia—how much the four of us need to pay in order to keep it just the four of us here.

Besides, it’s not like Claude is married yet, and she likes big parties with plenty of pomp and ceremony. So even after she gets engaged, it could be several months before she actually moves out.

“Maybe you should try Matchmakers,” I say.

“You and me both.”

“I…” I’m going to have to tell everyone about me and Elliott soon enough. I’d rather start with Tahlia, but she’d been asleep on the couch when I’d come in.

“Elliott and I are…” I can’t say dating in that space. We’re not dating, though he absolutely did ask me out for another date tomorrow night.

“He’s coming to New York with me for the holidays,” I say in all one breath. I feel like I can’t get enough air in the next moment, and I try to take a slow breath that actually sounds like a gasp.

Or maybe that’s Lizzie, who’s eyes go round as the big South Carolina moon. “What?” also gasps out of her mouth.

“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, though there is absolutely something between me and Elliott. I just don’t know what yet. “He’s just coming with me, so I don’t have to endure my sisters’ perfect lives and Christmas on my own.”

“Oh, honey, I said I’d go with you.” Lizzie hugs my shoulders, and she has gone with me for other familial things in the past.

“I know,” I say. “It’s just…this sort of kills two birds with one stone.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, now my momma will stop bugging me about who I’m dating.” I finish up with my makeup removal and face Lizzie. “Come on. Let’s get you out of your dress.” I smile at her and go with her into her room.

We don’t say much as I help her with the zipper and she steps out of her gown and into a pair of pajamas. Then she collapses onto her bed and scoots over to make room for me.

I climb in next to her, and we both sigh together. At our synchronized sighing, I start to laugh, glad when her giggles join mine.

“I just want to meet someone amazing,” Lizzie says into the golden light from her lamp. “Someone who thinks I’m amazing exactly how I am, and who can’t wait to see me every day after work, and who asks me out months in advance for an event like tonight, not someone who calls as it’s starting.”

I reach over and take her hand in mine. “You’re going to find him,” I promise her. I take a big breath and then roll out of her bed. “I have just what we need.”

“I ate so much at the theater,” Lizzie calls out to me as I head for the door. “I don’t want any M&Ms.”

“You’ll want these,” I yell back to her, and I hurry into my room and open the bottom drawer of my dresser, where I hide my most coveted candy.

Sure enough, the last remaining bag of pumpkin M&Ms sits there, and I grab it, ready to take a leaf out of Elliott’s book—and not talk about my situation with him tonight.

I shiver as I get back in bed with Lizzie, but that’s because she’s switched on her fan, and it’s blowing right on my bare skin—not because I’ve just thought about kissing Elliott tomorrow as we watch Christmas light shows from his car.

Elliott is wearing yet another pair of glasses when I come face-to-face with him at work. This pair has a bright blue frame at the top, that fades to clear at the bottom, and they’re more square than any other pair I’ve seen him wear.

I find him sexy and confident in the way he refuses to wear contacts, and instead perches those glasses on his nose like they’re the most fashionable accessory he can find.

His fingers brush mine as he reaches for a ream of sky blue paper at the same time as me. “We’re still good for tonight?” he asks.

He’s just gotten to work, and I’ve been here for four hours already. Our staggered schedules ensures that there’s a manager in the building from the time we open—ten a.m.—to the time we close—eight p.m.

Elliott almost always closes, and I almost always open. That’s our routine, and it puts us with the same people to manage, the same problems—daytime customers are not the same as the harried people stopping by the office supply store on their way home from work—and we have a good four or five hours in the afternoon where we share the office in the back.

“Yes,” I say, the word coming out a bit tersely. I can admit that, and I swallow like that will somehow take the bite out of my words.

Elliott only smiles as he puts the paper on the shelf. “Great,” he says. “I’ve found the perfect thing for dinner.”

“You never said we were going to dinner.”

“We’re not,” he says. “It’s car food.”

I don’t see how car food can be anything close to perfect, but I keep that grumpy-cat statement to myself. “Okay,” I say. “But Tahlia has called a pizza party confession party, so I won’t be starving or anything.”

“Save a little room, at least,” he says. “This really is right up your alley.” He gifts me a winning smile and then waves as he walks down the aisle. “I’ll see you later, Ry.”

Nothing about him seems off, but I stare longingly after him—and that’s definitely odd.

“No, it’s not,” I mutter to myself as I finally tear my eyes from his retreating form and focus on my job again. I’ve been pining after Elliott for a while now, and those feelings have only been compounded by the text he sent my mother only last night.

Has it really only been one night? Feels like a lifetime.

I’ll be there, Mom , he’d said. And I’m bringing Elliott Hutson with me. Please don’t make a big deal about it, okay?

But he’d known what my mom would think of that, and sure enough, she’s messaged me at least a dozen times about what “my boyfriend” likes to eat for breakfast and that she’ll have the entire guest shed ready for him, complete with plenty of firewood for the wood-burning stove that keeps the place toasty warm in the winter.

I haven’t dropped that little gem on him yet, and I reach into the big pocket of my apron and pull out a couple of caramel cold brew M&Ms and pop them into my mouth. I love that they don’t melt in my pocket or with my touch, because I can carry them with me everywhere as I work around the store.

“Ry,” someone says, and I turn toward JenniLynn. She’s one of our runners, and she’s holding two printer cartridges. “I need your help for a second, please.”

“Yep.” I leave the cart with the blue paper on it and go with her, ever the exciting life of an office supply store manager.

No wonder I can’t get anyone to ask me out. My life—and by extension, my very existence—is so mundane.

I suffer through the rest of my work day, the confession session also putting me in a bad mood. By some miracle from above, Tahlia texts just as I’m pulling up to the Big House that she’s stuck in a meeting about the arts funding at her school, and we’ll have to postpone.

“Thank you,” I breathe to no one in particular, and I head inside through the kitchen entrance because it’s closer to the stairs.

By eight p.m., though, everyone will be home, and if they’re not being diva-cats like me, they’ll be in the living room. Right there, waiting for Elliott to pick me up.

I think about texting him that I’ll meet him down the lane, then veto the idea. He’ll argue with me about it anyway, and I’d rather not start off our second date with another spat.

Instead, I work on the online form I need to fill out for my vacation over the holidays, and I get that submitted. I take a shower and blow dry my hair out straight, then step into a pair of jeans that are probably a size too small for me—at least if I want to breathe.

But Lizzie says they look amazing on me, and I’m going to trust her on this. In fact, I head next door to her bedroom and knock.

When she doesn’t answer, I text her about borrowing one of her modeling sweaters.

I’m coming up , she says. Go in and see what you like.

I enter her bedroom to pure chaos. How she’s a chemist and lives like this, I don’t understand. But she says the best creatives and logical solutions come from a messy mind, and I’m certainly not going to argue with her.

I simply put the bag of caramels I got for her at the store on her desk and then move to her closet.

“Who are you going out with tonight?” she asks as she enters her bedroom.

“Ell,” I say absently, moving the hanger with the brightly striped sweater to the side.

“Elliott?” She doesn’t have to sound so surprised, but I refrain from rolling my eyes at her. “Again?” She joins me, her eyes searching for something I’m positive she’ll find.

“He asked,” I say. “Wants to be prepared for our trip to New York.” It’s not exactly a lie—in fact, it’s nothing but the truth.

“What are you doing?” She joins in the hunt for the perfect sweater to go with my poured-on jeans.

“We’ll just be sitting in the car,” I say. “He’s taking me around to the Christmas light shows. Says he’s found the perfect dinner, and we’ll eat it in the car too.”

“How romantic,” Lizzie says, and she means it. Neither of us are terribly outdoorsy, and sipping hot chocolate with a candy cane as a stirring straw is her idea of a perfectly romantic date. Truth be told, I’m really looking forward to it too.

“So something sexy,” she said. “That you can wow him with when he opens the door and that falls just right when you sit.” She extracts one sweater the color of deep, ripe plums and another that’s a gradient of blue. “Either of these will work.”

She holds them out, one to each side, and raises her eyebrows at me.

“Am I a plunge-neckline kind of woman?” I ask, eyeing the eggplanty sweater.

Lizzie’s gaze falls down my torso. “In that bra? Yes.”

“I like darker colors over lighter,” I say. “We’re eating in the car.” I reach out and finger the fabric of the purple sweater. It’s really the color of eggplant skin, and it’ll brighten my eyes and hide my winter paleness. “Let’s try it.”

Lizzie grins as she takes the sweater off the hanger and hands it to me. I know the moment I put it on that I’ll be wearing it. It’s short-sleeved, so Elliott can still blow the heater, and it really does look amazing with my jeans—and the full-support bra I’ve put on.

“Gorgeous,” she says just as the doorbell rings. Panic parades across her face, and she tosses the gradient sweater away. “He’s here. Dang it. I wanted to be downstairs.”

“Lizzie,” I say, but she’s already flown out of the room. Great. Now I’ll have to make an entrance, and my heartbeat pounds. Maybe I want to make an entrance.

I smooth my hands over my stomach and the sweater, and everything inside me flutters.

That’s how I know I’m in trouble, and I start coaching myself again that Elliott just wants to get all our ducks in a row for the trip in a couple of weeks.

I couldn’t talk about it last night, but I can tonight. We will. Everything will be fine.

“I’m fine,” I whisper to myself. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”