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

Elliott

ELLIOTT

“Wow,” I say in a drawn out, over-exaggerated way. This isn’t just a house. It’s a whole…property. Estate. Something.

“I told you,” she says, both hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel.

She has told me her parents are rich. Her dad works for a huge tech company here in the valley, and I’ve seen big houses and wealthy people before. Ryanne has just never struck me as anyone who once lived this way.

Maybe there’s a reason why she doesn’t live here anymore. And it’s probably got something to do with the fountain in the circle drive, the perfectly spaced and hung Christmas lights on every edge of the house, and the individual stones in the driveway.

The driveway has those expensive lights along it, as do the upper story windows. Several cars are parked out front, and Ry navigates expertly and takes a spot between a full-sized SUV and a minivan.

“That’s my sister’s van,” she says dryly. “Though she only has one child. She says it’s way easier to load up a baby in a minivan, so my brother-in-law traded in her BMW.”

“That’s nice of him,” I say mildly. I haven’t been nervous about meeting Ry’s family until this moment. But the thought of me walking into that mansion…I tell myself someone doesn’t have to have money to be important and valuable, and that allows me to get my seatbelt unbuckled.

Ry, however, doesn’t move, and I collect my backpack from the backseat and go around to her door. I open it and say, “You can’t stay out here. I’m not going in there alone, and I don’t think it’s cold enough on this planet to keep your whole family inside.”

She looks at me, and I offer her my best smile. “Come on. It won’t be that bad.” Even if I think it might be like walking into a ravenous lion’s den.

I take her hand and help her out of the car, and she says, “Leave the bags. My brother will come get them.”

“All right.” Part of me wants to get the suitcases anyway, but I don’t want to argue with anyone. Whatever anyone says for the next five days, I’m just going to do.

The double-wide front doors open as we walk up the ornately bricked steps, and cheer, noise, and soft light spills out onto the porch.

“Oh, it’s Ry,” a woman says, and Ry jogs up the last couple of steps and into her mom’s arms. Grace is smiling, and I attach the same gesture to my face too.

Her mother hasn’t come outside even one inch, and Ry falls back to indicate me. “Momma,” she says. “You remember .”

“Of course.” Her mom extends her arms toward me, but she doesn’t move her feet. It’s clear I’m to go to her, so I do. I give her a quick hug and a Southern kiss on both cheeks before I step back.

“Thank you so much for having me this Christmas,” I say as diplomatically as possible.

“It’s freezing in here,” someone yells from further in the house, and that gets us to move the welcome wagon inside. With the final clicks of the door behind me, I definitely feel a tiny bit untethered.

Then Ry’s hand slips into mine, and I’m completely anchored. I don’t know if that means I’m falling for her, but I definitely feel something for her I haven’t felt for anyone else before.

I squint as we go through the wide foyer, past a dark office, a closed pair of doors on the right, and into an enormous living area.

The family room holds two full-size couches, along with a pair of recliners, and a cushy-looking beanbag chair where a couple cuddles together.

The woman is clearly related to Ryanne, as is the one in the kitchen, wearing a dark blue apron without a single smudge on it. Beyond them, a man wears a pair of slacks with a pale blue business shirt with the sleeves rolled up mid-way on his forearms.

It feels like a scene from a movie called Christmases of the Rich and Famous , and Ry and I so don’t belong.

“Daniel will get your bags and put them in the guest house,” Grace says. “You did get my text about the shuffled sleeping arrangements, didn’t you?”

“No,” Ry says, dropping my hand so she can pick up a tiny dill pickle from an appetizer tray sitting on the end of the bar. “I can take my bag upstairs after dinner.”

“Daniel will put it in the guest house.” Her mother won’t look at her, and Ry has frozen with food in her hand. Not just food. Pickles.

I swallow hard, my eyes flitting all over, trying to take in all the victims before Ry starts raging.

“I’m sorry?” she asks oh-so-politely. “I’m not staying upstairs in my old bedroom? I always stay upstairs in my old bedroom.”

“I sent you a text about all of this,” her mother says, clearly too busy using a pair of tongs to stir the salad—very attention-consuming, mixing lettuce and tomatoes together—to look over to us.

“Don’t worry,” Anna says, her smile hitched a little crookedly now. “Rob went out to get it warm a bit ago.”

Ryanne looks at me. “I’m feeling a little like I need to get freshened up before dinner.”

“It’ll be ready in ten minutes,” Anna says.

“I forgot to go start the fire,” Rob says.

My focus gets thrown from person to person as they all talk right on top of one another. All I can think is, Fire? The guest house requires a fire?

With all this money, you’d think the Lucksons could afford a furnace.

“You took forever coming from the airport,” her mom says. “I’m surprised you didn’t freshen up there.”

Ry stuffs the rest of her pickle in her mouth, picks up a handful more, and spears me with a look. “We need a minute.”

She indicates me and says, “Everyone, this is . We’ll do formal intros once we freshen up out in the guest house that we’re now sharing because I got kicked out of the bedroom I always sleep in when I come home.”

“Ryanne,” her sister says, and her dad simply smiles as she marches toward him. “Hey, Dad.” She hugs him without letting go of my hand, and then she takes me past the huge dining room table set with real gold chargers and fresh poinsettias and little cardinals that look like they could be real.

I think she’ll go out the sliding glass door, but she’s in hurry-up mode again, and it’s all I can do to keep up.

She opens another door—a regular door that leads out of the house and onto a sidewalk that parallels the patio.

The snow has been cleared here, so someone did something in anticipation of our arrival, and I find my stride the further we go. It’s dark now, so I don’t even try to look around and take everything in. It’s too much work for my eyes anyway, so I focus on the destination—a bright light hanging above another door on a luxury shed.

“Is that the guest house?” I ask.

“Yes,” Ryanne clips out. “And ‘house’ is a generous term.”

“Good to know this is where I was always going to be staying,” I quip.

She yanks open the door like she wants to rip it off the hinges—and she dang near succeeds. “It’s like a shed. My dad even stores the wood out here.” She takes a couple of steps inside and comes to a complete stop. “Yep. There it is.”

A legit stack of chopped wood sits there, right against the wall, next to the door. “Easy retrieval for the house,” I say, my voice pitching up too much.

The interior is about twice the size of my house, with a galley kitchen to my right that clearly never gets used—and it won’t on this trip either.

A pair of mismatched couches stands in front of me, and the floor is one of those painted and sealed cement jobs, with paths of rugs across it leading to the bed in the corner.

A king-size bed.

A singular king-size bed. I may be going blind, but with every sweep of the guest house, I fail to see another bed.

I definitely hear Ry as she stomps away from me and says, “I can’t believe I’ve been downgraded to the guest house.”

She picks up a pillow and throws it. “It’s like a shed , not a house. A storage shed for all the stuff my mom doesn’t want anymore but also can’t part with.”

“And it’s freezing,” I say as I bring the door closed behind me. I suddenly know why this place needs a fire, as I spot the potbellied stove close to the bed and behind the couches.

“Freshen up,” Ry mutters, and she opens a door, goes into the room beyond, and slams it behind her.

I’ve seen her mad before, so I know she’ll calm down. Besides, she’s not mad at me, so… I wander over to the bed, and my fantasies start to rage. Maybe I’ll get to lie here and hold her while she complains about her mom. Or maybe she’ll make me sleep on one of the couches that look like no one has ever sat on them.

“Knock, knock,” someone says, and Daniel enters, pushing our baggage in front of him. “Dude, yeah, it’s cold in here. Sorry about that.”

He rolls the bags over to the couch, and then extends his hand toward me. “Great to meet you, .” He smiles, and he seems nice. “I’m Danny, Ry’s brother.”

“Great to meet you too,” I say as I shake his hand. He has more red in his hair than Ry does, but his eyes are just as dark, with his eyebrows just as overgrown.

“You want to show me how to light this thing, so we don’t freeze out here?”

“Sure thing.” Daniel goes and gets some wood, then kneels down and pulls a basket of smaller kindling, newspaper, and long matches toward him.

“Sorry about Anna,” he says as he puts a couple of logs in the stove. It won’t hold much more than that, and then he lays another one across those. “She’s a little crazy about her kids.”

“I thought she just had the one daughter,” I say, because Ry gave me a list of her family members, and I memorized it, so it would seem like we’ve been together romantically for longer than we actually have.

“Yeah,” Danny says. “But she’s pregnant again, and that means she has to get her daughter out of her bed.”

“Did you know that’s why Mom has king beds everywhere?” Ry practically yells the words, and I startle as much as her brother.

“Yo, sis, we’re right here.”

“Because Anna and James couldn’t sleep in a queen with Sariah. So Mom got all kings. And this one.” She marches over to it and collapses onto it. “Wasn’t good enough for their room. So Mom bought another one and shunned this one out here.”

I turn back to her brother, and he seems as stunned as I do. “Yeah,” he says slowly, and I decide starting a fire can’t be that hard. Yeah, I think . You won’t think that when you’re freezing to death in the middle of the night and you can’t get the fire going.

But I get to my feet and turn toward my girlfriend. I know it’s strange, but I find her so attractive as she sits there with that murderous look on her face.

“Don’t try to cheer me up,” she warns as I step toward her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I sit next to her, and in a very-boyfriend-like move, I put my arm around her. To be fair, I’ve laid in her bed with her and spooned her close, so this isn’t scandalous or anything.

“I’m really sorry you have to be stuck out here with me.”

“You’re going to hate this too,” she says, nudging me with her shoulder. “This was going to be your sanctuary away from everyone. Away from me.”

“Ry,” I whisper. “I don’t need to be away from you.”

“You say that now, but just wait until dinner. Oh, and then the Christmas tree decorating. The hot chocolate bar. Or, or, or—I know! Luckson family movie night, where you can’t even pick what popcorn you want to eat, because you don’t want my dad to feel back that you don’t like his gross lime-ricotta-Tobasco popcorn.”

“Ry, breathe,” her brother says.

But Ryanne has started, and I know how this ends: when she runs out of things on her mind, and the woman never stops thinking.

It’s one of the things I like best about her.

So I simply pull her against my chest and kiss her forehead.

“Or the cookie baking,” she says. “The family lunch on Boxing Day. That’s a real roof-raiser.” She finally cuddles into me. “Trust me, Ell. This barn-shed-guest-house was going to be the only thing saving you from what is going to be a very merry mess.”

“But it’s your mess,” I say, kissing her hairline again. “I’m going to be fine, Ry.”

“You can turn your back on me out here and say, ‘No talking until I’m sufficiently recovered.’ And I’ll be so quiet. Or I’ll go back inside, no matter what whack-a-do thing is going on.”

I smile at her use of whack-a-do . It’s one of the first things she said when she started copying the things I say.

“Ry, that’s not going to happen.”

“Oh-ho, the crazy is guaranteed to happen.”

“I second that,” Danny says. “In fact, I wish I had this shed.” He gets to his feet and slams closed the door on the stove. “It only takes about twenty minutes to heat this place.”

He comes over with a giant grin on his face, and I want to warn him that Ry has gone into full diva-cat mode, and he’s going to get his jugular ripped open. “Don’t let her ruin your trip, sissy.” He steamrolls right onto her, and I jump up from the bed before I become a Luckson sibling sandwich.

“I’m mad, Danny,” she says, though she giggles next. “Get off. You’re squishing me. I’m dying. My lungs!”

Her brother only laughs, and I really like the way they get along.

Her brother is sweet and tousled as he shimmies off the bed, pulling Ry with him. “Come on, you guys. Mom will not tolerate anyone being even two seconds late to dinner.”

“Fine,” Ry says as she smooths down her hair and then straightens her shirt. “But I’m not talking to Anna again tonight. A two-year-old does not need a king bed to herself. Like, not even a little bit. They could put a bed in that mega-master closet in the suite where they stay when they come.”

“I so agree,” Daniel says, exactly like I would’ve.

“Or, you know, their own house, which is only ten minutes from here. Ten. Minutes.”

“We can keep hoping and praying,” Daniel says, expertly guiding her toward the door. I trail along like a helpless puppy and my prayer isn’t along the lines of Ry’s sister staying home and just driving over for the holidays, but that I won’t crash and burn at the first meal of the vacation.