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

Aaron

AARON

I stand at the front window of my best friend’s house, where I live. The sun has risen in beautiful colors today, and I lift my coffee to my lips slowly, as if my life is simple and easy, made of sunshine and marshmallows and women who text me back within moments of me sending them a message.

I actually scoff right out loud.

I’ve made the coffee too strong, and I set it on the side table next to Liam’s couch. I should’ve left the house an hour ago to go work on my place before I have to be at the store, because when my best friend returns from California, I’ll need somewhere to live.

I bought my grandfather’s house in the middle of Cider Cove after he moved into a home for those sixty-five-plus, but the house needs a lot of work.

I’ve ripped it down to the studs, and I’m slowly rebuilding the walls, floors, plumbing, and everything in between. Literally.

And you know what? I’m tired today, and I just want a lazy morning before I have to go into the hardware store where I’ve worked since I was nine years old.

“Twenty years,” I say, and I’m honestly surprised my daddy is letting me take over for him before I’m thirty.

Of course, he fell last year, and he can’t really keep doing what he’s been doing at the store. And he doesn’t need to. I’m capable, and I love the store. I know every detail of it, and it’s a legacy I want to continue.

“So you’ll ask out someone else,” I tell myself. Because the gorgeous Emma Newberry has not been taking my flirting as well as I hoped, and no one wants to keep getting rejected over and over by someone they have to see on a regular basis.

So fine.

I look away from the blue sky and gold sunshine and down to my phone. Surely there are the names and numbers of women in here that I haven’t made a fool of myself in front of.

“There has to be,” I mutter.

The Christmas Festival is over now, so those “easy dates” are gone, but it’s New Year’s Eve in a couple of days, and that has to be super simple to get someone to go to dinner with me.

Right?

Frustrated, I put my phone away, because there’s not going to be anyone in it I want to spend more than thirty minutes with.

I texted Emma yesterday, and she still hasn’t responded. I tap over to that conversation and reread what I sent her.

Hey, wondering what you’re up to for New Year’s Eve. I got invited to a party at my sister’s house, and she’s planning a game that requires couples. I just need a partner to go with and thought you might be interested. Let me know.

She has not let me know. Sam has texted me two more times, and if I don’t answer soon, she’ll invite someone else.

“So you invite someone else,” I say, and I turn to take my coffee back into the kitchen. I have to get to work anyway.

Liam’s built his garage behind the house, so I leave through the back door and go down the sidewalk there. The orchards extend beyond that, dormant right now as we approach January.

He’s got several vehicles in various states of completion, but there’s space for my truck. I get in it, and driving is just a mindless task at this point. I pull out and start down the dirt lane that leads to the road that’ll take me in front of Emma’s house and then on to Main Street, where the hardware store is.

I’m determined to look straight ahead until I get to the store—and that alone saves me from hitting the pretty woman standing in the road.

I slam on the brakes and grip the steering wheel, while saying right out loud, “Dear Lord, don’t let me hit her.”

Thankfully, the truck comes to a stop, a cloud of dust billowing up behind the back tires.

I meet Emma’s bright blue eyes through the windshield, and then I’m flying out of the truck. “Are you okay? Did I hit you?”

She doesn’t look hit, and she’s wearing a blue plaid dress that flares at the hip and has a full skirt that falls to her knees. White sandals complete the look, and she is so stinking pretty, I can’t stand it.

Nuts and bolts and washer fluid too.

She looks down at her clothes, and that’s when I notice she’s holding something in her hands.

“I’m fine,” she says, lifting her eyes back to mine. She swallows visibly and raises the paper plate. “I brought you some cookies.”

I can’t just snatch them from her hands and grump my way back to my truck. So I don’t move at all.

“Thalia made them,” she says. “So they’re pretty good, even if they’re the no-bake kind.”

“I like the no-bake kind,” I say, but they’re not why my mouth is watering.

“I can go to your sister’s party with you,” she says, and it feels like the sky has opened and a whole herd of unicorns has flown down on us. Or do unicorns fly in a flock, like birds?

I shake the glittery thoughts out of my head. This is so not the time for them.

Then I mess it up with, “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

Emma tilts her head, her eyes falling slightly shut. “You asked someone else.” And she’s not asking.

“I mean,” I say as casually as I can. “I’m waiting to hear from a couple of people, and I’m sure—” I cut off, because I just can’t stand to lie.

“Fine.” I look away, across the expansive lawn and toward the Big House, where Emma lives with her roommates. “That’s not true. I haven’t asked anyone else.”

I’m not sure how brave to be. Emma has been very clear with me; it’s not that I’m confused, it’s that I’m frustrated she doesn’t seem to like me as much as I like her.

She flirts back with me, but she never takes it a toenail further.

“It’s not a date,” I say. “We can go as friends, because we’re…friends,” I finish lamely.

She nods. “Okay,” she says, her smile brightening slightly. “What time should I be ready? Is there a dress code?”

“It’s eating junk food at my sister’s house,” I say. “No dress code. And we’ll go over about eight, otherwise it’ll feel like we’ve been there for half our lives by the time the ball drops at midnight.”

Emma nods, and she takes quick steps toward me and hands me the plate of cookies. “I remembered you said you liked these.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

“What?”

“On New Year’s Eve,” she says. “People kiss at midnight.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” I realize what I’m saying as it comes out of my mouth. “Do not answer that. Of course I’m not going to kiss you. Friends don’t kiss each other. That’s a very un friendly thing to do.”

She nods, just once, and almost robotically spins and walks away. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll be ready to go by seven-thirty.”

“Okay,” I call after her. “See you then.”

And because I don’t want her to text me later and cancel, I stop staring and get the heck back in the truck.