I Really Can’t Stay (A.R.’s Holiday Standalones #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

N ovember twenty-ninth. Black Friday. The day after Thanksgiving. Otherwise known as hell to retail workers.

Looking out over the cash wrap, I watch as frenzied shoppers load their hand baskets with books and knickknacks while holiday music blares through the store's speakers. The line to check out wraps and spans down the nearest aisle. Every check stand is manned, and my employees are situated around the store, helping customers find the perfect gifts for their loved ones. We’re stocked, staffed, and operations are running smoothly, all things considered.

Still, it’s the absolute worst time for my grief to hit me like a paperweight, socking me square in the stomach. Everything becomes muffled—my sight, my hearing. All I can recognize is the ringing in my ears.

Thanksgiving was hard. Christmas will be harder.

“Hey, Zee, are you okay?” one of the women on my staff asks. Her voice floats through the brain fog and pulls me back to reality. It’s like someone has taken off my blindfold and unmuted the TV as the store comes rushing back into focus. “You look really pale. Do you need to sit down?”

“No, it’s okay,” I insist, shaking my head. I give her a tight-lipped smile and turn around to busy myself by straightening the go-backs that line the rear counter.

A tear trickles out from my bottom lashes and rolls down my cheek. Quickly, I swipe at it, erasing it from existence as I bite my lip to keep more from falling.

For a second, I allow myself to close my eyes as I grip the counter tightly, counting backward in my head while inhaling and exhaling as I attempt to ground myself.

Four…

Three…

“Hey, Zee! Can I get a price override?” another employee calls out from a few registers down.

My eyes snap open, and I turn around with a grin in place. “On my way!” I singsong as I hurry over to where he stands with an annoyed looking customer.

The next three hours fly by, and when I’m finally able to collapse on the break room couch, I barely muster the energy to pull my homemade PB&J out of my lunch bag. Settling back against the cushions, I close my eyes.

Someone entering the room quickly disturbs my peace, though, so I go back to the sandwich I’m holding and peel back the foil it’s wrapped in.

“Hey, Zee! Hope I’m not bugging you,” my friend Genesis apologizes as she starts rustling around her locker.

“You’re not.” I take a small bite of my sandwich. “I like your claw-clip.” Her black curly hair is pulled back with a red oversized clip with vintage looking Christmas lights that are lit up.

Genesis lives a few floors up in my building, and we met one afternoon as we were both waiting for the elevator. She started here a few weeks ago as a seasonal employee to make a few extra bucks while she’s going through nursing school. We’ve grown closer recently, and it’s nice to have someone to call a friend, even though I’ve been selective about the things I’ve told her.

She smiles. “Thanks! I just got it a couple of days ago. My mom, sisters, and I all bought matching ones to wear on Christmas, but it’s too cute to not wear more than that.”

My face falls at the mention of her family, and I must not be quick enough to correct it because her eyes widen and she immediately apologizes again.

“Ah, so you’ve heard.” Word travels quickly around here. “It’s fine, Gen. Never be sorry for speaking about your family.”

It’s not your fault I don’t have one anymore.

“I know we haven’t exactly reached this level in our friendship yet, but if you need a place to spend the holidays, my family would be happy to have you over. We have a huge family and it’s a ‘the more the merrier’ type of vibe for us.”

“That’s sweet, but I’ll be fine.”

“What’d you do for Thanksgiving?”

Sat on my couch watching reruns of Gossip Girl while eating a rotisserie chicken and cranberries from a can. “I kept it low-key.”

Genesis assesses me silently while taking a bite of her own sandwich—turkey with cheese. She purses her lips, then stands abruptly. “I’m gonna go to the cafe and grab a coffee. You want one?”

Finishing my sandwich, I crumple the foil and toss it into the trash can just a few feet away. “No thanks, I’ll never sleep tonight if I have one now.”

“I wish I had that problem! I sleep like the dead.” Genesis flinches. “Shit! I’m so sorry.”

I laugh, but it’s the fake laugh I’ve had ever since I became numb. “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Before she leaves the room, she stops and says, “There’s still a whole month. If you change your mind about coming, let me know. No one should be alone on Christmas.”

Don’t I know it, but what’s a girl to do when the only family I had died over the summer?

My dogs are barking.

Not in the literal sense—I don’t own a dog, just a tubby brown cat named Potato. My feet ache like I’ve been walking on shards of glass all day.

After pulling two hours of overtime, the only thing I want is a glass of white wine and a scalding hot bubble bath with some Epsom salts, and the candy cane bath bomb I’ve been excited to use.

As the water runs, I heat a slice of leftover pizza in the microwave and pour the rest of an open wine bottle into my glass, taking a large gulp of it once the final drop has landed. With a minute left, I head to my room and shimmy out of my work clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket before walking back into the kitchen naked as the day I was born to retrieve my slice of greasy heaven.

Potato meows at me as he circles my feet, rubbing against my ankles. He’s trying to butter me up so he can have a second helping of dinner, but the little beast needs to go on a diet per his veterinarian’s instructions.

The pizza’s piping hot as I pull it from the microwave and tip my head back to take a bite. Of course, it burns my tongue, but I eat it anyway, and grab my glass of wine. Potato follows me into the bathroom and watches me as I sink into the bathwater that shimmers with a pink hue from the bath bomb. The water curls around me like a hug and I take another bite of the pizza, sad that it’s almost gone already.

Shutting the water off with my foot, Potato takes that as his invitation to jump onto the edge. He nearly falls in, freaked out by the water that sloshed onto where his foot is now, but he rights himself and situates his fluffy butt into a comfortable position.

Laughing, I shake my head at my feline companion. “Potato, you’re a hot mess.”

His judgy eyes track my movements as I take another large gulp of my wine.

The hot water is slowly releasing the tension from my body, so I sink deeper, letting it come up to my chin. Loose tendrils of my blonde hair that have escaped from my clip are getting wet, but I can’t bring myself to care. Right now, I’m in my happy place. It’s the only time I feel any sense of contentment, and the only time I feel like I can think and let my mind wander into whatever direction it wants to go.

Evidently, my mind wants to recite my friend’s words on replay because I can’t stop thinking “No one should be alone on Christmas,” in my mind.

And you know what? She’s right. No one should be alone on any holiday, especially Christmas.

I don’t know how I’m going to survive it alone.

For as long as I can remember, it’s always only been Mom and Dad, me, and Miles, living in sunny San Diego.

Now there’s just me.

No one should be alone on Christmas.

Making a rash decision, I jolt upward, sloshing more water from the tub and soaking Potato’s underside. He meows with vexation before jumping down and sprinting from the room, his belly swinging in full glory as I laugh and reach for my phone on the bathroom counter.

Is this the dumbest thing I’ve ever done? Possibly. But I’m going to do it, anyway.

My fingers fly across the screen as I look for the SparksFly app I downloaded last month but never followed through with. I got as far as uploading a profile photo before chickening out.

The little blue icon taunts me as I stare at it, my thumb hovering, but not clicking it…until I do.

I'm a full on cliché when I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and am prompted to complete my profile.

Bio.

Clicking it, I don’t think about what I type, I just do it.

There’s four weekends left before Christmas, and no one should have to show up to their holiday parties alone. Need a date? Someone to bring to your office party so your frenemy stops giving you grief about your lack of a spouse? Or to your family dinner so your parents stop breathing down your neck about settling down?

No strings attached. No sex. Just a holiday party date. A holidate, if you will.

Going back to the section for my name, I delete Elizabeth Ashford and stare at the empty box for what feels like eternity.

Maybe this is a stupid idea.

Then it hits me. A name comes to me like a whisper in my mind.

Holly North , I type. My lips curl into a smile at the perfect little Christmas persona I’ve just created in ten letters.

Before I let fear freeze me, I hit submit , and the screen changes to the main dashboard of my app, showing me four very attractive men it thinks I’d match with.

Instead of perusing, I lock my home screen and toss my phone onto the carpet below the tub.

There. I did it.

But what exactly did I do?