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

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

B right sunlight streams in through the sheer curtains I thought would be cute, but instead are proving to be the worst idea ever, waking me from a restless sleep.

I tossed and turned all night, and if this headache is any indication, then today’s going to suck.

On the pillow next to me, Potato purrs, still sound asleep and looking as comfy as can be. Bouncing my hand against the bed, I feel for where I put my phone until I find it, and bring it to eye level. Twelve notifications wait for me from the SparksFly app, and I groan, remembering what I did last night.

Damn the effects of hot water and wine, making me do stupid things because bath time Zee thinks her ideas are so great, then future Zee has to clean up the messes later.

Coffee.

I desperately need a cup of coffee before I see what’s happening on the app. There’s a lump in my throat as I crawl out of bed and shove my feet inside of my platform Ugg slippers.

Padding into the kitchen, I turn on the single-cup coffee maker. It grumbles and groans as the water heats up, and I busy myself grabbing a mug, and peppermint mocha creamer.

The urge to read the notifications becomes too much to wait for the coffee maker to finish, and I unlock my phone. The app immediately pops up and brings me to my dashboard. Five matches and six messages await me. I start with the matches first.

Thomas, twenty-eight, San Diego. Padres fan, season ticket holder. Has a golden retriever named Tobias and loves to spend his weekends exploring hiking trails around the city. He’s cute. The golden retriever seems accurate—he looks like he’d own one.

Next up is Rhett, twenty-four, La Jolla. He’s an aspiring musician, loves late nights listening to the waves at the beach, and has plans to move to LA in the spring.

He lives in La Jolla, which tells me everything I need to know—he still lives with his parents.

Cole seems promising, though, with his bright hazel eyes and lopsided smile. He’s thirty, says he loves to read, and works for the state of California.

Oh…wait, no. He lives in Santee. Pass.

The last guy I’ve matched with, I barely glance at before I toggle over to the messages. Before I tackle those, though, I pour my coffee and gently stir in my creamer before I head to the couch. My buffalo plaid blanket awaits, and as I kick off my slippers and curl into my favorite corner, I turn on a Christmas movie for some background noise.

Pulling my attention back to my phone, I start with the first message that was sent.

Message received

Subject: Too forward?

You’re absolutely gorgeous, Holly. I’d love to bring you to my office Christmas party on the thirteenth. The company rented out a backroom at a restaurant in the Gaslamp district. Let me know if you’re available, and I’d be happy to send you some money to shop for an outfit and provide more details.

XX,

Ethan Hanson

___

Clicking on Ethan's profile, a smile forms when I see he’s not a complete troll. He’s my age, twenty-eight, and a software engineer.

Why’s he single?

Probably the same reason I am. People suck.

The next message I click on is in the middle of the list, but the subject is intriguing.

Message received

Subject: Not a party

Not a party, but I found a two-for-one deal on a cookie decorating event in Liberty Station for December eighth. You in?

Mateo Reyes

___

Laughing into my coffee, I roll my eyes playfully even though Mateo can’t see it, then toggle to the next message.

Message received

Subject: Holiday SOS

Holly? It’s me, Axel. I’m being forced to attend my family's annual ugly sweater-themed pie baking competition and pre-Christmas dinner. Would you—and I ask this on my knees begging at your feet—please go shopping with me to find the ugliest matching sweaters we can find and go with me to what is sure to be the biggest shitshow that will haunt your holidays until the end of time?

What’s a guy gotta do for you to say yes?

I’ll grovel. I’m pretty good at it.

Signed,

Your favorite stranger ever, Axel Harris

___

Axel seems fun, although I have to say, I’m not a fan of his name. That’s not really a prerequisite or anything, though. I’m just doing this to pass the time and not be alone for the entire holiday season. Taking another drink of my coffee, I’m about to go into the next message when a brand new one pops up, so I click it instead.

Message received

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

Which goes on top of the Christmas tree?

-Tristian

___

There’s a little green dot by his profile picture, indicating that he’s still online. When I visit his profile, the image of a man in a backward hat wearing a huge smile on his face as he stands in front of a lake greets me. He’s cute in that All-American boy sort of way.

Going back to the message, I reply.

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

Angel.

-Holly

___

Message received

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

Right answer. Next question.

Presents opened on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?

-Tristian

___

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

Morning. You?

-Holly

___

Message received

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

I’m the one asking the questions, Ms. North.

Eggnog or Apple Cider?

-T

___

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

Ooh, that would depend on the occasion.

Cider with dinner. Eggnog while sitting in front of the fireplace with a book.

-Holly

___

Smiling into my coffee again, I feel optimistic for the first time in weeks. Who knew all I needed was a little rapid-fire holiday questions sesh over a dating app?

Message received

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

You’re being tied up. Is it with tinsel or Christmas lights?

-T

___

And…this is where he loses me. My heart plummets into my stomach, immediately uncomfortable with the question. It’s clear to see it has a double meaning, and it makes me shift in my seat. Do I reply? Ignore it? What’s the protocol here?

It feels like I’m moving in slow motion as I click the reply button and type my message, deleting it several times before I finally hit send. Nothing I say will be adequate to what I am feeling, but maybe he didn’t mean it in a weird way?

Of course he did. Either way he meant it would be weird.

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

…what?

-Holly

___

My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for him to respond, and to his nature, or so I’ve gathered in this short interaction, his reply is nearly immediate.

Message Received

Subject: Quick question: Angel or Star

If I were to tie you up, would you prefer to be tied with tinsel or Christmas lights? I saw Christmas lights being done in a book once and it seemed like fun. The guy didn’t plug them in, but we could try that, if you were down.

-T

___

The moment my eyes drag over the closing of his message, I click on his profile and hit the bright red block button that sits at the bottom.

Goodbye Tristian from San Marcos. Please don’t ever try to find me again.

A shiver runs through me with disgust, and I take a gulp of my coffee, letting it warm my insides. That seems like enough messages for the day, but I still have several I haven’t read yet. Honestly, they can wait. Later, I’ll reply to Mateo, and I’ll say yes to the party with Ethan and Axel, too. Axel’s pie sweater party thing actually sounds really fun.

Tossing my phone onto the couch, I sink further into the cushions and turn the volume up on the TV so I can watch the movie I put on. I have a few hours before I need to be at work, so I might as well make the best of the quiet solitude before I make my way back into the holiday shopping craze.

“Hey, boss! What are you doing here on a Saturday?” Genesis asks as I slip into the break room to put my purse in my locker.

“Covering for Peter.” The metal scrapes against itself, clashing with my words. “He went out of town for Thanksgiving and doesn’t come back until tomorrow.”

“Oh, that's nice of you,” she muses as I engage my lock. Giving her a smile, I pass her on my way to the door. Telling her I’m taking her advice and making plans not to be alone this holiday season is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not sure how much information I want to share with her.

“See you out there,” I say instead and head onto the main floor. My shoulder clips the wall on my way out, and I hiss, bringing my hand to rub the tender spot.

The bookstore is bustling with people shopping, which is amazing to see. Thanks to the uptick in social media influencers talking about books on various platforms, independent bookstores are flourishing. A fresh shipment of books should be here on Monday, and I was excited to see one of the indie authors I just took a chance on ordering went viral. We’ve already had three calls asking if we have her book in stores.

The timing is perfect.

By the end of my shift, my legs and feet ache. I wore my most comfortable pair of combat boots—the heel’s only two inches—but it seems like this is my body's way of telling me I’m getting too old to prioritize cute over comfort.

In my defense, they were the cutest pair of shoes to pair with my black sweater, buffalo plaid skirt, and black tights.

The cafe is quiet tonight, so I decide to grab myself a tea before leaving, and as I check my phone while I wait, my breath hitches at the number of notifications waiting for me from SparksFly.

How can I have thirty-two messages?

Scrolling through the insane amount of messages, I’m too overwhelmed to open any of them.

How can this many people need a date for a holiday gathering?

There’s one message that catches my eye as I’m about to close out of the app, so I open it while I wait for my tea.

Message received

Subject: How many messages have you received?

I’m placing bets on at least twenty by now.

Hi. My name is Lincoln. I’m thirty years old and live in Mira Mesa. Your bio was intriguing to me–it was as though you heard my inner thoughts and put them into a sentence. Yes, my family is breathing down my neck to settle down. As a doctor, I don’t have a lot of time to socialize, let alone meet someone who isn’t a colleague. My parents are insisting I come for dinner on Christmas Eve since I’m scheduled to be at the hospital in the afternoon on Christmas. I’d love to have someone by my side so the meal (and the holiday) is enjoyable and not peppered with questions about when I’m going to find a special someone.

I know asking for your time on Christmas Eve is a stretch, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Looking forward to hearing back.

Lincoln Stokes

___

For whatever reason, a smile forms on my lips as I read the message from Lincoln. When I’m done, my eyes drift to his profile bubble and I see the green dot. My heart rate quickens, remembering the conversation with the last guy, and I hesitate.

I decided to do this for a reason, I remind myself, swallowing thickly.

No one should have to be alone on Christmas , Genesis’ voice echoes through my mind.

Subject: How many messages have you received?

A decent amount. Seems there are a lot of San Diegans who need support around the holidays. Christmas Eve sounds great. I don’t have anything planned as of now.

-Holly

___

Clenching my jaw, I reread the message and feel a little remorseful at the undertone I gave it. It was a bit short…cold, almost.

“Zee?” the cafe’s barista calls from behind the counter as she places my tea in the pickup area.

Picking it up, I tell her thank you even though her back is already to me as she makes another beverage. The app’s notification signals, pulling my attention back to the device in my hand.

Eagerly, I open it and read.

Message received

Subject: How many messages have you received?

Do you mind a bit of travel? My parents live in Julian.

Lincoln Stokes

___

Stowing my phone in my purse, I leave Lincoln’s message unanswered and focus on my surroundings as I walk to my car. Holding my longest key between my knuckles, I scan the parking lot and wait until I’m standing next to my beat-up Subaru Forester to unlock it. Familiarity comforts me as I sink into the driver's seat and lock the doors, breathing in the vanilla-suede scent of my air freshener.

It takes fifteen minutes and two freeways to get home, and another five before I’m inside, stripping away my clothes as the water for the shower warms.

Bobby pin after bobby pin, the tightness on my scalp begins to dissipate as I remove the pins and ties from my hair. Shoving my fingers into the blonde locks, I rub at my scalp, loosening it further. It feels like heaven—almost as good as it feels to take off your bra at the end of a long shift.

The water is scalding as I enter the small shower-tub combo and pull the curtain closed. Steam rises around me while I take my time washing the day away.

My thoughts drift to the messages I’ve received, the amount of responses surprising me all over again.

When I emerge from the shower, Potato is sitting on the sink waiting for me. Instinctually, I reach to pet him, and he immediately jumps from the counter and races away as water droplets fall from my skin. I think he’s still mad about his near-drowning experience yesterday. You know, the one where he didn’t actually fall into the water but acted like he had?

As I dress, the soft, buttery fabric of my favorite Christmas jammies curls around my skin like a warm hug. They’re cozy, as are my slippers as I push my feet into them and head to the couch. My tea is lukewarm by the time I pick it up again and sip it, but it’s almost gone, so I keep it in my grasp while searching for a feel-good movie on TV.

Three more notifications from the SparksFly app come through before I settle on Elf , an oldie but goodie, and force myself to watch a few minutes of the movie before I read through the messages.

More of the same, I think as I float over the words these new men have sent me.

Office party.

Family dinner.

…a funeral?

That last one is an absolute ‘hell no’ from me.

Then there’s Lincoln's message, the one I feel bad about not yet answering. He seems like a good guy, if the eloquence in his message was anything to judge by. He’s a doctor—that’s an honorable profession. And he was honest and upfront about why he needed my help.

Julian is a bit of a drive, about an hour, but it’s not out of the question. Christmas Eve is slated to be spent alone and on my couch anyway, probably with some Vietnamese takeout or something. Why not spend it with this guy and his family? Plus Julian is beautiful, and at Christmastime I bet the small town does something special. I wouldn’t mind getting some of their famous pies too…

Okay—yeah, why not?

Christmas Eve in Julian with the Stokes family.

Subject: How many messages have you received?

Julian isn’t that far

Count me in. Let me know the details when you have them.

-Holly

___