Page 78 of The Other Side
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Startled out of my sleep by a loud pounding on my door, I scrambled out of bed, pulling on the closest thing I could find, the hideous, but thoughtful Christmas sweater Jolene had made for me as a gift before she left for break days earlier.
“I’m coming!” I shouted.
Chance got one look at my sweater and burst out laughing. I let him have his giggle fit while I stood in the doorway and waited with my hands poised on my hips.
“I’m sorry—I can’t—” he stuttered through his laughter.
“Just get it all out now.” I sighed, looking down at the monstrosity.
Last year, the sweater had been a festive Christmas tree with metallic pom pom ornaments and a star made of sequins, but this year she had outdone herself, with a giant reindeer face taking up the entire front of the sweater, complete with large red sequin nose, and she had attached brown felt horns that started at either side of my clavicle and ran over the shoulders. I had to admit, the literal beady eyes were a bit creepy.
“Done yet?” I drawled, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“I think so.” Chance attempted to compose himself. “Listen, I need you to get dressed and come with me.”
“Chance. It’s Christmas Eve. You’ve already ruined the most important tradition of sleeping in.” I pouted.
“I know, but it’s important.” He took both my hands in his. “Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t. We’ll be back in time to make mac and cheese, and we can watch the movies we don’t fit in today, tomorrow.”
I studied his handsome face, blue-grey eyes alight with excitement. “Fine. But you’re letting me sleep in tomorrow then,” I told him.
“Absolutely, and we’ll cuddle on the couch as much as you want.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. That was all we’d been doing since Thanksgiving, thanks to me putting the brakes on things, and because of the sheer amount of finals prep we’d had, which had completely derailed our investigation. “And what makes you think I want to cuddle with you?” I teased.
“Oh Violet, what a smart mouth you have.” He leaned forward and swiftly pecked me on the lips. “We’ll stop for coffee and a quick breakfast, my treat.”
“It better be,” I sulked.
“I’ll be in the car. Meet me downstairs in ten.” He turned to leave.
“Fifteen!” I argued.
Chance laughed, glancing over his shoulder at the sweater one last time. “You should keep that on.”
I rolled my eyes and slammed the door. We were the only faculty that had stayed behind on campus, so there would be nobody around to complain about the noise.
Wanting to be comfortable and realizing Chance hadn’t told me where we were going or what we’d be doing, I threw on myblack leggings, the ones that Chance affectionately referred to as my “hot cat burglar pants.”
I considered wearing Jolene’s handcrafted sweater, but I wasn’t sure I could handle the potential stares and attention it would garner if we were going somewhere more public. Instead I opted for my two sizes too large, but coziest hoodie from my college alma mater.
Grabbing my winter coat, a scarf, and mittens, as the temperatures had recently plummeted, I took a wistful glance around my room, my heart sinking as I spotted Chance’s Christmas present sitting on the bistro table in the kitchen.
I’d made an online order for a monogrammed stocking that matched the one Lenny and Jolene had gotten me the year before. It wasn’t much in itself, but inside were the negatives that Chance had surrendered to me.
The longer I kept them in my possession, the guiltier I felt. I didn’t want to take his art from him permanently, so I planned on returning them and had a whole speech planned out. A speech I intended to give over breakfast on Christmas Eve. I hoped I’d still have the courage to tell him later.
The second I slid into the passenger seat of the warm car, Chance smirked and asked, “Did you wear those for me?” referring to the leggings.
“In your dreams.”
“Yes, I do dream of them often.” He chuckled, giving my knee a gentle squeeze before slowly pulling out of the Montgomery parking lot. It had snowed the first week in December, but not since; however, the cold temperatures had kept it from melting.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell we’re doing at”—I glanced down at my phone—“seven thirty-two in the morning?” I groaned.
Why did it have to be on Christmas Eve?
