Page 66 of With Love, from Cold World
“I have a confession,” he said, taking one of the bottles from her hand, uncapping it, and taking a giant swig before she could stop him. “The wrapping contest was a setup. Even if you won, my plan was to take you on a date just so I could pick your brain more about the snow slopes idea.”
It wasn’t much of a confession, in that Lauren could’ve guessed that evenwithoutthe conversation she’d eavesdropped on between Daniel and his mother earlier that night. Dolores must’ve forgotten that Lauren’s résumé had included her working knowledge of conversational Spanish, because she hadn’t held back when admonishing her son for stringing Lauren along. There’d been even more to that discussion that Lauren knew she’d have to unpack later, but for now her head was swimming and she didn’t feel up to it.
“That was my water,” she said, but then shook her head when he tried to hand it back. “Never mind. Keep it.”
“My point is,” Daniel said, leaning in, “I find myself thinking about another kind of snowy slopes. If you get my drift.”
His gaze dropped to her cleavage, what little there was of it, just in case she didn’t. Suddenly that third cup of punch didn’t seem like such a great idea. She could feel it sloshing in her stomach.
Daniel looked back up at her face and smiled, like she was supposed to be flattered by his honesty.Watch out for the ones who only make eye contact when they want something.Asa had warned her away from Daniel back when they’d barely known each other, but she’d been too fixated on Daniel as some sort of symbol. It hadn’t even been about him, but about wanting to be the kind of woman who got noticed by someone like him. And now that she was, it felt... gross. Wrong.
There’s nothing wrong with being Lauren Fox.Even when their interactions had been limited to minor scuffles in the break room over the coffee machine, Asa had always made her feelseenin a way Daniel never could.
“This is not a date,” Lauren said, drawing herself up as tall as she could. “I have no interest in dating you, or in helping you to bankrupt Cold World with your ludicrous proposal to pump manufactured snow into the parking lot. And not that it should need to be stated, but I definitely have no interest in being on the receiving end of any further disgusting commentary on my body or other sexual harassment.”
She thought it was a pretty good speech, and she’d overenunciated each word, trying to make sure she didn’t trip over one.
“Whoa.” Daniel put up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “How much have you had to drink? In no waywas I”—he stuttered on the word, as if he couldn’t believe she’d even used it—“harassingyou. You’re the one who’s been panting over me for years. Everyone knows it.”
There was enough truth in that statement to make Lauren burn with embarrassment. She really didn’t want to cry—not at a work party, anddefinitelynot in front of Daniel—but she could already feel the adrenaline from her earlier buzz sliding into something much more melancholy. And then she finally spotted Asa, standing over by the band, where they were already bringing up Kiki as the first person who’d signed up for karaoke. John was crouched down with his guitar, adjusting a pedal at his feet while he listened to something Asa was telling him.
She didn’t want him to see her with Daniel and get the wrong idea. She wanted him to look up and see right through her, down to the part of her that just wanted to go home and cry. But then Asa was running his hand through his hair, turning as if to leave, and it hit her all at once. John’s car. He was probably arranging to head home early at that very moment.
“I don’t have time for this,” she said to Daniel without bothering to look at him.
She headed over to Kiki, handing her the water. “Can I take your spot in karaoke?” she asked.
Kiki looked surprised, but shrugged. “Sure—everyone will probably thank you for it. What’s the song?”
John had looked up from tuning his guitar, taking an interest in the last-minute change. “Normally Vance over there is staunchly anti-Bieber, but I’m sure we could convince him to play ‘Mistletoe’ if you wanted.”
His smile was kind, letting her know that he was trying to make light of the incident earlier.
The guy who must be Vance handed her a microphone,which she took, and a lyric book, which she refused with a shake of her head. “ ‘Blue Christmas’?” she said. “Do you guys know that one?”
John’s eyes sparked with something like amusement. “Elvis? Of course.”
He leaned back to tell the bassist and drummer the song, then played the first jangling notes of the melody. He looped them one more time, giving her a nod, and she realized she’d completely missed her cue.
When she finally started singing, the first couple lines came out shaky, the wobble in her voice horrifyingly loud through the microphone even though she knew she was barely above a whisper. This had been a terrible idea. She’d never done karaoke in her life, so what would make her decide to start now, with a live band behind her, all her coworkers in the audience?
From the sidelines, Kiki gave her a big, cheesy thumbs-up, tilting back another sip of punch. Well, that was certainly one answer. How much rum had Lauren consumed tonight? At least two hundred percent more than she normally would’ve.
The other answer was moving through the crowd, and the way her head was spinning, she couldn’t tell if he was headed toward her or away. Asa. She’d seen him about to leave, and she’d wanted to stop him. Lauren gripped the microphone tighter and closed her eyes, willing her voice to come out stronger.
She swayed side to side with the music, her eyes still squeezed shut. She knew she sang a couple too manybluesat the end of the second part of the song, punctuating each one by hitting her clenched fist against her thigh. Then it was the instrumental part, and her eyes flew open, blinking against the sudden light and all the people staring at her.
Including Asa, right there in the front row.
He had an expression on his face she wasn’t sure she’d seen before, or knew how to read. The word that flashed through her mind wassad, but surely her singing wasn’tthatterrible. Was it?
This was her issue with most Christmas movies, books, songs, whatever. Either they were depressing as hell—“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” for example, made her feel nostalgic and tender from the first line. Or they were ostensibly happy, about the importance of family and togetherness during the season, and that only made her feel more alone than ever.
“Blue Christmas,” in retrospect, had been a real mistake in this fragile mood she was in, and now she was supposed to sing the third verse. But instead she wanted to hug Asa so bad it was a physical ache. To hold him, and be held by him.
She started toward him before a burst of feedback from the microphone sent her stumbling back. John leaned over to her, still playing his guitar. “You okay?” he asked.
She tried to nod but had no idea if her head made the right movement. Suddenly, she felt so tired. She sat down cross-legged on the ground, bringing the microphone back up to her mouth. “Nobody drink the punch,” she said. “It is very, very strong. You’d be better off drinking antifreeze.”
