Twenty-One | Sloan

This was possibly the dumbest thing I had ever done. Had we not just agreed that it was best to keep our employee/employer and student/teacher relationship professional? Now we were standing outside Ollie's childhood home, ready to spend Christmas together. This was straight up insanity. It was so bad that I thought about texting Hallie to tell her, but I ended up lying and saying my plans were eating myself into a coma while watching Pretty Woman to take my mind off things. Then I shut the phone off so that I wouldn't get a million calls and texts back from her.

Just as Ollie and I got to the porch with our bags—and a basket filled with gifts that Ollie had clearly wrapped himself—holiday decorations sprang to life around us. The porch—that was a little sketchy to be standing on—was now cutely lit, with twinkling lights around the banisters. White icicle lights were hung from the roof of the porch but were currently dangling when they should have come to a peak with a tiny dormer. It looked as if someone wasn't tall enough to get them to the tip. The bushes beside the porch were lit with green and red lights, some looking to have failed. A wreath hung on the door that we were fast approaching, and a lit tree could be seen from the bay window. Nothing really matched, and yet, this was probably my favorite display of lights I'd seen yet. The two-story house itself was white with olive-green shutters, fitting right in.

I elbowed the man beside me and pointed up to the lights that were dangling below the dormer's peak. "You should fix that for your mom."

His dimpled cheeks appeared, making me grin. "You two are going to get along just fine."

The door opened, displaying a petite woman in pink pajamas. The dimples he got from his mom, and that was adorable. "She's not blonde!" His mother cackled.

"Ma!" he groaned.

My grin only widened, watching him turn the color of a ripened tomato. Oliver Mulligan gets embarrassed. Pink cheeks and all! He was so right—we were going to get along just fine.

"Chef, do you have a type?" I asked, teasing him with a nudge.

Ollie cringed.

"Oh, he certainly does. If blonde and bat shit crazy is a type, that's his!" His mother ushered me in. "And you are a breath of fresh air! I'm Penelope, but you can call me Penny. Just drop your bags right there, and Ollie will get them to your room."

I did as I was told, watching Ollie's head shake at his mother. "Mom, this is Sloan. We uh..." He paused, not knowing how to explain our relationship. "We work together. She's a chef at Mulligan's."

"Welcome, Sloan." Penelope cooed, wrapping her tiny arms around her embarrassed son. "I'm so happy you could get him to come home."

>><<

The Mulligan farmhouse was possibly the cutest, homely place I had ever been in. It was apparent that the childhood I had growing up was the exact opposite for Ollie. Nothing in it was new, but it was still charming as hell. Old wood floors creaked as you walked them, and floral wallpaper lined the walls of the entryway in shades of pink and cream. You could just barely see it, because the walls were floor to ceiling covered in family photos housed in frames of different shapes, sizes and colors. Nothing matched, and in return, it made everything match.

Just off the entryway to our right, Ollie tilted his head for me to follow down a lengthy hallway. We passed two bedrooms, each that had a small lit tree sitting within it, before he entered the last bedroom in the hall. It too had its own small tree, lit with multicolored lights. It sat right beside a queen-size bed with a red and orange paisley quilt draped over it. At the foot of the bed, there sat an oversized trunk that was a completely different shade of wood than the oak dresser in the corner. More picture frames sat on the dresser, placed on a doily.

"This is your room for three days." Ollie placed my bag on the bed and motioned to a door to our right. "It has its own bathroom that, I'm warning you now, sounds like the pipes are going to break through the walls when you use water. I promise you, that won't happen."

I smiled, loving absolutely everything about this house so far. There was no need for him to be embarrassed about anything here. I would have loved loud pipes as a kid—I was lucky if the water turned on. Paying bills wasn't exactly a priority for that foster family. Electricity was another luxury that seemed to come and go.

"Blondes, eh?" I bit my lip, still unable to stop myself from making Ollie red again.

"Crazy ones," Ollie agreed with a groan, rubbing his tired eyes. "It's a standing joke with them these last few years. They are clingy."

I tucked my bangs behind my ear. "Guess they didn't get that whole no kissing rule, huh?"

Our gazes locked just then, causing heat to rise into my cheeks.

"Guess not," he said, mumbling.

The intensity that always seemed to engulf us was so much worse in this tiny room. I took a step back, acting as though I was taking in more of the room and ending whatever spell we'd worked ourselves into in a matter of minutes.

Ollie's throat cleared. "So, uh..." He shifted. "I know Christmas isn't for two days, but tonight I do Christmas with Mom. I don't think it's any sort of secret that Mikah and I don't get along. This way he doesn't ruin my holiday, and I don't ruin his. Neither of us can ruin it for our mom that way."

"Oh." I held my hands together behind my back and leaned on my heels. This holiday crap was so awkward. I felt like I was intruding, not even knowing most of his family. "I'm going to stay in here for that."

"No way." His head shook. "You're coming out there with me. If I don't drag you out of here, my mom will. Plus, I need you there for support when I try to explain the ham situation."

"Ollie..."

Grabbing my hand and leading me out of the room, he would not give me any excuse to skip this. Nerves were bundling into a knot in the back of my throat. It was bad enough growing up and returning to school to hear about all the gifts other kids got over their holidays. Now, I had a front-row seat to see how a family should celebrate, and it didn't sound appealing in the least.

We took a left at the end of the hall this time, taking us briefly through a kitchen that just about had me acting like an anchor.

"Trust me, you'll see it tomorrow." Ollie laughed, knowing exactly why I wanted to stop.

"I think that was the kitchen of my dreams." I sighed, being dragged away from the most beautiful room I had ever laid eyes on.

We entered a large family room; the one that was on the other side of the bay window from the porch. Now I could see just how stunning that tree really was. Pine wafted through my nostrils, telling me it was an actual tree. One that was covered in way more lights than was necessary—making it absolutely breathtaking when paired with the equally excessive silver and gold tinsel. I knew my eyes were as wide as saucers as I moved closer to it to view the ornaments. Most were hand-blown glass and farm-themed. A few were focused around cooking, with various vegetables and fruits made of glass and covered in glitter. The best ones, though, were all the handmade ornaments that appeared to be crafted by children. Hand prints set in clay, clothespin reindeer with stick-on googly eyes, random orbs that looked like they were finger painted, and some made of just beads and string—all made by Ollie and his siblings. They even signed them with their name and the year, showing me that Ollie's handwriting only got worse with age. And beneath the tree sat many perfectly wrapped gifts with handmade ribbons, bows, and name cards. This was exactly what I had missed out on without a family, and as beautiful as it was to see, it also hurt more than I was prepared for.

"Ma, about the Christmas ham..." Ollie began behind me. "I sort of forgot it at Mulligan's."

His mom laughed, curling her feet beneath her on the couch and pulling a knit blanket from the back of it to cover herself. "Oliver, I honestly didn't believe you were coming. You've made excuses for almost two years. You honestly think I didn't have a damn backup ham?"

I turned just in time to see his relief in an exhale.

"Two years?" I asked.

If I lived in a place like this growing up, I would never leave it. I didn't know the first thing about farming, but damn, I could learn. Ollie didn't want to be at the restaurant that he lived directly above; he didn't want to be near his childhood home. Where did he want to be, exactly?

"We should open gifts," he said, changing the subject with a shake in his voice.

Ollie got to his knees on the floor, pulling forward the basket that we'd brought from the car. Not knowing what I was supposed to be doing, other than sitting back and watching awkwardly, I took a seat on the floor with my back against the couch that his mom was sitting on. Ollie handed his mother a rectangle-shaped box that was wrapped in two different wrapping papers. It looked like he ran out of one halfway through his wrapping. It had no bow on it, but said MOM across it in Sharpie.

"Stick to cooking," Penelope said, joking at his wrap job and causing me to giggle.

Penelope slowly tore away the snowman wrapping paper first. The paper didn't remove itself from the box easily. Ollie appeared to have used half a roll of tape to hold it together, leaving very few seams to rip. Eventually, she found the box and gave it a small shake to free the bottom from the top of it. There was a small bit of tissue paper to get through before she pulled out a beautiful navy-colored sweater.

"Oh, Ollie." Penelope beamed. "This is lovely. I can't wait to wear it!"

This was more than uncomfortable. I'd wished that Ollie would have let me stay in the bedroom for this. I could have phoned Hallie to explain the giant mistake I'd made in allowing my boss and teacher to talk me into a family Christmas three hours away in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I didn't even know where we were.

A wrapped box arrived against my knee. I looked up to see Ollie retreat to his spot across the living room. He sat against a reclining chair, drawing his knee up to his chest and wrapping his arm around it. I looked down at the box wrapped in a sparkly green paper with a white ribbon and red bow. This one had a card dangling from the ribbon, and it had my name in cursive. He paid to have this one wrapped, and it was from somewhere upscale. That knot in my throat tripled in size instantly.

"What's that?" I eyed it like it would bite.

"A present," he said, answering casually.

Short frantic breaths were escaping me as I shook my head. "I'm here for you. I don't do gifts, Ollie. I don't do Christmas."

"Just open the damn thing already," he argued. The look he was giving told me it was not up for debate.

My shaking hands fumbled with the ribbon. I bit down on the inside of my cheek so hard that I could already taste blood. It was heavy. It didn't matter what was in it, though. I'd never received an actual gift, and this was too much to take in tonight. When I tore the paper away and saw what I was holding, tears were at my chin before I could stop them.

"It's more for me than you," Ollie said, joking to ease the tension in the room. "Now I don't have to worry about you becoming one of those students that loses a finger with shit knives."

I was holding a brand-new set of chef knives. Not just some cheap brand either—these were the same knives that Ollie used in his restaurant. I released a breath, talking myself out of a major panic attack, and placed the knives beside me. I could not get to my feet fast enough.

"Sloan?" Ollie was up to follow.

"I need some air," I said with a whisper before escaping to the entryway that led to the sketchy porch.

I didn't have a coat this time, and I hadn't noticed just how fast the cool wind was blowing before. It didn't matter. I shut the door behind me and sat on a porch swing to bury my face in my hands. The door creaked open behind me and shut again. Ollie took the open spot beside me, covering both of our legs with the same blanket his mom was using a few minutes ago.

"Sorry," I said into my hands. "I spazzed."

"Over knives?" Ollie chuckled, giving me a nudge with his elbow the way we always did when playing.

"Over a gift," I said, correcting him. I used my fingertips to clear my eyes of the dampness. "I've never received one before."

"Like..." Ollie looked dumbfounded. "... ever? Not a Christmas present, or birthday present?"

I sniffled. He'd never understand. "I'm an orphan. My foster families were terrible, and even after them, this wasn't something we celebrated. I'm not looking for pity..."

"I'm not pitying you, Sloan. I promise. People who mean something to me are the ones I give gifts to. Which is why Mikah gets coal."

I laughed through my nose, smiling like an idiot. Ollie was so good at ending my anxiety with humor. I almost hated him for it sometimes. Other times I needed that laugh so badly, more than he could understand. Hallie and Ollie helped me in two unique ways.

My arm was bumped again, and I looked up into a pair of sapphire eyes. "Besides, you lied to me. You have received a gift. I thought that giant green penis that was stuck to your table was a..." Ollie held up air quotes."... gift."

"God!" I pushed his shoulder while his chest burst with hearty laughter. "That is not the same thing!"

"Clearly!"

My smile wasn't going anywhere now, and we both knew it. Ollie lifted the blanket to cover more of us when another blast of stiff wind came through. I was just about to offer to take my spaz-of-a-self back inside so that neither of us would catch a cold, but I stopped when snowflakes started drifting through the porch, catching a ride with the wind gusts. We watched the grass turn from green back to white while we slowly rocked the swing. It was stunning—the way it should look when celebrating Christmas.

"I love those knives," I whispered, dropping my head to Ollie's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he whispered back.