This was fine. Everything was fine.
“Does he even really exist?” Aunt Pauline asked.
Stress-eating like a motherclucker, Leslie slathered another layer of cheese ball onto a cracker and shoved it into her mouth. Chewing fast like a mouse, she muttered around the bite, “He’s just running a little late is all.”
Which was probably not true. She was probably being stood up.
Kieran was supposed to pick her up from her tiny house at 6:30 so they could ride together like a real couple, but he’d texted at 6:20 and told her he would meet her here.
Mmm hmm.
And now she was grazing at the buffet table of hors d'oeuvres and appetizers with the weight of everyone’s eyes upon her.
Mom’s holiday parties were the social event of the season. There were currently over a hundred people mingling in the house. Maybe no one would notice if she slipped out the front door.
Leslie turned to escape but ran right into Mom. Her mother was wearing a red sparkling ballgown and about six pounds of hairspray in her hair. She looked around with a plastered smile as she caught Leslie’s elbows and attempted to steady them both. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Leslie asked brightly.
“Your friend. Who is a boy. Your father told me all about him.” Mom lifted her chin higher and smiled at the mayor and his wife as they passed.
“Oh, my boyfriend. Myyyyy boyfriend. Muh boyfran.” She giggled nervously and stuck her pointer finger in the air. “Maybe he is in the front yard. I’ll go check.”
“You aren’t leaving,” Mom growled out under her breath. “We have our traditional family pictures to take tonight. And for once you’re actually wearing an appropriate dress.”
Leslie looked down at her cleavage-baring thigh length green dress and grimaced out a smile. “Anything for you, Mommy.”
Really, she’d dressed up for her Otter Prince.
“Cut your shit tonight,” Mom whispered. “Just act normal and stop eating all the cheese ball.”
“But it’s delicious. Did you make it yourself?” She cackled. “Just kidding. I know Chef Jed made everything. Would you like some wine?” Tipsy Mom was way happier than Sober Mom.
“One of your sister’s husbands went to fetch me some champagne.”
Leslie scrunched up her face. “One of their husbands? You can say their names. I know them all. We play family bingo on the second Saturday of every month—”
“Martha!” Mom exclaimed, holding her arms out to one of her oldest and snootiest friends. They did this fake-hug-air-kiss thing and Leslie gagged, then smiled big when Martha looked at her.
“I heard the dry spell is finally over for you Leslie Ann.”
“It’s just Leslie. Leslie the pottery maker—”
“Shh!” Mom hushed her sharply.
“I would love to introduce you to Kieran. Kieran Dunne. That’s my boyfriend. Uuuuuh, but he is probably fetching me some Christmas cookies…” She curtsied and walked backward, escaping slowly.
“The Christmas cookies are right there,” Martha said, pointing to the end of the table.
“From the front seat of our car because we made some cookies together. With sprinkles. And love. And we brought them. To share our love cookies…with all of you. But forgot them! In the car.”
Mom and Martha were just staring at her like she’d lost her mind, but that was normal. Everything was normal and fine.
Okay, no it wasn’t. She’d been hounded for an hour. She’d shaved her legs, shoved her sensitive feet into heels, worn a pushup bra, watched a video on how to do an updo with natural ringlet curls, and even pinned a sprig of holly at the hair gathered at her temple for a date that hadn’t even shown up.
Now she was in Hell. She made her way through the crowded entryway, careful to avoid all eye contact with her three evil sisters, and made it to the door. “At least the cheese ball was good,” she said as she yanked it open.
Kieran stood there with his hand up to knock. Clearly, she startled him as much as he had her because he jumped and took a few steps back.
He looked her up and down, his eyes morphing from a dark brown to a glowing amber.
“Leslie?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself.
“I don’t know how to respond to that.”
He had a bottle of wine in one hand and wore a black button-up shirt that was rolled at the sleeves. Oh, geez, even his forearms were sexy. He wore black dress pants and shiny new shoes and, holy hell, he looked even hotter than she remembered him from a few hours ago.
“You really showed up,” she uttered in shock.
He snorted a laugh. “Of course, I did. Been kicking myself for not getting everything done sooner so I could drive you here, though. I had to go to two stores to find these stupid clothes, and the liquor store didn’t carry your mom’s favorite wine so I ended up just getting the most expensive one and calling it a night. Oh, and I got you something, too.” He reached in his back pocket and handed her a flask.
A little tinge of hope fluttered through her chest. She lifted her chin and asked, “What’s in it?”
“Your favorite liquor.”
“And what’s my favorite liquor?”
He offered her a devilish smile. “Vodka.”
He’d listened. Prince Fuckin’ Charming had arrived. Roll out the welcome mat, family. We have a real one in our midst.
“I don’t want your ego to get too big, but you just gave me butterflies.”
“Why am I not shocked that a flask is the way to your heart?” he asked with a glint of wickedness in his striking eyes that she really, really liked. “And probably the butterflies in your stomach are an eye-scorching hot pink color and clumsy.”
She dipped her head magnanimously. “You know me well.”
“Ready to rock this?” he asked, looking past her into the party.
“I already stress-ate a whole cheese ball.”
“Thata girl.” He stepped inside and slid his hand to her waist, leaned into her, and whispered against her ear, “By the way, you look fuckin’ gorgeous.”
And her bright pink butterflies went into more clumsy spasms.
He grabbed her hand without even looking down, like he just knew where it was, and then he led her into the party. “Where’s your mom?” he asked as he nodded to the people in the entryway who stopped to stare.
“Ten o’clock, looks like a bright red ornament, holding champagne, painted her eyebrows into a perpetual frown for this evening.”
“Got her.” Kieran dragged Leslie right through the living room of powerful people and squared up to her mother. To her terrifying mother!
“Mrs. Wilson?” he asked.
Mom gave Martha a snotty look and lifted her nose into the air. “Kieran Dunne, I suppose?”
“Yes ma’am.” He handed her the bottle of wine. “I searched high and low for your favorite, but it seems this town is bought out of the good stuff.”
She lowered her gaze primly to the bottle of red he offered. “This one isn’t terrible wine.” Mom dragged her gaze around the room and gave a thin-lipped smile as she took it from his hands, much too late to be polite. “Thank you.”