Elf Against the Wall: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (The Wynter Brothers Book 2)
Elf Against the Wall: Chapter 18

I was tense in Anderson’s truck as he drove me and Snowball back to my parents’ house.

“That’s an awful lot of résumés still left, Evie,” my father called when he saw me, then he grumbled when Anderson came in behind me, jingling his keys. “And now we see why.”

“As the aging patriarch, confused that paper résumés no longer work, confronts a digital world, he is unable to cope and resorts to lashing out at the younger females of his troop,” Anderson narrated in a fake British accent.

“Anderson,” I warned him before he said something that would really set off my father.

I pushed the larger man toward the back of the house. “There’s a cart in the mudroom. Just pack up the trays that are in the fridge. I have a cooler too. You can put the ice in it.”

Snowball followed Anderson as he stalked to the kitchen.

“The yarn store said try back in the summer and she might have something.”

My father folded his newspaper.

“It’s your life, Evie. But you have until December twenty-fifth, and something tells me that you’re not going to be as appealing a prospect to Anderson once he actually has to support you, since you seem averse to doing it yourself.”

“If you’re going to glom on to me as my boyfriend,” I told Anderson as we carted the food up the walkway to Aunt Trish’s rambling Victorian house painted in red, green, and white, “can you at least try to act nice to people?”

“You mean like your siblings that your whole family worships? Just because you have low sense of self-worth doesn’t mean I do, Gingersnap.”

Using my elbow, I rang the doorbell.

An elf shot out of a holiday-themed cuckoo clock, screaming, “It’s time! For! Christmas!”

Anderson cursed, crouching down like he was about to reach for his gun a blow a hole in Aunt Trish’s door.

“She’s an artist,” I explained as, inside, Aunt Trish was yelling at her yodeling family of foster cats to get out of the way, that it wasn’t safe outside for kitties.

Anderson was digging deep into his military training as the door was thrown open.

“My niece! Look at my niece and her big handsome man. Oh.” Aunt Trish sniffed then wafted her hand in front of Anderson, inhaling deeply. “You’re wearing cologne. Evie, he’s wearing cologne.”

What the fuck? Anderson mouthed.

Aunt Trish tossed her scarf over her shoulder dramatically. “I feel a migraine coming on.”

“Maybe it’s all the cats.”

I glared at Anderson.

“You know I cannot with the strong smells.” She breathed in noisily. “It’s definitely a migraine.”

I sniffed Anderson’s neck.

He kicked me with his boot. “Don’t sniff me.”

He smelled a little woodsy, like smoke and snow and male.

“I don’t smell any cologne, Aunt Trish.”

“It’s there. Maybe he wore some yesterday.”

“Are you wearing cologne?” I whispered to Anderson.

He shook his head wordlessly.

“I need to lie down. I’m entertaining tonight, and I cannot with my sisters and the cologne and this migraine. Get down from there, Evermore. You’re afraid of heights!” Aunt Trish yelled at a white three-legged cat that was balancing precariously on the banister.

Snowball stood guard at my feet, puffed up, as the dozen pairs of feline eyes watched us enter the house.

“We’ll put these in the kitchen. Let me just clean the cat hair off the counters.” I pulled cleaning supplies out of my bag.

“I’m not eating anything this woman has made,” Anderson said flatly.

“That is why we brought food,” I told him.

I shoved the cat toys out of the oven and turned it on to keep the savory appetizers warm. Aunt Trish’s parties tended to go better if people had something more substantial than cookies and fondant to eat.

Snowball growled as several cats materialized in the doorway. One cat snuck in through the back way and was getting close to Anderson’s boots to sniff the strange man.

The Pomeranian rocketed, barking at the cat, which yowled and skittered away. Then the little white dog parked herself in front of Anderson’s feet, keeping guard as he helped me ferry the food into the kitchen. All while Aunt Trish rested on the bright-purple fainting couch, hand over her eyes.

“Could you help me grab the folding tables?” I called from the mudroom.

Anderson pushed his huge shoulders through the narrow doorway.

“I’ll take this end and—oh!” I exclaimed as he just lifted the whole rack of folding tables, carrying them like they were nothing into the open kitchen and dining area.

“I have new decorations, Evie.” Aunt Trish pointed at a bulging closet.

I hauled out the centerpieces.

One of the cats yowled as a striped box fell off one of the stuffed closet shelves.

“Looks like a Christmas present. Do you want me to put it under the tree?” I offered.

My aunt opened one eye.

“That’s for you, Evie. I received several signs that you needed this in your life. You remember I took that sculpting retreat.”

“This is an interesting centerpiece,” I said, turning the misshapen object around. It had a ribbon around it. “Is this like an infinity symbol? It almost looks like… oh my god!” I almost dropped the ceramic dildo.

Because that was what it was, complete with a giant set of balls, the name Evelyn scrawled on them in red script.

“Aunt Trish, I don’t need this, I have…” I gestured toward the kitchen, where there was clanking as Anderson checked the oven. “A man. This is…”

“Just because you have a boyfriend,” Aunt Trish said, raising herself up slightly, “doesn’t mean that you can’t also take charge of your sexuality. It’s reinforced, so it’s perfectly safe for use. It’s got hematite embedded for positive energy.”

She sank back onto the couch and pulled her scarf over her head. “I must convalesce for tonight.”

Holding the dildo out in front of me, I prayed it would just disappear. I couldn’t take this. What the hell was Trish thinking? Also, why was it so girthy? That shouldn’t even fit in a woman.

“Evie?” Anderson’s heavy boot steps came around the wet bar, which partially divided the kitchen from the living room.

Crap! Could I hide it in the cat bed? The box of decorations? I sprinted to a window and pitched the dildo out into the yard, making a mental note to retrieve it later.

When Anderson found me, I was pretending to be busy rummaging through a box of table linens and cloth napkins.

“These need to be ironed,” I blurted out, holding up a wad of linen.

“I am not ironing those,” Anderson said emphatically “I don’t like you that much.”

I shook out the white-and-green tablecloths.

“Snowball, run a perimeter,” Anderson ordered the dog as I set out the Christmas centerpieces, which could be politely described as avant-garde.

“Kids won’t be at the party, will they?” Anderson bent down to whisper into my ear. “Because I think these are going to give them nightmares. Also, these cats are going to make people sick.”

“I’m going to try to lure them to a bedroom.”

“We need to buy her a spiked collar,” Anderson said as Snowball ran in defensive circles around the table, keeping the cats away.

“Afraid of a few cats?” I teased.

“I don’t know how Trish is able to sleep. I’m afraid if I lie down, they’ll all eat me.”

I set out all the trays of cookies. I’d spent all my free time the past couple of days baking them. There were pieces to make miniature sugar cookie gingerbread houses and other cookie art ornaments. Along with twenty different colors of frosting, I also had fondant ribbons for hangers.

“You made these?” Anderson marveled.

“It’s not that hard,” I said as he inspected all the little pieces. “I just had to design custom cookie cutters. One of my many jobs after I dropped out of college was running a 3D printing rig at an ill-advised startup. They didn’t pay me for three months, but they let me keep the printer. I had to sell it, though. Whomp whomp. But not before I made these custom cookie cutters.”

The timer rang in the kitchen, and he immediately went in to check on the food.

I wasn’t sure where we stood, but then, was there even really a we? Maybe this was how Anderson was. Anyone who could attempt to murder their fellow Marine in battle was clearly not the most mentally stable person. After raging at me on the sidewalk, now he was as helpful as one of Santa’s elves with setting up the party.

“Sorry we’re late!” Ian and Sawyer announced, armed with red wine and coolers of craft beer.

“No understudying tonight?” I hugged my brother then Sawyer.

“There’s something shady at that theater,” Sawyer said. “Did they ever fix the bathroom?”

“How about ‘Did the director ever give me a lead role?’ He’s such a liar. This was supposed to be my big chance.” Ian set the cooler down and looked around. “Wow, did Aunt Trish actually help?”

“She has a migraine, but Anderson was here to pick up the slack.”

“Anderson?” Sawyer peered over my shoulder to where he was manning the appetizers and giving orders to Snowball in a clipped tone.

“Evie.” Sawyer lowered her voice. “You can’t treat him like your boyfriend. He hates you and our family, and you’re supposed to hate him too.”

“Yes, she can,” Ian whispered. “It’s killing St. Henry, and I am here for all of that.”

“She can treat him like her sex toy, but, Evie, I know you. We’ve been over this. Braeden wasn’t the first not-so-great guy you were convinced you were in love with. Remember Dean in high school? You were certain you were meant to be because he had the same name as a Gilmore Girls character, and then he broke your heart.”

“I swear.” I held a hand to my heart. “I have zero, nada, no feelings for Anderson. Definitely not love.”

“Then why is he setting up a Christmas cookie party for you?”

“He’s a grown man. He can make his own choices. Have some meatballs.” I opened up one of the Crock-Pots and shoveled mini meatballs in a rich spicy-sweet sauce onto a plate for Sawyer.

“I need to hydrate before this party.” Aunt Trish swanned in, pushing her glasses down to peer at Sawyer and Ian.

“Thank the goddess. The cool people are here. You two are an inspiration—living your dreams in New York City. You cannot worry about money at your age. You have to live. Don’t give in to corporate pressure. You don’t want to turn out like my sisters.”

I poured Aunt Trish a glass of wine.

“Yum.” She took a long drink and made a gimmie motion. “Protein. I need protein and an Advil.”

The rest of my family was starting to arrive. The younger kids raced to the table, excited at the mountain of cookies.

“My class!” Aunt Trish clapped her hands twice. “Just because this is a scheduled activity does not mean you need to be afraid let your creative flag fly. There are no wrong answers. I want to see risk. I want to see bold choices. Yes, we do have purple frosting, Katie!”

My parents and siblings set up at one end of the table, giggling and laughing as they decorated ornaments. With their matching red hair, they always reminded me of the families in the dollhouses I lusted over as a kid and never received for Christmas. Even Ian, who was often agnostic on our family, looked like he belonged with them.

“I’m firing two more trays of the ham-and-cheese pinwheels,” Anderson said, coming up next to me. “Do you want the bar paced, or you just going to let them drink alcohol at will?”

“I think there will be a riot if we try to limit it.”

He grunted.

I turned to him.

“Thanks for your help. Once again, couldn’t have done it without you.”

His tattooed fingers traced the collar of my sweater then gently tugged me toward him.

“You’re kicking me out? Not even going to force-feed me dessert first?”

“Have to keep your Playgirl-worthy figure.” I grazed my hand up the tight T-shirt then thought better of it and hid it behind my back. “You can stay, though,” I offered. “I know Christmas isn’t your style, but decorating cookies is fun. It looks like not everyone is making Christmas-themed ornaments, anyway.”

“And tell me about your piece.” Aunt Trish hovered over Granny Doyle’s shoulder.

“It’s Santa’s little orgy.” Granny Doyle held up her ornament.

“Mom, you are supposed to make a nativity scene out of that.” Melissa snatched the cookie from Gran. “Evie.” She waved me over. “Get rid of this.”

“I quit,” Granny Doyle declared then ripped off her apron and threw it at Anderson as she headed to the bar. “I only have so many holiday seasons left on this earth. I am spending them drunk.”

“I love that woman,” Anderson whispered around a grin. He took Granny Doyle’s spot, and I sat across from him, assembling the little cookie houses.

“You don’t want to put a little color on those ornaments?” Granny Doyle asked Grandma Shirley, who was carefully decorating a cream-and-white bell.

“Some of us like traditional Christmases.”

“I’m dreaming of a sad, beige Christmas!” Granny Doyle sang then burped.

“This is about family, not newfangled notions about holidays. There is a traditional way of doing things,” Grandma Shirley lectured. “Not that some people respect convention—”

“Oh, shut up, you shriveled labia.”

“—What with people fraternizing out of wedlock.”

“Mom,” Dad begged.

“Anderson’s not fraternizing. He’s making edible ornaments, Ma.” Aunt Trish breezed by, tossing glitter over everyone.

One of the cats sneezed, sending Snowball on the offensive.

“Anderson’s got the only edible ornaments I want.” Granny Doyle poured scotch into a glass.

His eyes widened slightly.

Henry and Braeden were exchanging annoyed looks.

With Aunt Trish’s open floor plan, I didn’t have an opportunity to get Braeden alone. I was secretly glad. I didn’t know if I could keep it together enough to both lure him into thinking he’d broken me and try to turn on the microphone.

I wished that this was just a normal family Christmas and Anderson was a normal boyfriend and I was a normal daughter instead of this disaster of a half-baked revenge plan.

“Wow, these are ornaments I can actually gift people.” I marveled at the intricate detail on the tiny town hall cookie ornament Anderson was working on.

Anderson had a neat line of them along the table.

“Oh-Em-Gee!” Nat and Lauren exclaimed, phones out. “Can we put you on our Instagram stories?”

“Take off your shirt first,” Granny Doyle ordered.

“There really should be a separate room for those of us who want to have a wholesome cookie-making experience,” Grandma Shirley said pointedly.

“Guess that vagina’s not as defunct as we thought, eh?” Granny Doyle asked while Shirley sucked in a sour breath. “You just want to be alone with Anderson so you two can make cookies together.”

“Why, I never—”

“Don’t worry, Hot Stuff.” Granny Doyle pinched Anderson’s cheek. “I won’t let her sink her claws into you. Some of us haven’t made the transition to widow as gracefully as others.” She reached for a sleigh cookie.

“No, Mom. You cannot make any more cookies.” Melissa slapped her mother’s hand away.

“Fine. I’m going to try to make a halfway-decent cocktail, then.”

“Evie, pull out the bitters that you and I made this summer. They’re in the root cellar.” Aunt Trish breezed past with paint that I wasn’t sure was edible.

I stood up, wiping my hands.

When I came back with the admittedly somewhat cloudy bitters for the cocktails, more arrivals were streaming through the front door.

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence!” Nat, wineglass in hand, greeted her brother and his new wife as they unwound their scarves.

“Can’t miss the famous cookie festivities,” Madeline said. “We brought wine.”

“Thanks. I can put this by the bar. Sawyer and Ian brought some too.”

“Oh, did they? This is imported French wine. I’m sure everyone would probably rather have that.” Madeline tossed her glossy blond hair. “It’s the holidays. We splurged since it’s family.”

“Not all of us are family.” Grandma Shirley harrumphed.

Granny Doyle hooked two fingers in her cheeks and made an ugly face at her. “It’s a wonder your husband lasted as long as he did.”

Madeline air-kissed me.

“Another homemade sweater. So chic.”

“Thanks,” I gushed, probably with way more enthusiasm than the passive-aggressive comment warranted.

“I heard about your job,” Gabe said, making a sad face.

“Yeah, that’s awful,” his wife added. Gabe and Madeline were actually acting friendly to me for once.

“You know me. I’ll land on my feet.”

My cousin was sympathetic.

“I’d say you landed on something else.” Madeline inclined her chin.

Anderson was working like a machine, assembling and decorating cookie ornaments. He glanced up, those gray eyes watchful.

“Since you’re currently between jobs, Gabe wanted to talk to you about an opportunity,” Madeline said.

“At Svensson Investment?” I perked up. “They pay well. I could move back to Manhattan.”

My cousin and his wife exchanged looks.

“This is a different opportunity, but you can still come back to Manhattan.”

“We’re looking for a surrogate. We could go to California, but it’s just so expensive, you know,” Gabe explained. “We can’t start a family two hundred thousand dollars in debt.”

“And I just can’t take off of work,” Madeline added. “Nine months of pregnancy and all the fourth-trimester inconveniences?”

“You’re having a baby!” Gabe’s mother cried, swooping in, frosting still in hand, to hug her son and kiss him noisily on the cheek. “Did you hear that? I’m going to be a grandma after all! And I thought you weren’t having children.”

“Thank god, because it sure as shit wasn’t going to be me.” Nat toasted her brother.

“Only if Evie agrees to be the surrogate.”

All eyes were on me.

My aunt hugged me. “You’ll be a great surrogate. You have the family history and the hips for it.”

“That’s what we were thinking. And since we aren’t, you know, actually related, it won’t be weird. Since it will be my sperm,” Gabe told me.

“Like we’d have to have sex?” I squeaked.

“God no. I don’t want your genetics. Madeline would use her eggs,” Gabe said quickly.

“Obviously, we wouldn’t pay you. That’s illegal in New York, but you’d get free rent,” Madeline stated.

“You mean the converted closet that doesn’t have a window?” Sawyer demanded.

“We can’t put her in one of the bedrooms. One’s the nursery, and the other is for guests,” Gabe argued.

“Evie, you cannot seriously be considering this,” Sawyer demanded.

“Rent is expensive.” I wavered.

“We’d meal plan,” Gabe added pointedly.

“You’ll have to keep her from eating so many chips. We’d better start feeding her prenatals,” Aunt Kerry added. “She has the worst diet.”

“I’d need to think about it,” I hedged.

“Seriously, Evie? No way!”

“Your womb is fertile. Embrace your feminine spirit.” Aunt Trish bent down and pressed her cheek to my belly.

“I guess just send me a—”

“No.” Anderson’s deep voice cut through my family’s excited chatter. “Evie is not your surrogate. The only man impregnating her is me.”

“Whew! Now I’m dreaming of a white Christmas!” Granny Doyle fanned herself.

Anderson turned to my dad. “Real father-of-the-year shit right there, Dr. Murphy, pimping out your own fucking daughter for a breed mule.”

“Fuck off. He didn’t have anything to do with it.” The table rattled as Henry jumped up.

Anderson snorted and continued to decorate the cookies.

“Evie, get over here and bring me a beer.”

Ducking my head, I hurried over with a cold bottle.

Anderson hooked two fingers in the waistband of my skirt, pulling me to him. The scrape of his nails on my bare skin sent a thrill of pleasure through me.

“Thanks, Gingersnap.”

“So you just come when he calls now?” Henry asked me, voice tense.

Anderson pulled me off-balance so I half landed in his lap. “She does if she knows what’s good for her.”

The hand at my waistband slid under my shirt… up… up…

I tensed against Anderson.

The hand slid back out from under the sweater.

Anderson grabbed the beer.

I released a breath.

Anderson reached down and knocked the bottle cap off with his boot. The cap clinked on the floor. The cats raced for the new toy.

He took a long draught of the beer.

“You can’t just bully your way into this family and try to steal my sister away.”

“I don’t have to steal her.” Anderson grabbed my chin, forcing my head to face him. “When I’m done with you and all your shit, she’ll leave willingly with me.”

Is he going to kiss me? I screamed internally. I wasn’t sure what I would do.

My eyes darted from his gray ones to his mouth to his jaw.

I was totally going to scream if he kissed me, because I was so not attracted to a man I hated and my family despised.

Right?

My heart raced.

His breath was slightly cool on my mouth.

He ran his thumb over my chin.

“Evie’d do anything for me. She’s obsessed with me.”