In A Holidaze - Christina Lauren Page 0,21

he thinks. And then he leans in and whispers a rushed string of words.

When he pulls back, I stare at him. “Benny.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I know.”

I shudder. “I meant something like, ‘My first dog’s name was Lady.’ Not like, ‘I lived a strange double life as a nude waiter in Arizona.’ ”

He shrugs. “It’s the first thing that came to mind.”

Closing my eyes, I shake my head to clear the image.

“Do we tell the others?” Benny asks. “I mean, this whole situation is pretty wild. Maybe one of them has experienced this before and managed to get to the other side of it? Maybe you’re right, and this place really is magic.”

“I like your thinking, but I might have a better idea. I mean, Ricky and Lisa deciding to sell the cabin was the catalyst for my whole wish in the first place. Do you think it’s possible we’re supposed to convince them to keep it? Maybe if we all pitch in and show them what it means to us?”

He looks past me to where Ricky is cuddling his coffee. “Never hurts to try, I suppose.”

“Everyone is always complaining about all the traditions,” I whisper, “but Ricky really does so much for us. What if we’re all just very gung-ho about things? What if we offer to help with the upkeep? Repairs?”

“You think you can get everyone on board?” he asks.

I look out the window and grimace. Today’s tradition was once about building snowmen, but then younger Mae apparently asked why we couldn’t build snowgirls, and then tiny Miles came along and asked why he couldn’t build a snow monkey. Now, December 21 is Snow Creature Day, and that seems to work for everyone.

That is, unless it’s terrible outside. Ricky doesn’t adjust the itinerary for inclement weather, and we’ve all grown so competitive about this activity that we’re usually out there for a good two or three hours before we’ve picked a winner. A glance out the window reveals an intimidating gray-blue sky. Thick, daggerlike icicles hang menacingly from the eaves. There’s no way we’ll get a complaint-free group out there today.

I gulp as I look back at him. “I’ll try.”

Benny sucks in a breath between his teeth. “Man, changing the future, though. Like, have you ever heard of the butterfly effect? What if you change one tiny thing and something terrible happens?”

“Listen,” I say, “if the universe wants to drop a cursed ring in my lap that I’m supposed to throw into a lava-filled mountain, I’m all for it. But right now this is all I’ve got.”

• • •

I follow Benny into the kitchen just as the back door opens. Andrew steps inside and brings with him a sharp streak of ice-cold air, as well as a shot of adrenaline straight into my heart.

I shout out a bright “Hey!”

In my head, I’ve said it with easy composure, James Dean leaning against the doorframe. In reality, I’ve hollered it with odd aggression, and everyone else flinches.

Benny puts a calming hand on my back.

Andrew pulls out an earbud and grins at me, unfazed because he is a magical creature. “Hey yourself.”

He’s shivering, wearing a down jacket, scarf, gloves, and a blanket as a shawl. This human tangle of hot + adorable is usually hidden in the audio tech booth during shows at Red Rocks but should absolutely be onstage for everyone to enjoy.

“So, the Boathouse was toasty warm?” I ask, at normal volume now.

He pushes a mess of brown curls out of his eyes. “Even freezing out there is better than sleeping in the bunk bed downstairs.”

What an adorable liar. The bunk beds might be in a basement, but it’s at least insulated down there, and the beds themselves are cozy and warm and covered in fluffy down comforters. The Boathouse is a twelve-by-twelve box with one entire wall of windows that overlook the back side of the mountain, and not even a wood-burning stove to keep it heated. It’s gorgeous but barely a step above snow camping. Andrew will die in this battle of wills with his dad.

Smug now, Ricky studies his shivering oldest son over the rim of his coffee mug. “You sure about that?”

Behind us, Benny snorts.

A memory bubble pops in my brain. “Why not use those big sleeping bags in the basement storage area?”

Three pairs of eyes swing to me and I realize I’ve just messed up.

Andrew’s interest is definitely piqued. “Sleeping bags?”

“How on earth did you know about those?” Ricky asks with an astonished