In A Holidaze - Christina Lauren Page 0,89
with Andrew Hollis and not getting him naked. “You liar.”
“No, I’m being serious,” he says. “Mom and Dad were, like, five feet away. I was way too self-conscious to get the job done.”
“Well, your parents won’t be here this time,” I remind him. “And Benny’s things were in one of the finished rooms downstairs so . . . game on.”
Andrew growls, pressing his face to my neck again.
This weekend is just us and Benny; everyone else had conflicts. Mom and Dad are getting Miles moved into UCLA, where he’s already started soccer practice. Kyle has chorus-line rehearsals for what everyone is hoping will be the new Broadway sensation. Theo is in the midst of building his own house near Ogden Canyon, an hour and a half away, and Ricky and Lisa decided to take a summer cruise from Seattle to Alaska. But Andrew and I could easily make the drive from our place in Denver. We both have the long weekend off and have been dying to see what Benny’s done with the place.
There’s a soft knock, and Andrew and I share a we’re busted grimace before he opens the door, letting in a bright slice of light and a view of Benny’s amused face.
Benny laughs. “I figured you two would be in here.”
“Because, Bentley,” I whisper, “this closet is our sacred space.”
“I promise not to change it.” He lifts his chin. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
We follow him downstairs, and I try to puzzle out what’s next. I already feel overwhelmed with the perfect blend of new and old that he’s managed. What haven’t we seen? The backyard? A cool feature of the new front porch? Andrew shrugs when I give him a questioning look, wiping his palms on the front of his thighs. He looks flushed, and I wonder if there’s a part of him that struggles to see how much this house has changed. For the better, but still.
We turn at the bottom of the stairs, heading down the hall to the kitchen, through the mudroom, and out the back door.
The backyard hasn’t changed, but I pull up short anyway. Andrew keeps walking, but I can’t follow him, can’t make my feet work because the structure I’m seeing only barely resembles the Boathouse that I grew up with. What’s in front of me is a beautiful, rustic retreat. It is a little log cabin, with a giant window still facing the mountain. It has a chimney, it has steps, it has a tiny porch with two bright yellow Adirondack chairs and a small table.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Andrew turns back and reaches for my hand, laughing at me with love in his smile, wiping my face with his free hand. “Come on.”
He’s shaking.
“Did you know?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer, only tugs me forward and inside. It’s still one room—well, except for the new bathroom—but there’s a four-poster bed in the back corner, a love seat and comfy chair toward the front, framed around a coffee table atop a gorgeous rug. The fireplace is obviously not in use, but the new A/C unit whirs valiantly, keeping the air inside breezy and comfortable.
My eye is drawn to all of the framed photos decorating the walls; there are at least twenty of them, some small, others at least eight-by-ten, and we’re all together in various combinations: Me and Dad on a sled. Andrew, Ricky, Theo, and Lisa on the porch of the main cabin. Benny and Mom holding cocktails and toasting the photographer. Miles and the twins playing checkers on the floor in the living room. Kyle holding five-year-old me upside down near a snowman. Aaron and Mom wearing aprons and cooking. Benny with teenage me, Theo, and Andrew in the summer, hiking Iron Canyon Trail.
“These are unreal.” I turn to see how Andrew is absorbing all of this, but he’s not standing to my right anymore, he’s—
He’s kneeling.
Do I have the slowest brain in all of the universe? Maybe. But it’s a full five seconds or so before I can put letters together into a word, and the word is only: “Oh.”
“Maisie,” he says, and opens his palm to reveal a gold ring with a perfect oval sapphire. He stares at me for several silent seconds, overcome.
“We’ve had our share of adventure these past six months,” he continues, voice hoarse. “Your move to Denver, your new job, our new apartment. There’s nothing I love more than making dinner with you, talking about our