All The Ways You Saved Me Part 20

"Hey, it's gonna be alright. And we've been through this. With my schedule and yours, this is the best we're gonna be able to do."

"I hate this," she whispered. Clearing her throat, she said, "But I get it. This is only one year, right?"

The door swung open next to me and a pair of heels clicked across the black and white checkered floor. "Just this once. Things'll be different next year."

Something rustled on her end, like the s.h.i.+fting of pillows. "At least tell me it's hot and sunny in Miami. The weather here blows. Let me live vicariously through you."

I glanced out the window at the overcast sky, the clouds heavy with snow. The sidewalks were coated in crystal powder, icicles dripping from the street signs. "It's gorgeous. Hot. I think I'm getting a tan through this window."

I'd checked the weather before my call so I knew exactly how to craft my lie.

"I hate you so much right now. I'm wearing two pairs of socks, and I still can't feel my toes."

Guilt p.r.i.c.ked at me and I swallowed around it. "Day after New Year's, I'll be on a plane home, and I'll keep you nice and toasty."

"Oh, really? Just how toasty will I be?"

"Very, very toasty." The woman standing across from me cleared her throat, arching one dark eyebrow in my direction. "Listen, babe. I gotta go. You still going Christmas shopping with Rachel tomorrow?"

"That's the plan. I'm such a procrastinator."

"Alright, I'll call you tomorrow night then. Say eight o'clock your time?"

"Deal."

Fingers drummed against the counter in impatience as I stood, twisting to the side to crack my back. "Night, Mags. Love you."

"Love you too."

A loud snort erupted from the chair next to me. "You're such a f.u.c.king liar," Felix said, bouncing up to his feet. Wrapping one hand around the other, he crunched his knuckles. "And surprisingly, really good at it."

"Shut up. You know I'm going to tell her."

"That's what they all say." He shot me an amused look, and for about the thousandth time, I wondered why I'd decided to confide in this knucklehead instead of Ben.

I shot him a look, but all he did was grin, flipping the baseball he had from hand to hand.

"What am I, your dirty little secret?" Dark curls bounced from side to side as she shook her head. Fingers snaked around my wrist, a red fingernail brus.h.i.+ng over the warm skin at the base of my wrist. "You ready?" she asked.

"Yeah, let's do this."

"It's about d.a.m.n time."

Chapter 29: Bianca.

Apple pie? In the oven.

Check.

Music? Blaring through the speakers.

Check.

I stared down at my pitifully small to-do list, both items bearing thick check marks next to them. Seven-thirty in the morning and I already had nothing to do. Gotta love holidays.

Tossing the pen down on the kitchen counter, I spun around on the kitchen stool, drawing my feet up on the rungs. I could clean, again. My gaze coasted over the recently vacuumed floor, the dusted bookshelf, the polished coffee table. Ok, maybe not that.

Hopping down off the stool, my bare feet slapped against the floor. I traded my to-do list for Renee's list and gave it a once over. Five items left and a little less than a month to do it in. I'd taken care of most of the easy ones. The only easy-ish ones left were ride on a motorcycle, send a message in a bottle, and crash a wedding-none of which I could really work on today. Harper still insisted her friend would come through on that last one, but the jury was still out.

Which left: save someone's life and bare my soul. I still hadn't decided who I'd be baring it to, Ian or Harper. Although I was leaning toward option 3-a complete stranger, or option 4-scheduling a session with an actual psychiatrist.

As for saving someone's life? I was stumped. I wondered if I could get Ian to stick a fork in a socket and let me resuscitate him. No, not electricity, that was way too dangerous. I shook my head. I'd have to keep thinking on that one.

Summoned by my thoughts, my phone gave a cheerful beep at an incoming text message.

Ian: Happy Turkey Day!

Bianca: Happy Thanksgiving!

Ian: What're your holiday plans?

Bianca: You know, the usual.

I snorted at that-the usual. I wouldn't hear from my parents today, let alone see them. It may have been one of the reasons that I disliked holidays. Okay, it was the reason. Everyone was busy with their families, stuffing their faces full of food and good memories. Stores were closed, the world resting. All the while I'd be trapped in my lonely house (apartment this year) with nothing more than an apple pie and some good music.

And tequila. This year I'd gotten that too.

I glanced at the gla.s.s bottle with its bright yellow label and s.h.i.+fted my eyes to the clock. Definitely too early to start drinking. Another message flashed across the screen, drawing my attention back.

Ian: So, by that you mean you're spending the day with friends and family, gorging on turkey, stuffing, and pie, and alternating between watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and football, right?

Bianca: If by all that you mean that I'll be indulging in a homemade apple pie, listening to a lovely playlist of cla.s.sical music, and working my way through a bottle of tequila, then yes, that's exactly what I mean.

I jumped when the phone rang, frowning at it. Hurrying over to my laptop, I muted the music before answering the phone. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Where are you?" Ian asked.

"Home. Where are you?"

"You're in Texas?"

"No, I'm in my apartment. Why?"

The sound of traffic filtered through on his end like a steady soundtrack of background music. "Where are your parents?"

"What is this, twenty questions? I have no idea where they are." I strode across the apartment and pulled back the curtains-cloudy, overcast, cold. Here and there, people hurried on their way down the sidewalk, bundled in heavy coats and knit hats.

"You're spending Thanksgiving alone?"

"Unless you count the tequila bottle as company."

Apparently, my attempt at humor fell flat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Can you do anything other than ask questions this morning?"

"Sure. Pack a bag. I'll be over in five."

The line went dead and all I could do was pull back the phone and stare at it. What the h.e.l.l just happened? And where did he think I was going?

I flipped the music back on, hummed along to "Julie-O," and went to check on my apple pie. The edges were just starting to turn a golden brown, and the smell, G.o.d, the smell. I could practically taste it in the air. Resetting the timer, I shut the oven door and tossed the oven mitts on the counter.

As expected, a harsh knock echoed through the apartment approximately five minutes after Ian had unceremoniously hung up on me. I swung the door open and greeted him with a hand on my hip. "I'm sorry, why do you think I'm packing a bag?" I picked up the conversation right where we left off.

He brushed by me, his eyes roaming over the place. It took me a second to realize it was the first time he'd been here. I still hadn't managed to decorate at all, but the place was neat and clean. That had to count for something.

Turning back to me, he said, "So, you're not packed?"

"As I don't have any plans of going anywhere, no, I'm not packed."

"Alright then." He shrugged out of his jacket, folding it before laying it across the kitchen counter. A soft blue sweater hugged tight across his chest over a pair of dark-wash jeans, fancy black shoes on his feet. For Ian, it was quite dressed up. Though the effort hadn't quite extended to his hair, which, as usual, stuck up all over the place. Turning on a heel, he walked across the kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator.

"What are you doing?" I realized I was still standing in the doorway and finally slammed the door closed.

"I'd be a pretty s.h.i.+tty-a.s.s person if I left you to spend Thanksgiving alone. Since you don't seem interested in coming with me, I guess that means I'll be cras.h.i.+ng here." His head ducked farther into the refrigerator. "No turkey." He groaned. "And what is this? Hummus? Oh well. At least I smell pie." His hand dove down into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Gotta tell Mom I'm not gonna make it."

I s.n.a.t.c.hed the phone from his hand, hiding it behind my back. "Ian, stop. It's really not a big deal."

"It is a big deal." He lifted both eyebrows at me to emphasize his point.

I rolled my eyes at him and went to pull the pie out of the oven as the timer went off, tucking the phone in my back pocket for safe keeping. "I spend Thanksgiving alone all the time."

"That doesn't make it okay." His voice came from just a few feet away, so I wasn't surprised to find him all up in my s.p.a.ce when I turned around. The pie lay cooling behind me, the warm scent of apples and cinnamon mingling with Ian's cologne. My nose was completely blissed out.

Ian slipped his arms around me, his fingers retrieving his phone from my pocket. He held it up between us. "I'm calling my mom, but it's up to you whether I'm letting her know to add an extra place setting or get rid of one. Your choice. Either way, this is one holiday you won't be spending alone."

My heart squeezed like someone was wringing it out like a dishcloth. The sweet, caring side of Ian was going to be my undoing. I ran a hand through my hair. "Won't it be weird? Bringing me to Thanksgiving dinner with your family?"

"Not at all. Mom'll be there, and Ben, but it's a big thing. We've got a bunch of friends who spend the holiday with us for one reason or another."

I hesitated. He made it sound like it wasn't a big deal, but it was. To me, it was a huge deal. In fact, if I told him how much it meant that he was inviting me, he'd probably leave an Ian-sized hole in my door as he sprinted out of here.

"It's Thursday, Bianca. Our day." He leaned a hip against the counter, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Did I mention that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday? And that I love turkey?"

"Fine." I shook my head, already regretting my decision. "Fine, you win." I held up my hands, palms out, in defeat.

"I think in this situation everyone wins." He clapped his hands together and pointed to my bedroom. "Get dressed, pack a bag. I'll make the call."

"The pie-"

"I'll wrap up the pie. You didn't think I was leaving this baby here, did you?"

The closer we got, the higher my anxiety climbed. This was some weird in-between step in my non-relations.h.i.+p with Ian. Meeting his mom was never part of the plan. It was bad enough I'd already crossed paths with his brother.

We drove down a winding road that was all but deserted. Houses poked out from between the trees here and there, playing hide and seek between branches heavily laden with gold and orange leaves. In the car, heat blasted through the vents, but the wind howled in a cold frenzy around us.

The conversation petered out minutes ago, Ian going quiet. Was he having second thoughts? I hoped not, since we'd driven almost three hours to get here. It'd be a long, awkward trip back.

He pulled the wheel to the right, down a long driveway, and I sat forward in my seat to get a better look at Ian's house. It was good-sized, with beige siding and navy shutters. A large porch wrapped around the front of the house with dark wicker furniture lined across it. There was a well-tended, cheerful garden out front, and a gray stone border separating it from the driveway.

It was cute and quaint and welcoming.

Ian s.h.i.+fted the car into park and pulled the keys from the ignition. He straightened his jacket as he got out of the car, and I took a moment to do the same. I'd gone with a pair of dark skinny jeans tucked into brown leather boots and a white tank top with a b.u.t.ton-front red sweater. I glanced down at my outfit, fingering the diamond pendant I'd clasped around my throat. Did I go too casual?

"You look fine," Ian said with a smile. "Trust me, you'll be the best dressed person here." His hand reached out toward me and then backtracked, like it'd changed its mind midway. Instead, he tucked that hand in his pocket while the other one held onto my apple pie, his fingernail playing with the edge of the tinfoil that covered it.

I s.h.i.+fted my bag to get a better grip on it, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable than I did a second ago. Following Ian to the front door, I stood next to him and just slightly behind as he knocked and opened the door simultaneously.

The smell of turkey and carrots wafted out the door as Ian disappeared inside. Taking a deep breath, I smiled wide and stepped in behind him.

I came in at the end of the greeting with Ben saying, "-put it away. It's all taken care of."

Ben gave me half a smile, nodding in my direction. "Nice to see you again, Bianca."

"You too, Ben." I s.h.i.+fted the handle of my bag between my hands. If I walked backward very slowly and slipped through the door, maybe they wouldn't even notice.

The entryway was already a little on the crowded side when a woman with soft, brown hair came barreling in, running straight into Ian's arms. She almost crushed the pie between them, but he managed to jerk it out of the way. Relieving Ian of the pie, Ben took his leave and disappeared back through the doorway.

The new arrival wrapped her arms around Ian's neck, and Ian's arms circled her waist just as tightly. They clung to each other, and I reconsidered my fleeing plan. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I clenched my jaw and let one phrase play through my head on repeat-I am not jealous.

When they finally managed to pry themselves apart, Ian looked at me sheepishly over the top of her head. My smile was held firmly in place, tacked painfully at the corners.

"Ah, Rachel, this is Bianca."

She whirled around, tugging her green sweater back in place, an enormous smile sweeping across her face. Before I knew what was happening, she was hugging me too. I stood there, frozen, arms pinned to my sides under hers.

Rachel pulled back, giving me a once-over. "It's so great to finally meet you. Ian's told me so much about you."

He cleared his throat, giving Rachel a slight head shake, a blush tingeing his cheeks.

She snorted out a laugh and took a good step back. "You have no idea who I am, do you?" She smacked Ian's arm, and then her eyes went wide. "Oh, and the way I just . . . G.o.d, no. We're just friends. Really old friends. I would never sleep with him, that's just gross. Not that I'm saying that you guys are-"