I squared my shoulders. "Well, Jensen, is there a last name that goes with your first?"

  "You know, I've never heard of a one-named Jensen before. Maybe that should be a thing."

  "No, it's not a thing."

  "It's Morrison."

  "Well, thank you very much, Jensen Morrison. You saved my ass. And my ego, what little I have left of it."

  "You should have lots of ego, beautiful girl. Your sixth sense told you there was something wrong. You're smart. You just need better roommates. And boyfriends."

  "Yes, I do, don't I? I'll get right on that just as soon as I get home."

  "So, what do you say, maybe we should go and get some food? Different bar though. Since I'm an unrepentant fuckboy, you deserve better than me as a partner. But I think I have a slot on the friend roster if you're interested."

  "So what, you're a Good Samaritan who just happens to be looking for a friend?"

  "Yeah, something tells me you're a little bit of a Christmas miracle, and I think my grandmother would love you."

  "Your grandmother?"

  "Yeah, long story but worth pointing out. She always tells me to find people who are unfailingly honest and really intuitive. You strike me as both. So what do you say, Alex? Let's go get some fries and you can tell me all about you and how you ended up with asshole Mark and how we're going to pay him back."

  "I thought we already got him back."

  "Oh no, this was just our opening gambit. We're going to ruin him forever. He should pay for hurting you. That's the way I believe friends roll. Ride or die."

  I laughed up at him. "See, about that ride or die thing, like where are we going? And why do I have to die when we get there?"

  "You know, it's a good question. Let's figure it out over some French fries. Where's your car? I'll follow you there."

  "You know what, Jensen Morrison, I just might like you."

  Chapter 3

  Alex

  One year later…

  The best part about being friends with Jensen Morrison was he was fun. Playful. Always had a smile. And while he was prone to general fuckboyishness, he was loyal. Hell, sometimes he'd even stay home from a date if I looked sad or preoccupied with something, and he would do anything to make me smile and bring me out of my funk.

  The bad news about being best friends with Jensen was that sometimes it was easy to confuse the signals of someone actually caring for me just because they loved me as a person. At times I'd have to talk myself out of that chain of thought.

  I liked him. Sure, he was cute, but it wasn't just that. He was a genuinely good guy, and he cared about me. And once he'd proclaimed us best friends, that was it. Instant loyalty. In so many ways, Jensen and I were alike, and he just got me. Which was why I forcibly shut down any pesky little feelings beyond friendship.

  I'd gotten so good at it that it might as well have been my job.

  Except sometimes he didn't make it that easy.

  The sun streaked into my bedroom the week before the Christmas holiday. I groaned, knowing that I needed to get up and finish the last bits of my final submission project, pack, and wrap up some presents because he was a snooper. I also needed to make sure that I shipped the present I had gotten for his grandma. Even though I hadn't met her yet, the woman sent me a present last year. A fresh set of oil paints and a color swatch I'd been dying to get myself but couldn’t because it was far too expensive. All because Jensen had told her about his best friend, Alex, who was an artist.

  So I'd gotten her address and written her a thank you note. And this year, because I knew she and Jensen loved to travel, I'd gotten her one of those anti-pickpocket purses. And for Jensen, well, I'd gotten him a painting. I always painted him something. And I’d go for weeks freaking out about what to get him, then inspiration would hit. Birthdays, best friend’s day, Christmas.

  I still smiled when thinking about this gift. He’d been on and on about this Cuban spot in Havana he’d gone to with his grandmother, back when going to Cuba was still a legalish option. I’d painted this woman he’d talked about dancing in the middle of the restaurant. She didn’t’ work there or anything, but a song had come on and she’d been so joyful and sexy according to his description. So I’d painted the scene as he’d described.

  Suddenly, the alarm went off and I groaned again, realizing we’d over imbibed the night before. It was only as I was smashing the off button that I noticed the note under a full glass of water and an Advil that was also next to the glass, and I chugged them both down. The note read:

  Good morning, sleepyhead. Drink the water, take the Advil. Text Carl Patrick's Cafe downstairs, and they'll have your coffee order ready in five minutes. Meet me at the skating rink. I'll have your outfit waiting for you there.

  XOXO, Jensen.

  My heart gave a little flutter.

  What in the world?

  Shut it down. You're just friends. You. Are. Just. Friends. You know better.

  But an outfit, already calling in my coffee order, and the water and Advil, that was caretaking. That was someone who loved you.

  Nope. Shut. It. Down.

  It didn't matter how much I told myself that this was not what I thought it was. Hope was a dangerous thing. Hope made you wish. Hope made you think that you could be the exception. Even though he’d clearly told me, 'I am a fuckboy. I think I like you too much to ever do that to you.'

  And look, I dated. I did. Here and there. Guys asked me out. I just wasn't always interested. Great guys too. Good-looking, smart, kind. Some artists. All the things that I should want. But when measured up against Jensen, there wasn't really any comparison. Which was problematic because Jensen dated all the time. All. The. Time. He and his current girlfriend, or flavor of the month, rather, Macy, were currently having a row. She hadn't listened when Jensen had told her that he was looking for somebody casual. So when she pressed about locking him down and trying to get him to come home with her for Christmas, he bolted. As Jensen was known for doing. The moment you tried to get him locked into anything, he would dance out of that commitment so fast.

  You fall into that category too.

  Yes, but we were friends, and it was different, and I wasn't trying to hold him too close to me.

  I got up and showered, texted the cafe downstairs, and sure enough, Jensen had my order ready to go. He knew I didn't actually like coffee, so he ordered me a hot chocolate, a plain croissant, and a pain au chocolate. Also a smoothie so that I would actually get some fruits and vegetables in me.

  I took a sip of my hot chocolate and then a sip of my smoothie and sighed. The barista behind the counter smiled at me. "Your boyfriend is very thoughtful."

  "Oh, he's not my boyfriend."

  She laughed. "Are you sure? Because he basically told me how to do my job. He was very particular about your smoothie. There is wheatgrass in there. Hope you don't mind."

  "Yeah, he knows me. He's just my best friend."

  "Jesus, does he have a brother? Because maybe you could date his brother."

  "No thanks. One Jensen is enough."

  I took my drink carrier and my snacks, then headed for my car. When I found where I parked it, I grinned to myself. Jensen had also washed my car, a white Ford Focus. He called her Digital Abby. She wasn't much to look at, but she worked, and she was mine, and I’d bought her with my own money. To me, she symbolized freedom. Living on my own. She was my first purchase with my first sold painting. I loved that damn car. And he’d washed it. He’d cleaned the inside of it too. Oh my God. What was I going to owe him for that?

  When I arrived at the skating rink on the other side of campus and parked, there was a man in a Santa suit waving at me. I looked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t waving at someone behind me, and he laughed. "Nope, it's you. Jensen texted me a picture of you. I'm supposed to give you this."

  "Do you know what's going on?"

  He shook his head. "No, I have no idea. He just paid me fifty bucks, told me to put this on and to hand this to you then tell you to go change and meet me back here."

  "Oh my God, what is happening?"

  I was changed in seconds. I came back to find Santa waiting for me, leaning against the tree. "What now?" he asked.

  I stared down at the elf outfit. "I have no idea. Sometimes, that's just Jensen. I don't know what to do with him."

  "He didn't tell you anything?"

  "No, nothing at all. I'm a little scared actually.”

  “He's not paying you?" Santa asked.

  "He got me breakfast. I ate it in the car."

  "Ah, you're a cheap date."

  "This is not a date."

  "Are you sure? He's very specific about you."

  "No. I'm sure."

  Despite what my mouth said, despite what my brain knew better than to buy into, I was excited. I was hopeful. Jensen had gone to all this trouble. The little niggling voice of doubt tried to warn me. He already told you.

  Yeah, yeah, he had. But why go through all of this if this wasn't something for me?

  Santa and I headed up to the rink, which was empty of skaters. It wasn't supposed to open until 2:00 p.m., but there were a few people milling about, the workers and the Zamboni driver, who had already done his thing. Then I saw Jensen skate out into the center, and he waved us forward.

  I laughed when I saw him. He was dressed up. Nice slacks, heavy sweater. "What are you doing, Jensen?"

  I had to be careful because I was in regular shoes. Well, elf shoes actually, but whatever. He gave me a tight squeeze. "You ate something?"

  "Yes, I did. What are we doing, Jensen?"

  "Well, I need you and Santa here for something very important."

  Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone enter the skating rink. My stomach immediately twisted and knotted. When I turned properly, I saw it was Macy. Then suddenly, it all came together. This pomp and circumstance was not for me. It was for her. She was not dressed up like an elf. She looked beautiful in a sweater with a scarf around her neck. Her blond-highlighted hair was piled high on top of her head, and she had earmuffs on. I looked dumpy and ridiculous in my elf costume, standing there next to Santa Claus, looking at the boy that I couldn't help but love as he looked at her like she was important to him. Macy squealed when she saw him. "What is this?" Then she tossed me a knowing smile. "What's up, Alex?"

  I gave her a nod. Macy and I had a cordial relationship. She genuinely seemed to like him, so I had no real issues with her. And I kept my jealousy shoved down, hidden in a box, guarded by a dragon like it should be. He was not mine. She didn’t love that we lived together, but when she saw me out on a date one night, she relaxed a little bit. Jensen gave her a tight squeeze, and then Santa handed over a box to her.

  She sucked in a short breath. "Oh my God, what is this?"

  "Just open it,” Jensen said.

  She tore the wrapping off, not giving a shit where the paper landed. Litterbug.

  It was a dazzling pair of earrings, slim little flutters with diamonds on the end. The bottom fell out of my stomach. I had helped Jensen pick those out.

  "I’ve requested to have this skating rink to ourselves for now. And I know you wanted to take me home with you for the holidays, but I've got to go home to my grandmother. I know you are disappointed, and I wanted to make it up to you. I just want to make our time together special."

  Suddenly, Macy was squealing and wrapping herself around him, forgetting all about the fact that she wanted him home with her for Christmas. Unsure what to do, I cocked my head. "What are we supposed to do?"

  "Well, if you wouldn't mind being our photographer, I know this is going to be a lot of content for Macy’s social media."

  And that's when it hit me. I was there to be the photographer. "For fuck's sake, Jensen." In that moment, my feelings for him shriveled up into a little lump of coal. I knew better, but God, how could he not see how my hope soared? How could he not see that I was standing right in front of him? I didn't want to be there anymore, and I realized that maybe it was best if I spent a lot less time with Jensen Morrison.

  Chapter 4

  Jensen

  Four years later

  Please, let her be okay. Please, God.

  I ran through the hallways of the hospital, nearly tipping over a gurney at the nursing station, narrowly missing an orderly, and then actually tripping over a wheelchair someone had left in the hallway.

  I scrambled to get back on my feet, my heart beating a frantic tattoo against my ribs. I had to get to her. I couldn't lose her.

  My cousin's words on the phone still rattled around my brain. 'She's in the hospital. You need to come quickly.’ I took the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor, where they'd directed me to the main reception desk.

  Oh, God, please let her be okay. Please, please, please, let her be okay.

  My Grandma Lucy was the only person on the planet who understood me. Well, besides my best friend, Alexandra, who I affectionately called Alex. But Grandma Lucy, she was my heart. She was the sole reason I was where I was today, even when no one else believed in me.

  Growing up, she'd been my rock. She'd scolded me when she needed to, hugged me when I needed it, and always told it to me straight. She was outrageous and always said the most inappropriate things. But man, she was fantastic.

  Grandma Lucy had been the one to tell me to stop trying to seek my father's approval and follow my own path. She was the sole reason that any banks would even talk to me when I wanted to build a boutique hotel.

  My family was known for their hotels the world over. But investors didn't want to get in bed on the first solo venture from the prodigal son. But my grandmother had made sure that several banks knew that, while a separate venture, I was backed by the matriarch of the family.

  As family went, the only one I ever counted on was my grandmother. The rest of my relatives I could take or leave. My mother hadn’t come from money and had left me with my father when I was eight because the old man could provide a more stable environment for me. Most of my family never approved of her. As an adult, I could see how being around the Morrisons was very difficult for her. But as a child, I’d just missed her. She died in a car accident just six months after she left. A part of me had never recovered. As for my father, well, Jack Morrison wasn’t exactly warm. But up until the reading of the will, I would have said we got along well. Boy was I wrong.

  My cousin Martin and I had both interned at the flagship property on Catalina Island. My father had always made it clear that I should be the one eventually running Morrison Hotels, but somehow Martin had shoved me out of what should have been my birthright.

  The knowledge that my own father wouldn't trust the Morrison legacy to me still burned like a fire in my gut. It was what spurred me on. Prove the old man wrong. I'd always thought my father loved me. Then why cut me out? The fact that he could do that to me, shut me out without a word so that I had to hear about it in the reading of the will, was a special kind of hell.

  I tugged open the door to room 406. I found Martin, my Uncle Jake, my Aunt Mary, and a few of the household staff that had been with my grandmother for years gathered all around my grandmother's room.

  Grandma Lucy tried to push herself to sit straighter, but when she winced, I ran for her side. "I don't think you're supposed to move." I turned my attention to Martin. "What happened? What did you do?" I yelled.

  Martin rolled his eyes. "I didn't do anything. I'm the one who found her collapsed in her office. I called an ambulance to get her to the hospital. Then I called you, her precious grandson." The note of jealousy rang clear as a bell.

  From behind me, a voice said, "If I were you two, I'd keep it down. Your grandmother needs rest. If you can't give her that, I will have security escort you out."

  I turned to find a petite woman in a white lab coat. Her dark hair was pulled back off her face into a bun, her expression stern. Her name tag read Dr. Jesslyn Wells.

  "Are you my grandmother's doctor?"

  She gave a brusque nod. "Yes, I am. Now can you and the rest of your family please give me some space so I can check my patient?" Her voice was stern, clipped. It told me that she was well-versed in dealing with difficult people.

  "I'm sorry.” The group backed away, but I moved to the foot of the bed. “I just don't know what happened."

  Grandma Lucy waved her hand. "What happened is your cousin overreacted. My blood pressure's just low, that's all. I'm fine. I do not need to be in this hospital. Matter of fact, if you can get these IVs out of me, I'll be on my way. I feel like a damn pin cushion."

  Dr. Wells clucked as she checked my grandmother's vitals then wrote something on her clipboard. "Now, Lucy, we've had this conversation already. I am not unhooking the machines. You need to stay for observation for at least a couple of days. You're slightly dehydrated, and I'd like you to start eating a little bit more. Your blood pressure is low, and you’re fatigued. You really need to rest."

  My grandmother was having none of that. "Listen up, young lady, I've had three times more years on this planet than you have, and I know how I'm feeling. I was a nurse when I was young, so I know that I'll be fine. You don't need to keep me in here. You just want to bill my insurance."

  Dr. Wells’s lips twitched. "Lucy, we've already had this conversation. This is my area of expertise. I want to make sure you stick around to see any future great-grandchildren you may have, so I'm going to need you to listen to me right now."

  I had never seen anyone handle my grandmother so effectively, and Grandma Lucy did not offer an argument. She frowned, closed her mouth, and sat back. Dr. Wells had used the magic word. Babies.

  My grandmother had been after me, Martin, and our other cousins to procreate as quickly as possible. I was in no hurry. Hell, I was only twenty-five. Martin was older by a couple of years. She needed to direct her energy on him.

  The rest of our cousins were scattered in age, but there were some who were over thirty, and Grandma Lucy really should have been focused on them doing the marriage and kids rodeo. Not me, never me. I wasn’t going to mess up some poor kid like my father had screwed me up. No way, no how. Plus, children involved settling down, and that was certainly not going to happen. I liked my women available, flexible, and transient.