Page 107 of Fangs with Benefits

‘I told you he would,’ he says, and strides up the shovelled walkway to the door to kiss his wife and daughter.

We sprinkle some salt on the walkway and peel off our winter layers inside while the kitchen bustles with sound, my dad working on a casserole, my mom making cinnamon rolls, Hazel sprinting around like a maniac, chasing Gemma.

It’s a perfect morning, the kind that makes me miss home even while I’m here. We open presents, watch The Santa Clause, eat way more cinnamon rolls than is good for our health and take naps around the house. Gemma and Hazel sleep on the loveseat, and I hate to admit that Elijah was right. I don’t want to trade these days with my family, the possibility of having my own chaos demon to terrorise the cat and Hazel, the beach vacations, the mid-morning snowball fights.

I stopped trying to call and text him after the first week, but I still check my phone just in case. I keep thinking he might send a message that he misses me, any hint that he’s thinking of me half as much as I’m thinking of him, but my texts remain unread.

My mom knew I was sad about something on day one. She can sniff out sadness in her children like nobody’s business, and I told her what I could. I refrained from telling the bit about my coworker being a real and true vampire who drinks blood and has been alive for hundreds of years. I went with him being afraid to commit, which is almost kind of close to the truth.

Dad has mentioned three times a young single guy that started working with him. Name’s Trent, and apparently he’s really sharp. I tell him I’ll think about it, even though I will not.

Too soon.

‘Moll, by chance, do you know the dude pacing around outside?’ Gabby asks, head tilted as she stares out the big front window.

‘What guy?’ I groan and push off the couch to see who she’s talking about.

My breath catches in my throat. I almost don’t believe my eyes, but I recognise the coat, the shoulders, the hair peeking out from beneath his hat.

There, in broad daylight, is Elijah.

Chapter 38

Elijah

It takes one eleven-hour flight to get to Utah from London, and then an hour’s cab drive to get to the home address I convinced Devi to get for me when I explained that I was impulsively travelling across the world to see Molly on Christmas Day.

‘How very romance novel of you,’ she said, and I had to agree. Only, in the novels and movies, do the characters doing the grand gesturing feel this sickly nervous? Maybe they do, but the parts where their stomachs are somersaulting and their knees bouncing are cut in favour of getting to the big event.

I wish I could do the same.

I’ve been walking a path into the snow outside of the lovely home of Molly’s parents for the better part of fifteen minutes, mentally going over again and again what I plan to say first to Molly.

Nothing I can come up with feels right, or feels like the thing I need to say to convince her to want to be with me. The half-day on the plane should have been enough, but I was taken into a heavy sleep for most of it, waking with a start as the pilot announced the plane’s final descent into Salt Lake City.

The sound of the front door opening startles me and I freeze, half-hoping the person exiting the house won’t see me if I don’t move. Then I can have another twenty minutes to fret about my words.

No such luck, though, as the person staring from the doorway of the home, eyebrows knitted in confusion, is Molly. Even as nervous as I am, she’s a sight to me. She wears a matching set of flannel pyjamas I’ve never seen, and her hair is wild like I love it most.

‘Happy Christmas,’ I call from the bottom of the garden.

‘I…’ Molly peers up at the sky, the sun bright even though it’s below freezing outside. It’ll start snowing again soon, I bet. Her confusion morphs into concern. ‘Come inside.’

I can’t help the wide smile that pulls over my face and I shake my head. ‘Can we talk out here? Please, it feels great!’

Molly’s concern and apprehension only grow, but I watch her pull on boots and a coat. Gemma circles her ankles, meowing at Molly probably not to go into the cold.

‘Don’t forget a hat and scarf!’ someone calls from inside the house, and Molly sighs but does as they say, retrieving a knitted hat and the scarf I gave her from a hook.

She meets me at the bottom of the driveway and searches my face like she’s trying to get to the bottom of something she can’t quite pinpoint.

‘You look different,’ she says. ‘Why do you look different?’

I laugh without meaning to, my joy at seeing her and the whole of the situation spilling out of me. My breath steams in front my mouth and her eyes catch the puff of white air. I’ve never seen her so perplexed, detangling the things she knows are impossible. Molly reaches a hand to my cheek and swipes the cold skin with her thumb.

‘Are you wearing makeup?’ she asks, but no makeup comes off on her hand. She reaches for my face again and I catch her wrist and hold her palm against my jaw.

‘I was wrong to leave you,’ I tell her. ‘I was stupid to do it, because I love you and I would take any life with you that I could get. I would try to make it work because you’re my very favourite person.’