Christmas in Casper

Chapter 2

CLARISSA'S POV

I wake up to the ache in my chest. It's not the dull kind that fades when you get up and start moving—it's the sharp, pulling ache that feels like it's going to follow you all day. I bury my face in my pillow, groaning as I remember last night's events.

Wally.

Janine.

I can still see their smug faces, the way they laughed, the way they... kept going. My stomach twists at the memory, and before I can stop myself, tears spill onto my pillow.

I can't believe Wally did this to me. I loved him. I loved him with everything in me. I thought we were end game. The image of them kissing, of them together, makes me cry even harder.

"Stop it," I whisper harshly to myself. "You've cried enough. He's not worth it."

But the words don't help. They feel hollow, like I'm trying to convince myself of something I don't believe. I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt, forcing myself to sit up. The house is eerily quiet, and I call out "Mom?"

No answer.

Then I remember. She wasn't home when I stumbled in late last night with tears streaming down my face. She's probably at work or out running errands.

"Great," I mutter. No one to distract me from the swirling pit of misery I've landed in.

My stomach growls, and I realize I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday. Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffle to the kitchen and open the fridge. The leftover lasagna stares back at me like a sad consolation prize. I grab it and fork a bite straight from the dish, leaning against the counter as I eat.

I barely get through a few bites before there's a knock on the door. My heart skips. Who could it be this early?

I set the lasagna down and open the door to find Jemma and Zaya standing there. They have concerned looks on their faces.

"Hey," Jemma says softly.

Zaya follows. Her arms are already open to pull me into a hug.

"We heard," she says.

I stiffen in her arms. "You heard? What do you mean you heard?"

Zaya pulls back, exchanging a glance with Jemma.

"Clarissa," she says cautiously, "it's Casper. News travels fast."

I groan, slumping against the doorframe. "You're telling me the whole town knows?"

Jemma winces. "Pretty much."

My face burns with embarrassment, and I pull them both inside, slamming the door shut. "Great. Just great. As if I wasn't humiliated enough already."

Zaya plops onto the couch, patting the spot next to her. "Come on, sit. We're here to cheer you up."

Jemma nods, holding up a bag I hadn't noticed before. "We brought snacks and that stupid rom-com you love."

I can't help but smile, despite everything that has happened "The one with the guy who's allergic to cats?"

"That's the one," Jemma says, grinning.

For a moment, I consider sinking into the couch with them and letting myself forget everything. But then the thought of Wally, Janine, and the whispering mouths of Casper's townsfolk creeps back in, and I feel trapped again.

"I can't just sit here all day," I say, standing abruptly. "I promised the Smiths I'd drop by today."

Zaya raises an eyebrow. "You're really going out there? After everything?"

I shrug. "It's not like I can avoid everyone forever. Plus, I don't want to disappoint them. They're too sweet to me"

Jemma frowns. "You could try to be alone for the day. No one would blame you."

I shake my head. "No. I need the distraction."

They exchange another look, but neither argues.

-

The Smiths' house is warm and inviting, like always. Mrs. Smith greets me at the door, her face lighting up. "Clarissa! Oh, thank goodness you're here. I was worried you'd forgotten."

"Of course not," I say, managing a smile.

She ushers me inside, chatting a mile a minute about the errands she's been juggling all morning. I nod along. She's one of the sweetest women I know.

I usually come by to the Smiths' house to run errands for them. It's part of the little things I do to raise money for myself for college. I've been working for them for so long that it seems like I'm part of them now.

"Oh!" she says suddenly, clapping her hands together. "I almost forgot. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," I say.

"Could you pick up my son from the airport? He just flew in this morning."

"Your son?" I blink in surprise.

In all the time I've been helping the Smiths, I don't think I've ever met him.

"Yes, my sweet boy," Mrs. Smith gushes. "You'll love him. He's adorable."

I picture a gangly teenager or maybe even a shy little kid. The idea of meeting someone's grumpy teenage son doesn't thrill me, but I nod anyway.

"Of course," I say. "I'd be happy to."

Mrs. Smith beams at me, and for the first time all day, I feel like I've done something right. Maybe this errand will be the distraction I need after all.

It's just a quick airport pickup. How complicated could it be?

-

The cab ride to the airport is uneventful, which gives me too much time to think. I watch the scenery roll by—rows of cornfields, then the barn, and finally the drab, gray walls of Casper Municipal Airport. Casper is a small town. It's uneventful and peaceful too. I guess that's why news travels fast here.

I fidget with the hem of my sweater as the cab pulls up to the curb. Mrs. Smith told me her son's name is Landon, and for some reason, I automatically assumed he'd be a kid. My mind has been busy coming up with ways to entertain him during the ride back. Maybe "I Spy" or some dumb guessing game? Kids love that, right?

The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror. "You sure you want to be dropped off here, miss? Doesn't look too busy."

I nod, forcing a small smile. "This is the place, thanks."

I hand him the fare, step out, and adjust my bag on my shoulder. Inside the airport, the air smells faintly of coffee. I check my watch, realizing I'm ten minutes early.

"Landon," I mumble under my breath. "Okay, kid, let's hope you're not a total brat."

I stand near the baggage claim, glancing around for anyone who looks like a kid traveling alone. Maybe a kid with messy hair, clutching a backpack stuffed with action figures? But when a shadow falls over me, I realize I'm dead wrong.

"Clarissa?"

The voice is deep—way too deep to belong to a child. I look up, my stomach doing a somersault.

He's not a kid. Not even close.

Standing in front of me is the most ridiculously gorgeous man I've ever seen. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and his tailored black jacket clings to him like it was sewn onto his body. His dark hair is tousled, as though he's been running his fingers through it during the flight.

"Uh... yeah. I'm Clarissa," I manage to say, blinking up at him.

He takes off his sunglasses, and that's when it hits me. I know this man.

"You're—wait, no way," I stammer. "You're Reo!"

The famous music star. The guy whose face is plastered all over magazines and billboards. The guy whose voice dominated every radio station last summer. He's famous to the point that everyone in a small isolated town like Casper knows him.

Reo, no, Landon, apparently—crosses his arms, looking unimpressed. His gray eyes bore into mine. He has the most beautiful orbs I've ever seen. I can get lost in them by looking too long.

"Congratulations. You figured it out. Now can we move this along? I don't have all day."

His tone snaps me out of my stupid daydream and I frown.

"Excuse me? You don't have all day? I'm the one doing you a favor here!" I say.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Right. Mom said you were chatty. Should've guessed."

Chatty? My jaw drops, and I feel heat rising to my face. "Wow. You're just... delightful, aren't you?"

"Look," he says "I didn't ask for this. I don't need a babysitter. Let's just get out of here."

I'm about to fire back when a commotion nearby catches his attention. He turns abruptly, muttering under his breath, and storms off toward a group of airport staff gathered near the cargo area.

I'm curious and honestly, I need a moment to calm down so I follow him at a distance.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Landon snaps at one of the staff members, gesturing toward a sleek, black motorcycle being unloaded.

The staff member shrugs. "Sir, we were careful with all cargo. If there's a problem, you can file a complaint."

"A complaint?" Landon's voice rises, and I swear I see his nostrils flare. "Do you have any idea what this bike means to me? Her name is Alisha, for crying out loud!"

I blink. "Her name?"

Landon turns around, glaring at me. "Yes, her name. You got a problem with that?"

"Oh, no problem," I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm just trying to process the fact that you've named your motorcycle Alisha."

I fight the urge to laugh and the fact that I find this funny makes Landon even more annoyed.

"It's not just a motorcycle," he snaps. "She's custom-built. One scratch, and—"

"And you'll what? Write an angry song about it?"

The airport staff stifles a laugh, and Landon shoots me a look that could freeze over hell.

"Look," I say, sighing. "Let's just get this over with. The sooner we leave, the sooner I can go back to my normal life."

He turns back to the staff. He gestures toward the scratched part of the bike and launches into another screaming match.

"You have no idea how much Alisha means to me!" Landon screams.

I stand there, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold.

As I wait, I can't help but realize one thing: life in Casper just got a whole lot more complicated.