Faking Under the Mistletoe

by Ashley Shepherd

I think he caught The Feelings too. They’re very contagious. Sort of like the plague, but with less death and more boob touching.

He’s surly and dramatic and weird, but there’s something about his quiet breathy laugh and the way he smiles when he rolls his eyes at me. It’s the little things. Like the way he holds the steering wheel or how he fusses with his hair when he’s uncomfortable. It’s how he’s powerful and sexy but not domineering. When he touches me, it’s always soft and hesitant and careful. He doesn’t always show that side of himself, but I know it’s there.

“Olivia?” Asher’s voice is muffled by his pillows and sheets. “Yeah?” “I think I’m in love with you.” 15 Willa Loveridge makes spectacular granola balls.

That’s what death does to you—it eats you alive until you’re a hollow shell of a human who lives in a limbo of grief and guilt and denial.

Olivia, to Liv, to O, to the absolute love of my life, who I definitely don’t deserve. I could live a million lifetimes and I still would never be worthy of her.