The Christmas Faux Paws

She broke into her ex’s house to steal his cat … and got sentenced to Christmas with his family.

Holly Bennett broke into her ex-boyfriend’s house for one reason: to take back her cat.

Unfortunately, Holly’s carefully planned Christmas catnapping ends with her flat on her back, tackled by Jeoffrey Sinclair, the man she walked away from six months ago. With the police on their way and her career as a sweet, small-town television reporter hanging in the balance, Jeff offers her a deal:

Pretend they’re still together and spend Christmas with his family in Maine or explain the break-in to the cops.

Holly chooses Christmas.

Now she’s trapped on a holiday road trip with her ex, his influencer tagalong, and Pumpkin Spice, the orange feline who started it all. Between blizzard delays, social media disasters, and enough unresolved chemistry to set a Christmas tree on fire, pretending to be in love may be easier than pretending they’re over each other.

Chapter One

Technically speaking, breaking into a dwelling with the intent to commit larceny was second-degree home invasion, punishable by up to fifteen years in prison and a three-thousand-dollar fine—she’d Googled it. First degree carried twenty years and five grand, but that required a weapon or another person in the house.

She had neither.

Holly held the cat carrier loosely in her hand as she played with common sense one last time.

She lost.

She’d planned this…retrieval…very carefully. Black leggings, oversized black winter jacket. Hair pulled back, hood up. Car parked down the block just in case anyone was paying attention. Check, check, and check.

Two weeks ago, she’d overheard her ex-boyfriend Jeff talking on his phone at her favorite coffee shop. After slouching over her laptop so he wouldn’t recognize her, she heard him say, “I’ll pick you up on the seventeenth around seven. Yeah. We’ll have dinner. See you then, Amber.”

Amber? Who the fuck was Amber, anyway?

Didn’t matter. She’d waited until Jeoffrey—God, she hated his name—went out on his first date since their breakup to infiltrate his house, knowing he’d be gone for at least an hour, most likely two or three if the date went well.

When she’d overheard him talking to that rando at the coffee shop, her mind had gone a little quiet. As she’d straightened in her seat and watched him leave through the large glass windows, she realized he was finally moving on. There was a part of her that felt betrayed by the conversation she’d had no business listening to. They were broken up, not on a break. He had every right to go on that date. They were going in separate directions. They were incompatible.

He’s moving on.

Well, so was she—but not without her cat.

Because of the recon job she’d done a few days ago, she knew the spare key was no longer under the mat in front of the sliding glass door in the back of the house. Like what… Did he think she was going to try and sneak in and steal her cat in the middle of the night?

Luckily for her, she didn’t need a key. Jeff liked to sleep with the window above his bed cracked—even in the middle of December—and he rarely remembered to lock it during the day.

She glanced around at the surrounding houses, all lit up for the season. The colorful, twinkling lights made the break-in a little harder, but not impossible. Jeff had a privacy fence, and that privacy was exactly what she needed as she navigated her first-ever, and hopefully last, unauthorized entry.

The bedroom window was slightly out of reach, so she’d dragged the plastic hose storage box out of the shed and positioned it directly under the window. She was going to be in and out before he ordered appetizers.

Within minutes she had the window open. She tossed the cat carrier onto the bed and was through the window after a few failed attempts, her snow boots sliding against the dark gray siding of the house. She wasn’t exactly athletic. Nothing like Jeoffrey, the college football star. Mental eye roll. She lived on pasta and she liked to hand-knit. Not exactly the type of things that toned you up and prepared you to break into your ex’s house.

And yet here she was. Born to burglarize.

Once inside, she gave herself a minute to catch her breath. She left the screen outside, leaning against the house. She figured she’d put it back once she had Pumpkin secured and was on her way out.

God, she missed that cat. Jeff had nicknamed him Spice because of his attitude, and the name Pumpkin Spice had been born. When the kitten was good, they called him Pumpkin. When he acted up, he was Spice.

He answered to Spice. He totally thought it was his name because of all the shit he used to get into. Knocking things off every surface of the house had been a favorite pastime of his. Scratching the furniture a close second. The toilet paper? All over the house until they’d moved it to a higher place. The only reason Jeoffrey—she’d recently started saying his full name with a bad English accent in her head—wanted to keep the cat was to hurt her.

No longer, Jeoffrey.

She took a peek around the bedroom, curiosity getting the better of her. She hadn’t been inside this room for a hot minute. Rumpled clothes next to the hamper made her hands itch to make that little leap from floor to basket. The folded laundry on the dresser just pissed her off. Was it that hard to shove a lopsided pile of sweats into a drawer?

The three bottles of cologne on the dresser? She raised a brow. That was new. A little much, if you asked her. Screamed desperation.

He’s on a date. He wants to make a good first impression.

When they’d first started dating he’d worn cologne, her mind whispered. She struck the nostalgia down immediately. She wasn’t here to reminisce. She was here to confiscate.

Good luck, mystery girl. In less than a year—if you make it that long—he’ll ditch the cologne and grow a beard for No-Shave November with his loud, obnoxious brothers. Then he’ll introduce you to his family and you’ll question every last choice you ever made when it comes to Jeoffrey.

She wondered if he told his date that he was moving soon. Probably not.

Mystery girl could have him—but not her cat. “Psst, psst. Spice? Where’s mama’s boy? Where’s mama’s boyeee?”

She’d seen Spice in the window the other day, so she knew he was still here. He’d looked a little fatter than he had when she’d last seen him. Lucky for Jeoffrey, her cat was still here, because if he’d taken him to the pound, she’d be going to prison for manslaughter instead of a simple break-in.

“Here kittykittykitty. I have your snacky-treats.” She didn’t, but fat boy always appeared out of the ether when he heard the word treats.

She headed into the hallway, tiptoeing even though no one was there, and took a peek into the bathroom that was directly across the hall from the bedroom. No kitty. Guest room. No kitty. When she got to the living room, she found Spice sleeping on the back of the couch, his usual spot, so he could look out of the window and judge the neighbors in the cul-de-sac. He hadn’t even lifted his head at the sound of her voice.

She was so overcome with joy at seeing him she ran over, knelt on the couch, and stuck her face in all that short, orange fur.

Spice hardly moved, even when she planted a bunch of kisses on his sweet head. He hated kisses. Actually, he hated a lot of things, and she’d always secretly wondered if she were on that list. “Did you miss me at all? I missed you so much. You’re just a little baby. Mama’s baby,” she whispered in a cartoonish voice.

As she went in for another round of kisses, headlights shone in her face, temporarily blinding her. She shrank back, hid behind the soft cushions of the couch, and stopped breathing, the sound of a car engine dying sending her into a confused state of shock and panic.

Someone had pulled into Jeff’s driveway.

Twin car doors slamming shut snapped her back to reality and reminded her she was breaking the law and was going to get caught if she didn’t get her ass moving.

She hit the floor like a Marine under heavy artillery fire. Her watch suddenly buzzed on her wrist, alerting her that her heart rate was too high.

Well, no shit.

He probably forgot something. Hide. Just fuckin’ hide!

She crawled back to the bedroom on her hands and knees, faster than any toddler in a hundred-mile radius, and grabbed the cat carrier, her watch buzzing like she needed to go to the ER. She was about to jump on the bed and get her fat ass through the window as fast as she could when she heard the front door open.

She stopped in the middle of the bed and looked over her shoulder, half crouched, frozen mid-pivot.

There was no way he wouldn’t hear her climbing out of the window. She wasn’t athletic. It would take time and several cuss words, just as it had getting in. She couldn’t just chuck herself out the window and hope she didn’t break an ankle or two.

“Cute place.”

The throaty female voice threw her into a full-fledged panic attack. It was no wonder her watch didn’t vibrate right the fuck off her wrist. Grimacing like the Grinch she was, she bounded off the bed, set the carrier in the closet behind his slacks, hit the floor, and scooted until she was under the queen-sized bed that took up almost the entire bedroom.

Had he forgotten something? His wallet? His coat? His pride? Some of that fuckboy cologne on his dresser? How long had she stood outside and debated whether or not to break in? Couldn’t have been that long.

“Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Didn’t he just pick you up, bitch? What size is your bladder?

Or does she want to…freshen up?

Holly started praying, even though her heathen ass hadn’t been to church in years. Please, Jesus, my mental state is not prepared to endure such things. Please…

“Down the hall to the left,” Jeff answered. Holly would have sworn on a stack of Bibles he’d made his voice deeper on purpose. She rolled her eyes just as he said, “I’ll grab that drink for you,” two octaves lower.

Wait. Drink. Drink? As in they were staying and he hadn’t just forgotten something?

The duvet—that she’d bought—was long enough that she wouldn’t get caught if she stayed quiet. That prophetic purchase went all the way to the floor; the hanging shield her only saving grace at the moment. And no one was going to move the duvet to look under his bed. She’d closed the window behind her, so unless he noticed the screen was missing, she was safe there.

But what if I have to pee? What if she stays the night?

What if they fuc—

She refused to think about having to stay under the bed while her ex and some rando screwed on the mattress above her. Even her cat wasn’t worth that bullshit. She’d legit go to jail first.

She heard the bathroom door open, and then the cat that hadn’t moved a muscle to see her again after half a year was suddenly sniffing near the bed, throwing claws underneath the duvet to try and play with her.

Maybe Jeff was right. Pumpkin was evil. He rarely sought her out unless she had food.

In her mind she was screaming at Pumpkin to get away, but the little orange shit kept swatting at her with his dagger-tipped paws, claws extended like the bastard Jeff swore he was.

Her watch vibrated again.

The situation was getting worse and worse, her saving grace about to be ripped away by a furry traitor.

There was an intake of breath. “Aww, you didn’t tell me you had a cat. Can I pet her?”

Him.

“Sure.”

Jeff didn’t even correct the woman who’d just misgendered her cat.

Soft footfalls got closer and closer. “What’s her name?” she cooed at him.

“Spice.”

Pumpkin.

The hallway was hardwood—Holly’s knees were still throbbing from when she’d crawled to the bedroom like something out of a horror movie—and the sound of Jeff’s heavy boots on that same floor alerted her that he was now standing at the doorway to the bedroom. “What perfume are you wearing?”

What a cheesy-ass line. How very un-Jeoffrey.

“Uh…Versace Bright Crystal.”

There was a pause while Holly held her breath. Pumpkin was still clawing beneath the blanket trying to scratch her while the rando tried to pet him. Jeff was standing at the doorway, likely ogling rando’s ass and wondering why his—HER—cat was trying to reach something under the bed.

She was one claw-swipe away from getting caught, and she just realized why she wasn’t, in fact, born to burglarize.

She’d spritzed perfume on before she’d left the house. Like a dumbass.

A dumbass that was about to get caught.

_______

He could still smell her perfume.

That was the kind of shit that fucked with his head. When he’d walked into the house he could have sworn he’d smelled Holly’s perfume. Throughout their three years together he’d always put her favorite perfume in her stocking at Christmas, along with her favorite candies. A gift card to the coffee shop in town.

It was probably the holiday season dredging up memories.

Not this Christmas, he thought as he wandered into the kitchen, his head in a weird place. This Christmas he had to explain to his family why Holly wasn’t there, and then as some added cheer, that he’d accepted a job in Oregon and planned to settle in Sandy, clear across the country. They were going to take that news as well as Holly did. Perhaps worse, all things considered.

Which was why he was going to lie. Bald-faced lie right to his mother’s face.

Just yesterday his mom had enthusiastically told him what she’d bought Holly for Christmas, the thoughtful present a clear invitation to join in the Sinclair family tradition. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he and Holly had broken up months ago, especially when his mom obviously thought a ring might be in Holly’s immediate future.

There’d never been a good time to tell his mom, so he’d put it off. His mom’s diagnosis had come a short week after their breakup, and the treatments that followed kept pushing the truth away.

Last week his dad sent out a group text warning everyone that Mom looked a little…weathered, and not to react when they saw her.

His sister, Jennifer, was the only one in the family who knew about the breakup. She agreed he shouldn’t tell Mom right now, because no one wanted to acknowledge it, but this could be Mom’s last Christmas. He wasn’t about to ruin her favorite holiday. He was going to lie and say Holly got the flu, and it was common knowledge that they all had to be extremely careful around Mom right now. If any of them were symptomatic, there was an instant ban from all Christmas festivities, so he was going to lean into the easy lie.

Hell, even his sister had reacted badly to the news of the breakup.

“Really?” she’d squeaked when he’d told her over the phone. “I thought you two were destined for the aisle. What did you do?”

“What did I do?”

“Yeah, what did you do?”

He’d bristled a little. “We’re going in different directions. She’s staying in Michigan and I’m moving to the West Coast.”

“You two couldn’t find jobs in the same zip code? The same state, at least?”

“No,” was all he’d said. Of course, there was more to it than that, but he wasn’t getting into it with his sister. Holly hadn’t been a huge fan of his family. Yes, they could be loud—a bit of an acquired taste. And his move to Oregon? Planned since he was eight.

Everyone had a dream job. His dream job happened to be location-specific.

“Your cat scratched the shit out of me. You should get her declawed,” Amber said as she walked into the kitchen, her hand raised in the air in a defiant fist to show him the damage.

He realized he’d been standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open, staring at nothing.

He grabbed her the pop she’d asked for and shut the door. “I’m not mutilating my cat. That procedure takes the last bone of every toe.” Spice deserved those little daggers. The name Holly had given him—Pumpkin—had never rung true for the little orange psycho. Jeff’s original suggestion for Spice’s name had been Antichrist, but Holly had put her foot down. They’d settled on Spice because she could call him Pumpkin Spice, a name that had yet to roll off his tongue.

“I didn’t know that. That’s terrible,” she said, pressing a paper towel against her tiny wound.

He hadn’t known either, until Holly explained the procedure. He’d agreed that Spice could keep the claws, as long as Holly kept them trimmed—a job that had fallen on his shoulders about half a year ago.

“I forgot to mention that we’re taking Spice on the trip. I couldn’t find anyone to watch him.”

He didn’t admit that he’d originally wanted to use his cat as an excuse not to go. He didn’t want to face his mother’s sickness again. Didn’t want to face the family without Holly. Not even a week ago his finger had hovered over Holly’s name with the knowledge that one touch of his cell and he’d hear her voice.

He never missed the morning news show, Daybreak, at six in the morning. Had an alarm set like a little bitch so he could see his ex on the daily. Her segments usually aired at the end of the program. Those little feel-good snippets after a long hour of the world falling apart. But hey, there’s a puppy named Max who needs a good home. Holly would cover it, and toward the end of the segment, she’d allow the foul-breathing dog to lick her on the face.

He’d never tell a fucking soul, but it was the only part of his day he looked forward to.

“I had no idea cats traveled well. Especially orange cat—” A scraping sound followed by a grunt came from his bedroom. Amber stopped mid-sentence, glancing at the hallway.

He did the same, then shot toward his bedroom.

Someone was in his house.

_______

Abort mission. Abort mission.

Holly had tried going headfirst out of the window, but that idea was as bad as her original idea of breaking in and snatching her cat, so she’d swung her legs out of the window and decided to go ass-first. Another shit idea. The painful dig of the windowsill in her abdomen and the knowledge she’d just made a shit ton of noise prompted her to push off quickly and try to nail the landing, which technically wasn’t that far of a drop

Not true, and unlike a cat, she did not land on her feet.

She’d landed on her back, her breath taking a Christmas vacation that didn’t seem to want to end—until she heard Jeff’s booming voice just above her head.

“Amber, call the police while I get this motherfucker.”

Her watch vibrated.

Shiiiiittttt. Breath or no breath, she scrambled to her feet and started running toward the side of the house, wheezing like she’d sprinted a marathon in a snowsuit. Her car was parked down the next block, a million miles from where she struggled to remain upright. When she came face-to-face with the fence she knew she wasn’t making it to the car, let alone the front yard. Jeff was a former athlete. He’d been a lineman, for fuck’s sake. She was surprised he hadn’t launched his muscled ass right out the window to catch her, but unlike her, he must have a handful of brain cells left to tell him that wasn’t the best option.

Her watch kept quivering against her skin like it was as terrified as she was.

She ran out of the backyard through the gate, knowing she’d never scale the fence and live. Spotting the only non-lighted bushes in the neighborhood—why did everyone have to be so fucking festive?—she bolted in that direction, but Jeff tackled her before she’d taken two full strides.

He flipped her onto her back and grabbed the front of her black jacket, yanking her torso off the ground so he could get in her face.

That’s when he froze. Recognition made a comedy of his familiar features, their noses almost touching. “Holly,” he choked out, just as the rando called out of the kitchen window, “Police are en route! Keep that bastard pinned down!”