“You do?”
I stare at the ceiling, seeing that night as clearly as if it were yesterday. I might have had to convince myself that I was imagining things because Brady’s sister came with a big, neon Off-limits sign. “Your mom made hot chocolate, and you sat at the old upright in your living room and played piano, and I remember thinking ...”
“Thinking what?”
“Thinking you were too young and you were Brady’s sister and I had no business thinking you were beautiful.”
The silence that follows feels heavy with possibility. With all the things we’re not saying. With almosts and what-ifs and careful distance because of unspoken rules.
Then I hear something—jingle bells—and go still. Rebecca listens too. They’re faint but distinct, coming from somewhere outside.
“Did you hear that?” Rebecca throws back her covers and rushes to the window.
I’m right behind her, and we stand side by side, peering out into the snowy night. There’s nothing but snow falling in thick flakes, covering the world in white, and the distant glow of the lodge’s Christmas lights like gumdrops.
“Probably someone’s decorations,” I say, but my voice comes out hushed.
“Or maybe Santa is making his deliveries,” she whispers.
We stand there watching the snow, and I can see our reflections in the glass—her in plaid pajamas with her hair down, me rumpled and trying very hard not to think about how close she’s standing.
Then she turns to look at me, and I’m already looking at her. The current between us sparks and snaps.
Her lips part slightly as her gaze hugs mine.
This is the moment where I either step back and preserve the careful boundaries we’ve maintained, or I step forward and risk everything.
“Becca,” I say, and her name feels like something special on my lips.
“Reese?” The corners of her lips twitch with a smile.
“Tell me if this is a terrible idea.”
“What idea?”
Instead of answering, I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers graze her cheek, and she shivers.
Biting her lip, her eyes lock on mine, and I see the answer there, shining with the same want, the same fear, the same inevitability that’s been building between us since I knocked on her door this morning.
She rises on her toes, and that’s all the permission I need.
I cup her face in my palms, and then I kiss her. Soft at first, tentative, giving her every chance to pull away.
She doesn’t.
Instead, her hands tangle in my hair and pull me closer. The kiss deepens into something that makes my head spin and my pulse race and my entire world narrow down to her lips on mine, our breath mingling, the taste of warm chocolate.
The kiss deepens as she runs her hands along my back and I dip mine to the slope of her waist. Our pulses thunder—or maybe that’s the reindeer on the roof. I can’t be sure what’s real or whether this is the best kind of Christmas Eve dream. But I like it. A lot. Becca too. She’s a gift in human form and this kiss is icing on the Christmas cookie.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. My forehead rests against hers, and her heart pounds where her chest presses against mine.
“That was—” she starts.
“Yeah,” I breathe, because I can’t form actual sentences, never mind thoughts, right now.
Outside, the jingle bells ring again. The snow continues to fall and once more, I’m kissing my best friend’s sister again on Christmas Eve. It’s either the best or worst decision I’ve ever made.
Right now, with her in my arms, I’m betting on the best.
