Page 66 of My Rival for Christmas

I practically salivate watching him. “No one will ever believe I’m capable of such a heinous crime. I’m too cute.”

Again, I expect Nate to say something flirty back. To play his role in this game we have long since established the rules to, but he says nothing as he places the plate in front of me. Followed by the syrup, a fork and ketchup.

All without a word. That pensive look still clear on his face.

“That’s it.” I slap my palms down on the counter hard enough to sting. “What’s going on with you? You’re acting so weird right now.”

“I’m acting weird?” His dark brows shoot up, almost touching the edge of his hat. “You’re the one that’s acting all different.”

“No, I’m not. You’re over here being all quiet and standoffish. It’s weird.” I wave my fork at him. “Flirt with me, damn it.”

Nate looks taken aback. Giving me a measured look as he does, his voice devoid of any feelings as he asks, “So, you don’t regret what happened earlier?”

Oh.

He looks so earnest, so worried, it pierces a place in my chest that’s always been reserved for him.

Setting my fork down, I untangle myself from the chair and walk over to his side of the counter. He watches me with a guarded expression, until I step into his personal space and grab the sides of his face.

Nate’s hands go to my waist, holding me tight. Holding me close. His face a mask, waiting to see what I’m going to do next.

There’s still so much that sits between us, so much we have to discuss, but for today I want to keep living in the moment.

“I don’t know,” I whisper against his lips, my voice soft. “Let’s see if I regret this.”

This time when I kiss him, it’s hard and demanding and full of emotions I can’t fully say.

We kiss until neither of us can remember what his question was to begin with.

But my answer still lingers long after we pull apart.

No, I don’t regret this. And that kind of terrifies me.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

nate

Christmas has always beena special holiday for me. It’s the one time of year I know I’ll always get to see my dad. Because of his work and my crazy skating schedule, I don’t get to spend as much time with him as I’d like to. Growing up, it got hard after my mom left and I went to go with live my grandparents.

But trust me, I still saw my dad a lot. It just wasn’t a childhood where he came home every night.

Our time together was more limited, sometimes unpredictable.

Except for Christmas. Dad would always make sure he got at least a few days off to spend it with me. But even if he could only swing one day, we always made a point to come to this cabin. We’d decorate in the late night hours, making the place as festive as possible, throwing up a tree we picked up from a farm in town, seeing who could toss the most presents under it the fastest. And laughing. So much laughter, my stomach hurts just thinking about it.

Yesterday, after Paige and I finally pulled ourselves away to eat a breakfast that had gone tepid, she asked me about myfamily’s holiday traditions. The first kernel of curiosity I’ve ever seen from her to revolve around Christmas.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if it had more to do with me than anything else.

I hope it did. I like knowing she’s curious about parts of myself she’s never gotten to meet.

So I told her.

I just didn’t think she’d actually do anything about it.

Until I wake up on the first Christmas Eve I get to spend with Paige, naked and alone with a forming frown as I stretch my arm out. Only to find her side of the bed cold.

The frown continues to grow as I hear banging on the other side of the closed door. I quickly toss on the sweats we threw off in a rush last night, and the shirt I gave Paige to sleep in, also torn off before either of us touched the mattress, going on a hunt to find her.

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