Page 13 of One Night, Two Holidays

“Thank you,” I say, squeezing tight.

“It’s nothing,” he says, but the way he’s rubbing my back doesn’t feel like nothing. His hands linger there, a slow, deliberate pressure that sends shivers across my skin. His breath brushes against my hair, and the air around us seems to thicken.

My heart picks up, my pulse racing as every nerve in my body becomes aware of how close we are. How easy it would be to tip this into something more.

I pull back slightly, just enough to look up into his eyes. There’s a question in them again, like he’s waiting for something.And before I can second-guess myself, I blurt out, “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

Jack’s eyebrows lift. “I’m already invading your space; I didn’t want…I’m trying to follow your lead.”

“Butyouhave to lead.”

“Why?” he asks, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. That gesture again.

“Because…” I break eye contact and look instead at the stack of frozen food on the counter. I know this is silly, and it’s not something I’ve ever had to actually talk about. Most guys are more than happy to make the first move. It’s later they backtrack—I work too much, or I get too excited about things, or I expect too much. I am, overall, too much.

“Hey,” Jack says. “You can tell me.”

And for some reason, I get the feeling he won’t laugh or judge me. That he’ll understand and finally just give me what I need, what we both want. I take a deep breath and say, “Because I don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He slides his hand under my chin and lifts my face toward him, so I have no choice but to look him in the eye. “Kiss?”

“No,” I laugh, awkward and too loud. “I love kissing, Iloveit. And I’m really good at it, from what I’ve been told. I just don’t make the first move.”

“Ever? Like never?”

“Not since eighth grade. I had a bad experience—misread some signals and ended up embarrassing myself. So ever since then, I just decided I’d let the guy make the first move. Less risk of mortification.”

Jack frowns, which was not the response I was going for. “That makes me sad for what you’ve missed out on.”

“Oh, I haven’t missed out,” I say. “I’ve kissedplentyof people.”

“Yeah, but you’re missing out on that thrill of vulnerability when you decide to put yourself out there. That pulse racingmoment when you lean in, how time seems to slow down and every second feels like a minute until the other person leans in, too, tilts their head…”

Without meaning to, I tilt my head as he says the words—then snap out of it. I step back, my heart thudding against my ribcage. It’s too hard to think about this, to talk about it when his hands are on me, creating sparks with his touch.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ve never put yourself out there, being all vulnerable only to get rejected. To be laughed at, to feel like you’ve thrown yourself off a cliff and there was no one there to catch you.”

Jack’s expression softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “I’ve felt that plenty of times. But…”

“But what?” I challenge, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. I just want him tokissme.

“But it’s like you said about the Christmas music. The risk is worth it, especially when the reward can be so incredibly sweet. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m not scared,” I say, even though a part of me is. The fourteen-year-old girl I used to be—the one who couldn’t trust her instincts, who built walls to avoid getting hurt.

“Then kiss me.”

His words hang in the air between us, my heart once again pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. Everything in me wants to close the gap, to let myself fall into this moment—but then I shake my head. “This is ridiculous!”

Jack is looking at me with an expression somewhere between curious and compassionate, and something shifts. Maybe I can trust him. Maybe I can trustthis.

“A kiss is four times more exciting if you’re the one initiating it,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“Did you learn that at trivia, too?”

He shrugs, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. Hisrestraint and his so-called respect are as endearing as it is maddening.

I put my hands on my hips. “Are you really going to make me do this?”

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