Page 55 of I Knew You Were Trouble

“Merry Christmas Eve,” I tell her, my mood spiked after grabbing Demi. Having Candace here with me and my sisters feels more complete than I thought it would.

And the fact that I was able to get Demi four presents and Maddie three has me reeling with excitement and pride. I bought character wrapping, too. The brand name stuff. Hell yeah!

Candace pushes a piece of her curled hair behind an ear, sparkly red earrings dangling down to just above her jawline. She’s wearing a loose green sweater, but the color looks festive and fun and her. She’s been trying the Grease method with the torn jeans and midriffs, which she pulls off but never looks quite comfortable in. This is more her speed.

“You look festive,” I tell her, letting my safest thought seep out.

The nervous buzz in her eyes drops, and she narrows her gaze at me. She probably thinks I’m teasing. Which is fair. I usually am.

“You too,” she says pointedly. I’m wearing black. Wheel Zone today.

I chuckle and shrug my coat off, dropping it haphazardly on the chair in the corner of our “dining room.” If we could fit a table in there, I still doubt we’d sit at it. “Wanna come meet Demi?”

Her teeth snag that lip of hers. “I have to eventually.”

“Don’t worry. She’s only slightly judgmental.”

“Goodie.”

I silently chuckle at yet another thing that sits on her fear list—kids. It’s a level yellow, so kind of low. She wouldn’t work at Troublemakers if it was higher, I’m sure. I reach out and snag the sleeve of that green sweater and tug her toward the living room. She doesn’t fight me as much as the paintball drag.

We pass under the arch that leads into the living room, and I watch her face twist into a nervous wreck as her eyes land on my baby sister. Dem’s got on her Christmas Eve outfit—a dress that looks like a Christmas tree, a headband with a star planted at the top adorning her brown hair. A grin the size of Santa’s belt stretches across her face, her eyes glued to the purple tree I managed to decorate. With Mad’s help.

“Dem,” I say, and her child eyes turn to me and Candace. “This is my friend I was telling you about.”

Her smile starts to shrink as she takes Candace in, and it feels like Candace shrinks with it under the scrutiny of the ten-year-old. Dem wasn’t totally thrilled when I told her I invited someone else. She flat out said, “But you’re mine.” Like I’d divide my attention. I assured her she’d still be the star of the night.

She hitches a hand up on her hip. “Pete said you were pretty.”

Heat flashes through my neck, and I make a face, my eyes barely open as I swing them to check Candace’s reaction. An amused glint sparkles in her dark brown irises, and the freckle in the corner of her mouth twitches.

“Was he right?” she asks, her voice a lot more teasing than timid.

Demi shrugs. “I guess.” She pauses, smoothing her hands over her dress. “My outfit is better.”

“Demi,” Maddie scolds through a laugh.

“Well, she’s right,” Candace jumps in to defend with a grin. Her demeanor seems to have changed in all of three seconds. “Her outfit is… balling.”

Balling? Oh damn, she is bad at this.

Demi tilts her head but seems to like the description. She jumps up on the couch, setting her hands up on the back. “Pete said you weren’t his girlfriend.”

“Pete would be right.”

“But you could kiss and not be boyfriend and girlfriend. My friend told me that.”

Candace juts her gaze to me, but I got nothing for her. Demi blurts out whatever is in her brain, and even I can’t predict what’s coming.

“I guess…” she says, and suddenly I’m thinking of kissing Candace, and I shake my head to rid it of the thought. Thanks, sis. I didn’t need that image to haunt me the entire night.

“I… I brought something for you,” Candace stutters, and she ducks behind me and down the hall. I furrow my brow, and Maddie looks just as confused at the impromptu exit. The sound of a zipper fills the hallway, and Demi peers over the back of the couch, her smile creeping back to her face.

“She got me something?” she asks me.

“I think so.” I didn’t ask her to. Turmoil twists my stomach into a giant tsunami, ready to crash at any moment. She didn’t get a million gifts, did she? Suddenly the four presents I was so proud of a few minutes ago seem cheap.

She emerges with three boxes, Christmas print plastered over each one. “It’s sort of a tradition at my house,” she explains, handing one to each of us. “We do these Christmas Eve boxes. Just little knick knacks and stuff for the night…” She shakes her head hard, her hair waving around her shoulders. “I thought… Well, you can open them.”

---