Page 67 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

She laughs, and her eyes sparkle at me when she looks up. “I do,” she says.

I nod at the necklace. “What kind is that?”

“Mmm,” she hums, lifting the box and inspecting it closer. “Some kind of angelfish, maybe.” Then she holds the box out to me. “Put it on me?”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Yeah. Of course.” I take the box and watch her turn her back to me. She lifts her hair out of the way and twirls it onto the top of her head, holding it in place.

I swallow as I stare at her smooth, pale skin—at the wisps of hair curled at the nape of her neck and the smattering of freckle constellations. I’ve never thought about the back of someone’s neck before, never anticipated that it could be beautiful, but it is; the back of Molly’s neck is perfect.

“Do you need help?” she says after a second, turning her head and looking at me over her shoulder.

“No,” I say quickly, yanking my eyes away. “Sorry. Here; I’ll get it.” I remove the necklace from the box and then fumble with the clasp for a second before I manage to undo it. Then I stand up so that I can reach her. I put the necklace in place, fastening the clasp once more. It settles delicately against her neck, resting just over the neckline of her shirt.

I hesitate just briefly before making one last allowance: I lean down and touch my lips to the skin above that little silver clasp. It’s the last time I’m going to kiss her—for now, definitely, but maybe forever. I can’t kiss her on the lips again today, at any rate; my self-control is too threadbare for that, worn thin by her smiles and the laughter in her eyes. So I put everything I can’t articulate into this press of my lips, lingering just a moment before standing up straight again. “There,” I say.

Molly releases her hair, letting it tumble down her back. Then she smiles up at me. “I love it,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas,” I say.

Her smile widens. “Merry Christmas,” she replies.

It’s incredibly tempting to kiss her again, especially when she’s looking at me with that expression on her face—happy, content, dreamy—so I wrangle what’s left of my self-control and nod to the window. “It’s nice outside. Let’s go sit on the porch.”

* * *

The arrivalof the rest of the family is a loud affair, mostly because of Mrs. O’Malley.

“I’m so sorry, you two,” she sobs, throwing one arm around my neck and one around Molly’s as she drags us closer to her. “I’m so sorry. It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have been matchmaking, and I promise I’ll never do it again—”

“Here,” Mr. O’Malley cuts in, prying his wife gently off of us. Then he passes something to Molly. “Take your medication.”

“Yes,” Mrs. O’Malley says in a warbling voice, flapping her hands at Molly. “Take it.”

I go immediately inside to grab her a glass of water, and a minute later she’s gulping down the first dose of seizure medicine she’s had in days. Something eases inside of me as she swallows that pill, a tension I didn’t realize I was carrying. My body relaxes slightly, and I nod gratefully to Mr. O’Malley.

There are still tears in Mrs. O’Malley’s eyes, but she’s calmed down some; she’s sniffling now instead of blubbering and wailing. Mr. O’Malley drapes his arm around her shoulder and looks fondly at her.

“The kids are okay,” he says to her. “They’re fine.”

“Yeah,” Wes says, speaking for the first time after his initial greeting. His gaze is suspicious as it bounces back and forth between Molly and me. “They seem…good.”

“Let’s go inside,” Mrs. O’Malley says to us. “Just for a minute. I need a tissue, Beckett, sweetie. And I need to use your restroom. My bladder isn’t what it used to be.”

“Mom,” Molly and Wes groan in unison, but she waves away their protests and marches right on inside without waiting for the rest of us.

We follow her, Molly and Mr. O’Malley sitting on the loveseat while Wes prowls the room, examining everything. He’s never been to this house, but I have a sneaking suspicion he’s not curious so much as looking for signs that Molly and I have been getting cozy. I don’t know what he expects to find—couples’ mugs in the sink? His and hers towels in the bathroom?—but I let him do his thing.

We chat for a few minutes, the conversation driven mostly by Mrs. O’Malley after she returns from the bathroom, until she stands up and announces that they need to leave to get back to the ferry and then from there back to the cruise’s port stop. Her words send a weird bolt of panic through me, my head snapping to look at Molly.

This is happening. She’s leaving. And while she is coming back to a different part of the Virgin Islands roughly a month from now…will I see her then? Will she want to see me? WillIwant to seeher?

“So…you two.”

I jump guiltily, like Wes has caught me doing something wrong instead of simply staring at his sister.

He points back and forth between Molly and me. “You didn’t…you know.” He clears his throat. “Nothing happened here, right?”

Molly rises from off the couch and rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Wes. It’s none of your business what does and doesn’t happen.” Then she looks at me. Her head tilts to the side. “You,” she says, her voice cracking.

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