Page 42 of Mistletoe Meet Cute
Sophie giggles between us, oblivious as I adjust my hold on her, sliding her to one arm. My other hand tucking a lock of hair behind Holly’s ear as she moves closer and looks up at the mistletoe hanging above our heads.
“Ready?” I ask, my voice low.
She nods once. “This is just for show.”
“Right.” I run my thumb over her cheek. “Just for show.”
But as my hand slides to the back of her neck and fucking finally tangles in her soft blonde hair while I tug her closer, it doesn’t feel like pretending.
It feels inevitable.
The noise fades. The crowd fades. Even Jamie’s running commentary fades.
All I hear is Holly’s soft inhale as her eyes scan my face.
Her gaze lingers on my mouth and something inside me snaps. . . again. I tilt my head and brish my lips against hers. Barely a whisper of a kiss. Soft. Careful. And so fucking right.
Her hands find my chest, fingers curling around my coat as she rises on her toes.
I deepen the kiss, slow and searching, like we both forgot where the line was supposed to be drawn and blew right by it.She tastes like peppermint and heat and everything I’ve been trying to not want. And when I finally pull back, she’s breathing hard, her eyes wide and lips swollen.
And, fuck I want more.
More of her.
More of this.
Sophie makes a happy little noise, clapping her mittened hands together like she knows something important just happened. And like it or not, it did happen.
I watch Holly’s throat work as she trembles. “That was. . . Umm. . . Good PR.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my voice rough and hanging by a thread. “Real convincing.”
She forces a shaky laugh but her gaze lingers before she looks away. “We should find Emmie.”
I nod, adjusting Sophie so I don’t reach for Holly again.
The tree lights up behind us, and the crowd cheers as fireworks paint the sky.
But none of that holds a damn candle to the woman currently running away.
HOLLY
Sometimes I think I have everything figured out. Then my car windshield fogs up, and I have to push every button to figure out how to get it to defog.
‘Tis the season.
—Holly’s Secret Thoughts
The house is silent.
Too silent.
Sophie’s finally down for the night, her soft little snores crackling through the baby monitor on the table. The Christmas tree glows in the corner of the room, lights twinkling in rhythm with the falling snow outside. And the scent of cinnamon still lingers inside from the cocoa I made two hours ago that sits untouched in my hands.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him.
The flash of his smile under the mistletoe. The weight of his hand at my back. The look in his eyes right before he kissed me,like he was about to step off a cliff and daring me to take his hand and jump with him.
