Page 67 of Never Sleigh Never
She thrusts her phone toward me. On the screen in big, bold letters: A Tale of Dueling Christmas Celebrations.
I scan it, brow furrowing. “I don’t get it. Both our events are in the article. Isn’t that good?”
Her gaze burns into me. “She quoted you. Said, ‘It would be a lot easier if I could break her icy exterior.’”
Her voice shakes as she spits the words back at me. “So tell me, Logan—was this you breaking my icy exterior?”
Twenty-Three
Truth Bombs
Brie
His eyes widen. “No! Why would you even think that?”
“Because of this.” I shove my phone into his hand. He squints at the screen, brows knitting.
“Why the hell would she publish that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you told her?” My pulse thrums in my ears. “Why else would she write it? For once, it would be nice to get something I’ve poured my heart and soul into without facing a mountain of difficulties. But no—you show up, and suddenly everything is harder for me and ten times easier for you.”
Logan leans against the table, arms folded, maddeningly calm. “Are you… jealous?”
I rear my head back. “Jealous?” The word echoes in my head. It’s a legitimate word that perfectly explains my life. “You know what? Yes. Yes, I was, or am, jealous because I worked so damn hard all the damn time and all you had to do was show up, and everything was handed to you. In elementary school, you got to be the Christmas star in the school play without even trying out. You got all the easy words during the spelling bee, like kale. While I got asparagus.” I spin away from Logan and pace from one side of the room to the other while he leans against the table, arms crossed over his chest. God, why am I shaking? It’s not like I haven’t fantasized about telling him off since fifth grade. All of it building up like a dam about to burst. Here it goes. “In high school, you were valedictorian even though I saw you goofing off with your friends all the time while I was in the library studying my ass off. Any girl who blinked at you wanted to be your girlfriend. Everyone bought you Valentine’s Day suckers from the high school fundraiser. You had a whole plethora of suckers. You know how I know? Because I had to pass them out. Lastly, you host one carnival, and suddenly a world-renowned Christmas blogger comes to town wanting to interview you.”
As I pass by Logan, he grabs my wrist and pulls me to his chest.
If he smirks right now, I might actually throw my phone at his perfect, smug face.
“You realize none of that matters now.”
“It does to me,” my voice cracks, “because this festival is my one shot, and it’s being ruined by you. Again. I hate how much you get under my skin.”
His fingertips skim my arm—barely there, but enough to send a rush of goosebumps chasing after them. “Or maybe,” he murmurs, voice low and threaded with something that steals the air from my lungs, “I get under your skin because I’m the only one who actually knows you. The real you. Not the easy stuff anyone can guess—your favorite food, your coffee order. What I know is that you’re smart. Stubborn. Fierce. A fighter. You don’t back down, even when the odds are stacked against you.”
His gaze pins me, warm and unrelenting.
“Those are the things I know about you,” he finishes softly. “Everything else? I can learn. But those… those are the things that matter.”
I freeze. His eyes—soft, unguarded—pull at something in me I don’t want to admit exists. Shit. What if he’s right? Maybe all the bickering and one-upping is just… knowing each other too well.
“You know what, Brie?” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Can I kiss you?”
I blink. “What? Why?”
“Yes or no. That’s all I need.”
“That makes zero sense. I just confessed a lifetime of hating you, and now?—”
“I’m giving you five seconds. If you don’t say no, I’m kissing you.”
“Logan, you can’t?—”
“Five. Four. Three.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Two.”
