Page 44 of Hashtag Holidate
“Oof.”
I shrugged. “My mother felt strongly that my father’s insurance firm had an image to maintain. I guess we were extensions of that image. Nothing genuine allowed to spoil the aesthetic.”
“I guess it led naturally into being a style influencer?”
The question hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. “Maybe. Maybe I wanted to control the image for once, instead of being controlled by it.” I took a sip of whiskey, feeling the burn down my throat. “What about your family? Before…”
I trailed off, not sure how to reference the loss of his parents. The photograph I’d seen on the internet when I’d looked up the local news story had been devastating.
Maddox’s eyes reflected the firelight as he gazed into his glass. “The opposite of yours. Chaotic. Loud. My dad insisted on cutting our own tree every year and making sure Maya and I knew how to use the axe and haul it ourselves. Mom baked enough cookies to feed half the town. The Sullivan Hardware Christmas Open House was an annual event—kind of still is, though smaller now.”
“That sounds…” I searched for the right word. “Nice,” I said lamely. “Really nice.”
“It was.” His voice softened with memory. “After the accident, Maya and I tried to keep as many traditions going as we could. For her sake, mostly. She was fourteen when it happened.”
The weight of his responsibilities suddenly seemed so clear—not just the business but becoming a parent to his sister at a young age, preserving their family legacy while his own grief was still fresh.
“That can’t have been easy,” I said quietly.
He shrugged, a gesture that carried more history and grief than words could express. “You do what you have to.”
Without thinking, I shifted closer on the couch. Not touching, but close enough to feel his warmth. “Is that why you’re so resistant to my world? The content creation and ‘manufacturing moments,’ as you call it.”
His gaze lifted to meet mine. “Maybe. After losing my parents, the difference between what’s real and what’s just for show became very clear. Connections matter. Time with loved ones. Everything else is just…” He waved his hand dismissively.
“Fluff,” I finished for him.
“Your word, not mine,” he said, but a slight smile curved his lips.
“Not all manufactured moments are meaningless, you know.” I leaned forward slightly until our knees were almost touching. “Sometimes they’re just… opportunities. Creating the right conditions for real things to happen.”
Like this, I thought but didn’t say.Us, here, now.
The fire popped loudly, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Outside, the wind howled, a counterpoint to the silence stretching between us.
“Yesterday,” Maddox said suddenly, his voice low. “At the tree farm…”
My heart stuttered in my chest. “When you saved me from certain death by Christmas tree?”
“A bump on the head, maybe,” he said with an eye roll but then grew serious again. “After, though. When we were in the snow…”
I swallowed, setting my glass down carefully. “Yeah?”
“Would you have…” He paused, seeming to search for words, which was unusual for someone usually so direct. “If I hadn’t…”
Despite his incomplete question, I knew exactly what he was getting at. Would I have kissed him if he hadn’t pulled away? If the cold hadn’t interrupted us?
“Fuck yes,” I said, the truth easier in firelight than it would have been in daylight. “Would you have let me?”
Maddox’s eyes darkened, the gray shifting to something deeper. He set his glass down and shifted slightly closer on the sofa. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” he admitted.
“Anything I can do to help you with the figuring?” I murmured, hardly daring to breathe.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “You could stop looking at me like that, for starters.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re imagining what I taste like.”
