Page 115 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
He gazes into my eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”
His voice is rough, and I stare back.
“I’ll miss you.”
He nods then places my hat over my head, making sure it covers my ears just so, while leaving my view fully visible. Finally, he slides my leather gloves onto my hands.
“You don’t—”
He puts a finger over my lips. “I like taking care of you.”
He then slides my bags over my shoulders, then kisses me. His lips are soft against mine, and I open my mouth. His tongue slides in, swirling against the tip of mine briefly. When he withdraws, I fight the urge to pull him toward me all over again, and his eyes look upon mine with such tenderness. “Have a nice day.”
I manage to nod then croak a response, and his lips twitch, but the tender gaze in his eyes does not dissipate. I float down the steps, float onto the sidewalk, float all the way back to the townhouse.
LUKE
As far as small towns go, Ashcove is hardly terrible, and Christmas is the best time to visit it. Flora sits beside me in the red Ferrari the show rented for me. Open convertibles are not the typical choice in Massachusetts in late December, and I move the car slowly down Main Street.
Flora claps her hands obediently, like she has done for the past four times when we’ve taken this shot, and Willow sits in the back and gazes longingly at me, equally obediently, while sending scathing looks at Flora.
It’s ridiculous. Willow and Flora get along. They practically finish each other’s sentences.
But they’re doing the best to give drama to the scene, and I’m doing my best to not crash the Ferrari and wind up onAmerica’s Funniest Home Videosinstead ofSeeking Mr. Right: Christmas Edition.
Snow starts to fall, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. My knuckles whiten around the soft leather.
Driving is not my thing. I learned, but my parents booked the cheapest driver’s lessons for me, where I was squeezed four in a car. Then I moved to Boston immediately after high school.
I never need to drive in Boston. I selected the apartment because I wanted to be in walking distance of the arena.
But because I’m in my mid-twenties and maybe also because I’m a guy, people assume I’m into cars. I’m not. Driving in a car is pretty much the opposite of being athletic. I’m a move-my-body-every-chance-I-get guy.
“Sing Christmas songs,” Ella’s voice orders. “Jingle bells.”
Shit.
“I don’t have a good voice,” I say.
“Even better!” Ella exclaims. “It will be so cute.”
I start to close my eyes, but then I remember I’m driving and that’s actually a terrible idea. I give a tight smile.
I don’t even like singing during birthday parties, and I know all the words to that song and I’m surrounded by more people than...two. And those voices are male. Flora’s and Willow’s voices will sound decidedly different from mine.
I grip the wheel of the steering wheel. “Um...”
Willow and Flora exchange glances, then we all begin singing Jingle Bells.
It’s okay. I mean, it’s not terrible. And when we finally park, Ella smiles, which is better than her not smiling.
I get out of the car. My eyes drift around. “Is Sebastian not here?”
Ella and Mateo exchange glances, the meaningful kind, and I’m not sure what that means, but the snowflakes suddenly fall faster, aiming straight for the back of my neck.
“He’s somewhere else,” Ella says.
“Cool.” I try to nod disinterestedly, regretting I said anything about him.
