Page 17 of Holidate Scramble
"I should—goodnight, Piper." He gave me an awkward, brief hug—barely more than a shoulder pat—then practically fled down the stairs.
I escaped into my apartment, closing the door and leaning against it, my heart still pounding. Through the thin walls, I could hear Mr. Kowalski muttering apologies to himself as he headed to the recycling room.
I touched my fingers to my lips, imagining what that kiss would have felt like. The way his eyes had darkened, how his hand had felt against my skin, the solid warmth of him so close...
I got ready for bed, but sleep didn't come for hours. I lay there staring at my ceiling, replaying every moment of the evening. The way he'd lit up at the restaurant. His honesty about his life feeling temporary. The almost-kiss that left me aching for more.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Rhett:Thank you for tonight. For listening. For the math puns. For being you.
I typed back:Thank you for proving that not all careful, methodical people are boring.
Three dots appeared, then:And thank you for proving that vivaciousness can be beautiful to behold.
I set my phone aside, a smile playing at my lips despite the confusion swirling in my chest. Tomorrow would bring more events, more pretending, more of this dangerous game we were playing.
But tonight, in the dark of my apartment with the memory of his almost-kiss still burning on my skin, I let myself admit the truth:
I didn't want to stop.
Chapter Four
Rhett
I'd built my career on calculating odds—weighing the dangers of a collapsed lung during thoracic surgery against the necessity of the procedure, balancing the chance of complications against potential benefits. In the operating room, I managed variables, controlled what could be controlled. I didn't take unnecessary chances.
Yet here I was, walking into Starlight Bay's Town Hall at six-thirty on a Thursday evening, about to watchIt's a Wonderful Lifefor what must be the thirtieth time in my life, all because Piper had asked me to come.
The grand old building had been transformed for the occasion. Strings of white lights draped across the high ceiling, casting a warm glow over rows of folding chairs. A massive projection screen dominated the front wall, and the scent of buttered popcorn filled the air. Families streamed in, children bouncing with excitement, teenagers pretending indifference while secretly pleased to be there.
I spotted Piper immediately. She stood behind a concessions table near the entrance, her blonde hair adorned with a headband featuring a pair of fuzzy reindeer antlers. She had a white apron tied over an oversized sequined red sweater paired with black leggings and shearling boots. She laughed at something an elderly woman said, her whole face lighting up in that way that made it impossible not to stare. Even across the crowded room, her energy pulled at me.
A middle-aged couple stepped aside, giving me a clear path to the table. Piper looked up, our eyes met, and her smile shifted into something softer, more personal.
"You made it," she said when I reached her, a hint of surprise in her voice despite my text confirming I would attend.
"I said I would." I glanced at the array of treats she'd organized on the table. "Need any help?"
"I've got it covered, but thanks." She handed a box of Junior Mints to a young girl, then returned her attention to me. "I saved you a seat in the back row. Best view in the house."
"The back row? Are we teenagers trying to make out during the movie?" The joke slipped out before I could stop it.
Her cheeks colored, and I immediately regretted the comment. Last night's almost-kiss in her hallway had left me distracted through two surgical consultations today. Evidently, it had affected her too.
"It's the best vantage point," she recovered smoothly. "Plus, I need to monitor the whole room from back there during the show."
