Page 3 of The Santa Situation
Jemma settled at the far end of the couch, her legs tucked up under her. Too far away and somehow too close at the same time.
“More like volun-told.”
“Please don’t feel obligated. I know how busy things are here, especially now that the holidays are in full swing.”
She waved away my concern. “Honestly? I don’t actually do much on the weekends. Baling trees and schlepping through the mud is more my brother’s territory. Gives him an opportunity to look all strong and manly in front of our neighbor.”
From upstairs, the sound of our kids’ laughter drifted down, mixing with the crackle of the fire.
“Those two still at it?” I asked with an amused quirk of my lips.
“It’s ridiculous.” She grabbed a throw pillow embroidered with a poinsettia and set it in her lap, playing with the fringe. “Jeremy spent ten minutes this morning complaining that Harrison’s favorite goat got loose again and ate all the extra tree cuttings he was planning on turning into garland.Thenhe spent twenty minutes describing exactly how Harrison looked wrangling the damn thing back on his side of the fence, right down to exactly what he was wearing and the way his hair flopped into his eyes.” She shook her head. “They should just kiss and get it over with already.”
When Harrison Prescott had moved back to town six months ago, the hot gossip that week was his and Jeremy’s bitter feud. Jemma had filled me in on the high-level details—or what she knew of them—but I hadn’t realized the tension was still running that hot between them.
Not wanting to make any assumptions, I asked, “Do you know for sure that Harrison is into men?”
She nodded. “Last week he told me if given the chance, he’d climb Pedro Pascal like a tree.”
I snickered. “I’dclimb Pedro Pascal like a tree, and I’m as straight as they come.”
She threw her head back and cackled. “Okay, fair. But he also said that my brother is—and I quote—‘so fucking hot,’ so it’s safe to assume he’d climbJeremylike a tree, too, if given the chance.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Who needs soap operas when this sort of drama is playing out right in front of us?”
“It would be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating.” The humor faded from her voice, replaced by something softer. More worried sounding. “Last night, Jeremy went on a date with that new kindergarten teacher. When he got home, he said there was zero chemistry between them. Two minutes later, he was pacing the kitchen, laying out all the ways Harrison drives him crazy—which, in turn, droveuscrazy. Eli straight up told him to do us all a favor and ask Harrison out already.” She plucked at a loose bead on the pillow. “Jeremy’s face turned beet red, and he stormed upstairs. This morning, he pretended like the conversation never even happened.”
The way she said it—quiet, almost sad—made me feel bad for laughing about the situation. Jeremy hadn’t wanted to come back to Mistletoe Bay after their dad had died, but here he was anyway, stuck and stubborn and clearly miserable.
Jemma sighed, settling her head back against the cushions. For a brief moment, her expression turned distant, like she was seeing something beyond the fire. “Anyway. Thank god I’m past all that nonsense.”
Past what?I wondered, my stomach tightening. “What do you mean?”
She lifted her head, dragging her gaze my way, her mouth turned down in a frown. “Dating. Longing. Love. The whole shebang. I’m too old to go through that song and dance again.”
The words landed in my gut like a stone. Part of me wanted to ask why, but I knew better than most what she’d gone through with her ex-husband, Todd. And that closed-off look on her face told me now wasn’t the time to bring it up.
Still, I couldn’t saynothing.
Even though my own track record wasn’t much better than Jemma’s, I firmly believed I’d find love again someday. Sometimes, I even let myself wonder if I’d find it withher. She might think some dances weren’t worth repeating, but they were. Or they could be. Especially if you found the right partner.
“Well,” I said carefully. “I hope you’ll at least save me a dance at the New Year’s Eve gala.”
two
. . .
Jemma
I shiveredas a gust of cold hit me before I managed to push the door closed. The wall sensor next to the coat rack indicated that the temperature had dropped another 10 degrees in the couple of hours since Charlie and his girls had been here. And now, despite the roaring fire, it was chilly enough inside this old farmhouse that the furnace had kicked on with a series of clanks and moans, while the window in the kitchen whistled when the wind hit it just right.
I shivered again for a reason that had nothing to do with the change in weather, rubbing my arm where Charlie had touched me on his way out, and then made myself stop. It had been nothing. A passing gesture. Routine for us. The same way he always did when we parted ways. My skin didn’t seem to care.
“Dinner?” Eli asked, clomping down the stairs and heading toward the kitchen.
“Ready in five minutes,” I told him, heading through the house toward the kitchen.
When we were both seated with our plates of food in front of us, Eli raised his glass of water in a toast. “To Mrs. Claus.”
