Page 41 of Holiday Love
Dazed with lust, I find myself nodding, agreeing, because, honestly, I’m not ready for the night to end either.
Chapter twenty
Teddy
The sound of the door buzzer slices through the quiet. It’s my second week at Helen’s. Another Thursday night, she’s at ballet, and I’ve been dozing, half-asleep on the couch with my bad leg elevated.
I groan, roll to one side, and yell, “It’s open!”
The door swings wide without hesitation. Not surprising. Jamie’s never been one for boundaries. He walks in, with Anthony right behind him.
“Bro,” Anthony calls out. “This place is way too clean. Are you sure you live here?”
“Yeah,” Jamie joins in. “This can’t be your place, Teddy. Where’s all the sand on the floor?” Jamie’s got a paper shopping bag swinging from one hand and sunglasses pushed to the top of hishead. His golden surfer hair is damp, like he just came from a beach photo shoot.
“Nice robe,” says Anthony with a grin, nodding toward the purple fluff wrapped around my body.
They’re near opposites of each other, my closest friends. Jamie is blond and blue-eyed. Anthony is all dark hair, eyes, tan skin with olive undertones. Jamie and I met him back in freshman year of high school on the basketball court. He was quick on his feet and quicker with his fists. Smart, too. It didn’t take long for us all to become friends.
Jamie drops the bag on the table. “I brought the clothing you wanted.” He glances around, taking in the place. His eyes linger on the kitchen, the way Helen’s things are lined up in a neat row on the counter, before swinging back to me.
“Appreciate it. I’m hoping I can wrangle one of these button-ups on without passing out.” I pull the duffel bag closer, sifting through shirts, a couple pairs of shorts, andhell yes, a pair of sunglasses I thought I lost months ago.
“Little early for a Christmas tree, isn’t it?” Anthony says, eyeing the live, seven-foot behemoth that now dominates the corner of the living room. The smell of pine is overwhelming in a festive, borderline aggressive way. He steps back out the door, muttering something about holiday madness and how no one respects Thanksgiving anymore.
Helen had said the same thing yesterday when the tree arrived out of nowhere, delivered straight to the condo like it had RSVP’d for an extended stay. Her mom’s note called it a “gift” and said the place could use some “brightening up.”
Helen didn’t seem thrilled. Living together, I’ve learned she’s someone who thrives on stability and routine. Surprises, especially big ones that shed dry needles on her spotless floor, aren’t really her thing. Still, she humored her mom, calling to offer apolite but stiff, “Thank you.” That phone call stretched into a long discussion about her mom’s latest lab results. By the slump of Helen’s shoulders when she hung up, I knew the news wasn’t good.
Anthony strolls back into the condo a minute later, dragging my surfboard behind him.
The second I see it, something in me unclenches. I reach for it without thinking, my hand skimming the familiar bumps and grooves along the waxed deck. Of all the crap I own, this board is the most precious.
Jamie and Anthony watch with bemused expressions as I stroke the board like a long-lost pet.
“I missed you,” I croon lovingly.
Anthony snorts. “Jeez. Marry it, why don’t you.”
“Can I?” I joke, but the truth is that this board’s been with me through everything. After my dad died, surfing was the only thing that made sense. The only place I found peace. The ocean never asked me about my feelings. It just let me float.
“Glad to know where we rank, right, Anthony?” Jamie teases, dropping into the armchair.
“Seriously.” Anthony laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Jamie shakes his head at me. “You owe me, man. That thing was a beast to strap to the top of my car. Think I scratched the paint.”
Jamie gets a new car each year, a Christmas gift from his parents, which means he’ll get a different one next month, so I don’t feel too guilty about the paint job.
Once I’m done oohing and aahing over the board, I ask Anthony to take it out to the balcony since I doubt Helen wants it as her new living room decoration.
As Anthony grabs the board to take it outside, his hand lingers on the waxed surface. “Didn’t think you’d ever leave this behind,”he says, almost casually. “Guess you’ve had other priorities lately.”
“It’s not like I could carry it.” I point at my cast, irritated by the implication that I’ve forgotten what matters. Jamie’s watching him, steady and unblinking. Anthony moves outside with the board.
“Hey, guys,” Anthony calls from the balcony, his tone pitched high and tight. “Come out here. Something’s going down on the beach.”
I pry myself off the couch, grab my crutches, and stumble toward the balcony.
