Page 4 of An Unexpected Christmas
He chews slower, his expression still blank. “It’s... fine.”
“Fine?” I repeat, crossing my arms, all attraction toward him dissipating at those two words. “That’s it? I slaved over a hot oven forhours, and all I get isfine?”
His lips twitch, and for a split second, I think he might actually smile. “It’s better than fine,” he admits grudgingly.
“Wow, I thought British people knew all the words,” I say with a sigh. “Oh, I should’ve warned you, they’re laced with Christmas magic too.” I beam.
Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Then he stops chewing. “Wait, is that code for you just gave me cookies with drugs?”
“What?” I shriek. “No. God, what kind of person do you take me for?”
“Someone who loves to torment me.”
He’d be right. A very small—it’s not so small actually—part of me likes annoying him. But the bigger part enjoys bringing joy more.
I glance past him into the house, noting the lack of decorations. No lights, no tree, not even a sad little wreath. Just bare walls and a faint glow from a single lamp. My heart sinks a little for him.
“Don’t tell me,” I say, tilting my head. “You didn’t decorate at all.”
He shrugs. “What’s the point?”
“The point,” I say, my voice rising slightly, “oh Grinchy one, is to celebrate. To make your space feel warm and inviting and... alive.”
He leans against the doorframe, tucking the cookie tin under one arm. “My space is fine the way it is.”
I shake my head, a mix of disbelief and determination bubbling up inside me. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“Christmas isn’t just about decorations or cookies or presents,” I say, gesturing wildly. “It’s about... connection. About reminding yourself that even when things are hard, there’s still something to celebrate. Don’t you have anyone to spend the holidays with?”
A shadow falls across his face, but he doesn’t answer, and I know that I’ve crossed a line. But what he doesn’t know about me is that I’m a talker. A chronic, can’t-stop-won’t-stop talker. Or maybe he does know, and that’s why his face looks like it does.
“Well, I mean—I didn’t meanthatto sound so judgey. Obviously, if you don’t have anyone, it’s not abadthing. I just meant... like, logistically. Not emotionally, or even romantically. And now I sound like a psychopath.”
He blinks, so I carry on.
“I was just gonna say you could come to Boston with me. My parents love strays, but not in a pity way. In a festive, community-spirit, Hallmark-movie way. And not that you’re a stray. I just meant—ugh. Anyway. I rescind the offer.”
For the love of Santa, stop talking, Francesca.
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Probably for the best.”
“But now I sound like a monster who uninvited you. I didn’t mean it like that. I just… my mom would definitely assume we’re dating, and then I’d be stuck explaining how you’re not my boyfriend, and then she’d start pulling out the good china and asking about baby names. And my dad—oh god, he’d try to bond with you over fishing and give you one of his hideous festive ties—”
“Frankie,” Sam cuts in, holding up a hand. “Stop talking.”
I snap my mouth shut as heat creeps up my neck. “Right. Yep. Shutting up.”
We stand there for a second in the kind of silence that buzzes with secondhand embarrassment (all mine) before I take a step back and almost lose my footing, my heel catching on the wood beneath me.. He moves instinctively, much faster than I am, his free hand landing on my arm through the thick fabric of my coat. It’s barely a touch, more a reflex than anything. But the way he freezes after, our eyes colliding, makes it feel like something else entirely. I clear my throat, pretending I didn’t just forget how to breathe for a second, and his hand drops. “Uh, anyway. Cookies. Peace offering-slash-Christmas-magic-not-drugs-though. Enjoy.”
He watches me for a beat, then nods. “Thanks.”
It’s a small word, but it carries more weight than I expected. Maybe it’s because I really wasn’t sure he’d say it.
As I turn to leave, I look down at the wood below me, making sure I don’t trip again. When I’m almost at the foot of his steps, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder and grin. “By the way, you’ve got frosting on your lip.”
Sam’s eyes widen slightly, and he swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, muttering something I can’t quite make out.
