Page 24 of A Pack of Mistletoe
Kai
Rosie leans against me as we drive back to her house. The town passes in a blur of white flakes and twinkling windows. The house we’d just toured—the one that sent her spiraling—lingers in my mind.
I should’ve known she’d hate it.
Shame twists in my gut. I should’ve realized sooner. It only drives home how detached I’ve been from her life these past two years. Longer than that, really—since high school.
When I left for college, I always meant to come back for her. To help her finally break free of her parents’ control. To make good on all the promises we never said out loud.
But I never told her. Not in the right words. I’d tried in small ways—calls, texts, check-ins that always came too late. But I never said it outright.
I don’t know why. Maybe I was just a dumb twenty-something with bad communication skills.
That stops today.
“Rosie,” I say quietly. She looks up at me with those big brown eyes, and it hits me right in the chest. “If you could have anything you wanted in a house… what would you choose? The one you’re in now?”
She shakes her head. “No. I mean, it’s cute and I like it, but I picked it because it was in my budget and available when I needed somewhere fast.”
“So what would you choose? If you could have anything?” I press.
Rosie smiles, soft and wistful, and looks out the window. “Actually… there’s a house right around here I’ve always loved. It’s coming up in a minute.”
We turn a corner, and a hulking black silhouette rises on the bluff ahead—massive, gothic, a little haunted-looking. Definitely not what I expected her to choose.
“You like old Victorians?” I ask, surprised.
She giggles. “No, that’s the Ember Pack house. Remember Clara, with the red hair? Her pack owns it. Her and her four, well, five—”
I raise a brow.
“It’s complicated,” she says with a laugh. “But that’s her house. It’s nice, just a little tooAmityville Horrorfor me.”
I exhale a quiet breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“The one I like is a few doors down.” She leans forward, pointing. “There—three houses later. That one.”
A three-story brick colonial comes into view, painted a deep, winter-blue with crisp white shutters. A stately portico frames a heavy wooden door. It sits just off the beach, with a wide front yard and, from what I can tell, an even bigger backyard. Christmas lights twinkle across the eaves, glowing soft and warm.
It’s lovely. It’sher.
Exactly what I’d picture Rose living in—not flashy or oversized, but warm and welcoming. Big enough for a pack, small enough to still feel loved in.
I quietly memorize every detail. I’ll scour every listing in town until I find something like it. Though with the holidays coming, it might take until after New Year’s.
That’s fine. Being near her—being part of her world again—already feels like a gift. Even if it means bumping elbows with Evander at the bathroom sink every morning.
We turn another corner, and Rose’s little house comes into view.
Something sparks inside me—small but bright—because this is where she lives. Where she dreams.
And I get to be here too.
Even if it’s not in the same bed…yet.
Rose
I toss and turn, then glance at the clock on the stove. Two o’clock in the damn morning.
