Chapter 27
twenty-seven
“It’s classic!”
She clicked on every last strand of lights she’d carefully strung up earlier in the week until the entire house was glowing. Warm, welcoming. Blinding.
The kind of warmth that made me want to crawl into a corner and hide.
“Wear this.”
I blinked down at the folded sweater Gina shoved into my hands. Forest green. Speckled with faint gold thread. Soft and festive. Just the right amount of cozy to scream, I’m approachable, but not I’m in emotional chaos!
I looked up. “Huh?”
Gina wiggled her eyebrows. “It’ll look great. Especially for Brenden.”
I rolled my eyes, but she caught my wrist and tugged me toward her bed.
“Sit. You’ve been weird all day.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been … I don’t know. Extra quiet.” She studied me like she could see the guilt forming a second skin beneath mine. “And you’ve been picking at your fingernails. You only do that when you’re stressed or trying to lie to me.”
“I’m just tired,” I said. “You know how I am in a new bed.”
“You sure that’s it?” Her voice softened, the teasing gone.
For a flicker of a moment, I wanted to tell her everything. Lay it all out. Confess the emotional knots tied up inside me that connected between Josh, and Brenden, and everything I couldn’t seem to make sense of.
Would it fix anything though? Would it release the weight or just ruin it all? Would I lose Gina too?
“Positive,” I finally said, folding the sweater neatly across my lap.
“You’ve always been there for me. I just want to return the favor.”
“I’m good, Gi. Really.”
She gave me a look I knew too well. “Why do I feel like you’re lying to me?”
“I’m not.”
“Promise?”
My pulse tapped against my throat like a metronome.
Slowly, I nodded. “Promise.”
“Okay.” Her voice lightened again, giving me the out I had so clearly asked for. “Now put that on. I’ll fix your hair, and we’ll eat too many cookies, drink sangria, and pretend we don’t make terrible decisions until the new year starts.”
I smiled faintly. She grinned back, already shimmying into her tartan skirt and holiday tights, looking like the cover of a vintage department store catalog.
Downstairs, the party was already in full swing.
The scent of cinnamon and cider hung in the air.
Mrs. Hutton buzzed from room to room like a snowflake on a mission, collecting wine bottles and delivering compliments.
Mr. Hutton grunted his hellos in between checking the thermostat and accepting cookies he clearly didn’t want, but took anyway out of good manners.
I just tried to keep my hands warm inside the sleeves of my sweater and avoid eye contact with the front door.
“Brielle! Honey, how are you?”
Mrs. Jacobson from next door threw her arms around me. I got a faint whiff of Chanel No. 5 and peppermint schnapps.
I gave a polite smile.
Mr. Hutton, who had been lingering nearby, finally leaned in, voice low. “You all right, kid?”
“Yes. Thanks again for letting me come back for the holiday.”
He gave me a look, one I couldn’t quite read, then cleared his throat. “Don’t thank me. You’ve always been here. Like one of the family.”
My stomach tightened.
From the doorway came a sudden gust of cold and a burst of laughter. More guests arrived. Mrs. Hutton took the wine bottle offered to her like it was holy, bow and all.
Then there was Josh.
He came down the stairs just as the new guests filed in.
His friends followed behind, faces vaguely familiar from high school, like blurry photos I couldn’t quite refocus.
He greeted them with a smile—that smile, the one that reached his eyes and had knocked the breath out of me once upon a time and apparently still did.
He wore a navy sweater that made his shoulders look broader. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just stepped out of the shower. And then …
He saw me. His eyes locked on to mine with that quiet, intense gaze I hated how well I knew.
The noise faded. Not in some romantic, fairy-tale way, but in that surreal, almost-cinematic pause that happened just before the floor gave out beneath you.
He kept walking. Closer.
I wanted to run. Not out of fear. But because I didn’t trust myself not to say something, everything.
He passed by his friend with the shaggy hair and the girl in the red clip, and he didn’t look away. Didn’t even try to be subtle.
I couldn’t stop looking either.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Brielle.” Josh’s voice was warm, yet there was something stilted about it, as if he was carefully measuring the space between us, like he was waiting for permission to move closer.
His eyes flicked between me and Gina, who was still fumbling with her hair bow, trying to keep it from flopping into her face every other step. The words lingered in the air between us, heavy with the quiet understanding that something had shifted—something unspoken yet entirely palpable.
His smile was genuine. It had always been, but his eyes … they were different tonight. Searching. Thinking.
Neither of us was doing well with all this, were we?
My breath hitched, catching in my throat. The memory of that moment—the near brush of lips, the pull toward him that had felt so undeniable—was still fresh. I wasn’t sure whether it was a mistake, a momentary lapse, or something deeper I couldn’t ignore any longer.
“Good to see you again,” I managed, my voice a little too thin, a little too quiet.
Gina, ever the interrupter, chimed in before I could let the silence stretch any further, “You literally just saw her at breakfast, you weirdo.” She waved a dismissive hand, then shifted her attention to something else across the room.
“Brenden’s here already. How did you miss him? You should go talk.”
She practically shoved me toward the direction of the party. “Gosh, it’s like you’re still clueless, even after all the dozen dates. You need to feed the person who likes you with your presence.”
I could hear her in the background, but the mention of Brenden was enough to pull my attention entirely. My throat tightened as I caught sight of him across the room, standing there with a smile that was both familiar and foreign. He looked the same, but different in a way that made me ache.
“Your last date was with Brenden, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Hutton’s voice came from behind me, snapping me out of my haze.
Before I could even attempt to respond, Gina cut in with her signature dramatic flair.
“They were practically perfect for each other,” she said, her hands fluttering as if she were arranging us like dolls.
“Forgive me for going with a classic romantic comedy trope. And he’s smiling at you now.
” Gina gave me a nudge toward Brenden’s direction. “Smile back!”
I could feel my lips stretch into a smile, but it felt like it was painted on, dry and brittle, like my red lipstick. The kind of smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
Behind me, I could hear Mrs. Hutton’s voice, light but filled with an almost-sharp curiosity. “Oh.”
I glanced over my shoulder, catching her looking at me with a peculiar expression, one that said more than words ever could. It wasn’t just a casual remark; it was something deeper, like she had noticed something in the air that I hadn’t even recognized yet.
“Why oh, Mom?” Gina asked, oblivious to the underlying tension in her mother’s tone as she waved her hand at me, trying to distract me with some new tidbit of holiday gossip.
But Mrs. Hutton’s gaze never left me, sharp and attentive.
Her lips were slightly pursed, as though she was seeing something play out in front of her—a drama she hadn’t expected to unfold.
Her eyes flicked quickly to Josh, who had just crossed the room, away from us, laughing at something with his friends, his carefree demeanor a stark contrast to the slow intensity building between me and Brenden.
I swallowed hard, trying to hold on to some semblance of control.
Mrs. Hutton cleared her throat softly, and in an instant, she was the image of politeness again, the facade of the perfect hostess slipping back into place.
“No reason,” she said, though her voice betrayed a quiet curiosity that wasn’t fully concealed.
I wasn’t sure if she’d seen everything, but I felt the weight of her gaze like a soft pressure against my skin.
I stood there for a moment, my gaze fixed on Brenden.
My heart beat a little faster. I was unsure whether to take the first step toward him or retreat back into the shadows.
My body screamed to cross the room, to bridge that gap, to let him know that I was here. But my mind? My mind told me to stay.
I didn’t need to say anything. His gaze was already there, waiting for me.
“Brielle?” he said softly, his voice grounding me in the chaos around us.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the apology rising before I could stop it. It felt necessary, like I owed it to him.
Brenden paused before his shoulders slumped. God, was I that obvious? To everyone?
He gave a soft, understanding smile, his eyes lingering on me with a knowing softness. “I kind of figured something was up,” he said, his voice a balm to the confusion swirling inside me.
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. My words tangled in my throat, and I wasn’t sure how to untangle them.
“It’s just …” I began, but stopped myself. What could I say to make it better? To explain everything without making it worse? “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head gently, reading the hesitation on my face.
“It’s okay. Sometimes, high-school sweethearts are meant to stay in high school, right?
” His voice softened, and a brief, almost-wistful laugh escaped him.
“You guys had a thing a while back too. I remember the way he used to look at you. Back then, I thought it was weird. Now though …” He let out a long breath.
“Well, you look at him the same way, so …”
His words stung in the best way possible, an acknowledgment of what we had once shared, but also a clear-eyed recognition that something had changed. It wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just about the past.
So …
That was the word. The final word, and yet it felt like there was so much more hanging in the air between us. So … what now? Where did this leave us?
“I really am sorry,” I said again, trying to make my apology stick, to make it mean something.
“Don’t be,” Brenden said with a soft smile. “I wish you the best, Bri. Whatever that may be.” His eyes flicked toward the crowd, the weight of everything shifting in the space between us. “We should catch up again. Sooner than this. Especially if I move out closer to you and Gina.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed, my voice tight but genuine. Part of me wondered if that was enough—if we could go back to being friends again after everything that had happened. But that was something I’d have to figure out later.
Brenden nodded once, then hesitated, as if considering whether to say something more. Instead, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle and turned to rejoin the group, not wanting to stretch the awkwardness longer than necessary.
I was thankful for that. Grateful even.
I watched him walk away, and with it, a strange relief washed over me.
I didn’t need twelve dates or twelve guys to find Mr. Right. I only needed one. And I wasn’t going to stop myself now before I reached him.
The thought settled in me like a comforting truth, warm and terrifying, all at once. I didn’t know what the path ahead looked like, but I knew I had to take a step. Just one. Toward him.
So, I turned.
The sound of clinking glasses and muffled conversation rose around me as I threaded through the crowded living room, my eyes searching for that familiar figure. And then I saw him.
Josh stood in a small circle of people near the fireplace, the orange glow painting soft highlights in his dark hair. His mouth was curved in a real, easy smile—the kind he rarely gave out freely anymore—and it punched something deep in my chest. I felt it. The ache of almost.
She was standing beside him, laughing along with the group. A stunning woman with the kind of confidence that radiated naturally, her honey-blonde curls falling like they were styled for a commercial. And she was comfortable next to him. Effortlessly so.
I saw the way her eyes followed him as he took a sip from his glass, her gaze lingering, like she already knew the taste of him. And when she placed her hand lightly on his arm—fingers brushing, thumb tracing idle patterns back and forth as if she belonged there—I stopped walking.
Oh.
I froze mid-step, the breath caught in my throat.
That laugh. That casual touch. The familiarity. She looked at him like I sometimes caught myself looking at him when I forgot to be careful. And he … he didn’t move away. He didn’t pull back. He just … let her.
This was one of Josh’s friends, wasn’t it?