Chapter 10
CECE
I hadn't even planned on coming to the tree lighting tonight.
After that kiss with Brayden yesterday, the one that's been replaying in my mind like a movie I can't stop watching, I'd planned to hide in my room with a bottle of wine and pretend the festival didn't exist. But Dad insisted, saying the church needed to “present a united front” after the board meeting drama.
So here I stand, freezing my ass off in the town square, wearing Brayden's hoodie under my coat because I couldn't bring myself to take it off. It still smells like him.
“Cece!” Mrs. Henderson waves frantically from the hot chocolate booth, her Santa hat tilted at a precarious angle. “Come help us serve! We're short-handed!”
Before I can stammer out an excuse, Mrs. Henderson thrusts a ladle into my hand and practically drags me behind the booth.
Great. Now I'm stuck serving lukewarm cocoa to the gossip vultures.
I'd been blissfully oblivious until this morning at Coastal Grounds.
The moment I pushed through the door, twenty conversations crashed to a halt, leaving nothing but the hiss of the espresso machine and twenty pairs of eyes burning holes through my coat.
Message received, San Salona. I'm the main course on your rumor menu this Christmas.
I pour cup after cup, my smile growing more strained with each “Merry Christmas” I force past my lips.
The town square is packed, twinkling lights, holiday carols blast from the speakers, and even the fluttering of fake snow is shot into the air is doing nothing to improve my mood.
I'm filling yet another cup when I see them.
My hand freezes mid-pour, hot chocolate spilling over the rim and onto my fingers. I barely register the burn.
Ethan stands by the massive Christmas tree, looking as though he stepped straight out of a J.Crew catalog in his camel coat and cashmere scarf.
And draped on his arm, every bit the polished accessory, is Brittany—platinum hair cascading over shoulders that clearly aren’t shivering in her too-thin coat.
Why choose something warm when you can choose something attention-grabbing?
Brittany. My husband’s former administrative assistant. The woman who used to bring me coffee when I visited his office—while carrying on an affair with him the moment the place emptied out.
“Careful there, dear,” Mrs. Henderson says, grabbing a napkin to blot up my spill. “You’re wasting cocoa.”
I can’t look away as Ethan throws his head back, laughing at something Brittany said. The way his hand settles on the small of her back. The way she leans into him, sliding neatly into the role I once filled.
That used to be me.
“Cece? Are you listening? We need more marshmallows.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, passing the ladle to her. “I'll get them.”
I duck under the table, grateful for the momentary escape, and pretend to search for marshmallows that are clearly visible in the plastic bin right in front of me. I need a minute to breathe, to steady my shaking hands, to swallow the lump of hurt that's suddenly blocking my throat.
It shouldn’t matter. We’re divorced. He moved on before we even signed the papers. I knew he was seeing her. But seeing them together—so public, so…happy—tears open a wound I thought had finally begun to heal.
“Found them,” I announce with false brightness, emerging from under the table with the marshmallow bag. Mrs. Henderson gives me a look that's half concern, half curiosity.
“You alright, dear? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“I'm fine,” I lie, the words automatic after months of practice. “Just cold.”
I pour more hot chocolate, focusing intently on not spilling it this time.
My fingers are sticky with the earlier spill, and I wipe them discreetly on a napkin.
I can feel eyes on me, not just Mrs. Henderson's, but others too.
Word has already spread that Ethan and his new girlfriend are here, and everyone wants to see the ex-wife's reaction.
San Salona's favorite spectator sport is watching other people's pain.
I'm so focused on appearing unbothered that I don't notice him approaching until Mrs. Henderson's breath catches audibly beside me.
“Oh my,” she murmurs.
I look up, and my heart does something complicated in my chest when I spot Brayden striding through the crowd.
He isn’t trying to blend in—not that he could even if he tried.
His cut is impossible to miss, a sharp presence in a sea of holiday cheer, and people practically leap aside as he makes a direct path toward the hot chocolate booth.
For me.
“Two hot chocolates,” he says, his voice a steady rumble that somehow cuts through the Christmas music blaring from the nearby speakers. His gaze never shifts, and heat rises up my neck that has nothing to do with the steaming beverage I’m serving.
“Sure,” I manage, grateful that my tone doesn’t betray the riot in my chest. I fill two cups, my hands steadier than they have any right to be. “Marshmallows?”
“Definitely.” The corner of his mouth quirks into that almost-smile that makes my stomach flip. “The more the better.”
I pile marshmallows into his cups, acutely aware of Mrs. Henderson practically vibrating with gossip potential beside me. When I hand the drinks over, our fingers brush, and I swear I feel it all the way to my toes.
“Thanks, princess.” The words are soft, meant only for me, and the nickname sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the December chill.
“You're welcome.” I try for casual, but the words come out breathier than intended. “I didn't think this was your scene.”
“It's not, but hey, life would be boring if you didn’t try something new from time to time,” he shrugs.
It’s not lost on me that he ordered two cups. “Did you come here with Jillian?”
“Nope,” he smirks.
A pit forms in my stomach. He ordered two cups, but if his aunt’s not here, who is the second cup for? I'm about to ask who the other hot chocolate is for when he lifts one cup in a small toast.
“This one's for me,” he says, taking a sip and leaving a tiny marshmallow mustache on his upper lip that makes him look surprisingly boyish. “And this one's for you. Figured you could use a break.”
“I can't just leave,” I whisper, though every cell in my body is screaming at me to do exactly that. “I'm supposed to be helping.”
“Mrs. Henderson won't mind,” he says confidently, loud enough for her to hear. “Will you, ma'am?”
Mrs. Henderson, who's been pretending not to eavesdrop, nearly jumps out of her sensible shoes at being addressed directly by a man in a motorcycle cut. “I...well...”
“See? She's fine with it.” He holds the second cup out to me, challenging me to take it.
I hesitate for just a second before untying the volunteer apron. “I'll be back in a bit,” I tell Mrs. Henderson, as I duck under the counter and join Brayden on the other side.
“No, you won't,” he murmurs as he hands me the hot chocolate, his fingers brushing mine deliberately this time.
The warmth of the cup is nothing compared to the heat that flares in my chest at his touch. I take a sip to hide how my hands are shaking. The rich chocolate warmth slides down my throat, grounding me in this moment. With him.
“You planned this,” I accuse, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips.
“Guilty.” He takes another sip, his gaze never leaving mine. “Heard it was your favorite Christmas thing.”
“Jillian told you,” I realize, feeling a rush of fondness for his meddling aunt.
“She might’ve mentioned it.” He steps closer, his body shielding me from the curious stares around us. “She also mentioned you never miss it. Even had mono one year and still dragged yourself here.”
“I can’t believe she remembers that.” I laugh, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to ease despite the crowded square and all the people watching. “I was sixteen and miserable, but I wasn’t going to miss seeing that tree light up.”
“Why is it so important to you?”
I take another sip, considering. “My mom loved Christmas. After she died, this was the one tradition my dad kept alive, exactly the way she did it. It’s like…for these few minutes every year, she’s still here.”
Something shifts in Brayden’s expression—a subtle softening that makes my heart flutter. “That’s—”
“Well, well. If it isn’t my ex-wife.”
Ethan’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp enough to freeze me in place.
My entire body tightens as I turn slowly, my cup of hot chocolate suddenly heavy in my grasp.
Brittany, his secretary, hovers at his side, her lips tilted in a practiced expression she must think passes for sympathy, though it lands closer to smugness.
His gaze flicks between Brayden and me, narrowing slightly when it lands on the Heaven’s Rejects patch. “I see you’ve…moved on.” The way he says it makes it sound like I’ve taken up with a serial killer. Though now that I think about it—nope. Not going there.
“Is there something you need?” I ask, deliberately ignoring his comment.
Brittany leans into him, her hand possessively clutching his arm. “We just wanted to say hello. Be friendly.”
“Friendly,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “That's certainly a new approach for you two.”
Ethan’s polished smile falters for just a second. “No need to be nasty, Cece. It’s Christmas, after all.”
I feel Brayden shift beside me, his body angling slightly forward as if preparing to step between us. His presence feels solid at my back, steadying in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Yeah, it is Christmas, which is why I’m trying to enjoy the festival. If you’ll excuse us, I have better places to be.”
Ethan’s jaw tightens, and I can practically hear his veneers grinding. “I see that time apart hasn’t fixed your attitude problem.”