Chapter 1
Chapter One
SAYLOR
“Shit!”
“Watch your mouth or you’ll find coal in your stocking,” my mom says from the doorway, a red plaid blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The warm glow from inside spills onto the porch as she watches my near-death experience play out.
“It’s below freezing, and the cords are tangled like a labyrinth built by the Grinch.” My breath puffs out in little clouds as my fingers fumble with the stiff wires.
“I don’t understand why you’re risking your life up there in the first place.”
“We’re not going to be the bah humbug house on the block.”
“We never are.”
My knuckles ache as I force three strands apart, only for the rest to snarl into a knotted ball. “Son of a—”
“Saylor!”
I ignore her, inching up on my tiptoes to hook the next strand over the gutter. The ladder wobbles and my stomach drops as it sways.
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod—”
I grab for the gutter. The cold metal bites into my palms and groans under my weight. The ladder clatters to the porch while my legs bicycle in the air.
Mom tilts her head, apparently entirely unbothered. “You look like Chevy Chase.”
“Could you maybe help?” I squeak, knuckles whitening.
“Help is coming.” How the hell is she so calm?
“I am seconds away from—”
Instead of moving toward me, she waves. “Hi, Luke.”
I freeze.
“Drop.”
That deep, amused voice does something to my heart rate that has nothing to do with fear.
Luke Moore stands on the porch. A glance over my shoulder.
He’s wearing jeans, boots, and a flannel, holding a steaming mug of what I assume to be hot chocolate.
His hair is damp like he just showered, whereas I look like a novice elf on their first day on the job.
“Maybe you can give her some pointers,” my mom calls over her shoulder as she retreats inside. “Going back to my Hallmark movie now. Hopefully, the hero got his head out of his ass.”
“Mom!” The door shuts, the warm light vanishing. I’m left with Luke, the cold, and the faint scent of pine from the wreath I bought yesterday from the Boy Scouts outside The Farm Fresh.
“Let her enjoy her movie,” he says, grinning. “Now… drop.”
“I’m fine. Just put the ladder back.”
“You don’t look fine.” He doesn’t move, which sends a trickle of irritation through me.
“Luke!” My boots scrape against the siding. “This is not the time to joke!”
He takes his sweet ass time setting his mug on the porch railing. “You’re shaking.”
“Because I’m freezing and about to die.”
“That’s a little dramatic, no? You’d probably only break a bone.”
“Put the ladder back up.” My words come out through clenched teeth.
“Scared?”
“I am not—”
He makes a chicken noise.
I groan. “We’re not eight.”
His gaze flicks over me. “Nope. Definitely not eight anymore.”
Of course, my ass is basically the only thing he can see. My cheeks heat despite the freezing air.
“Luke,” I grit out, “I’m losing my grip.”
He cocks his head. “You know, technically, putting up the lights is my job.”
“Not this year. I’m home now.” We’re not going to get into the fact that yes, Luke has been putting up the Christmas lights here since we were thirteen.
He smirks. “And you’re doing a fantastic job of it.”
I open my mouth to retort, but the gutter creaks louder. My hands slip and my body jolts downward a few inches, my heart jumping into my throat.
“Luke!” My fingers give out.
I let go with a strangled yelp, a rush of cold air hitting my face. I close my eyes waiting for the thud, but then I’m not falling anymore. I’m against a wall of heat and muscle, strong biceps tucked under my arms and legs as if we’re about to walk over the threshold after being married.
His breath fans warm against my ear. “See? You should’ve just dropped the first time I told you.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, though I’m still clutching his shoulders, and maybe leaning into him more than necessary. Which is dangerous. I know first-hand how letting myself get physically close to this man turns out.
I shuffle out of his arms, and he lowers me to the ground.
“Liar.” His grin is pure trouble. “Now… want me to help with the lights? Because I’ll admit, the view wasn’t terrible.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse is still thudding. Not necessarily from the fall. “I told you I have it.”
His eyebrows quirk, eyes glinting under the array of colored lights. “Are we really gonna continue to play this game where you ignore me? It’s been, what… six months?”
Wind curls under the porch roof, biting at my cheeks. Maybe some unexpected snowstorm will set in right now and bury both of us, to save me from having to have this conversation.
“I’m not ignoring you.” I drop to the porch, coldness seeping through my jeans, and start fumbling with the hopelessly tangled strand of lights.
He lowers himself beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine before he grabs another strand to help. “You barely look at me when I stop in the store. And your drapes are always closed, even when your bedroom lights are on.”
“I don’t think a deputy should be peeking into women’s windows,” I say dryly.
He huffs a chuckle, still focused on his strand. “I’ve been looking in your windows longer than you’d like to know.”
“Pervert.”
“You don’t make it easy to get even two seconds of your time.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
In the time it takes me to unravel a quarter of my strand, his is already done. Show-off. He stands, straightens the ladder, and then climbs it like he’s a fireman.
“You know what I hate most?” he calls down, hooking the strand along the roofline.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“Tyler stole you.”
I lean against the railing, watching him work. The sight is too familiar and a flash of memory stings. The first Christmas after Dad died when Luke started stringing the lights without me even asking.
“You’re not making sense. I’m right here.”
He climbs down, shifts the ladder to the side, and grabs the dangling strand. “You’re not the Saylor I remember. He stole you from yourself.”
I roll my eyes, but my chest pinches. Six months ago, I returned to town coated in shame because Tyler—Luke’s best friend—decided I was too small-town for his big-city life.
“I’m the same person. Just… a little more jaded. That happens when you think you’re someone’s forever and they decide you’re no longer shiny enough to attract their attention. Too plain Jane for their new crowd.”
Luke glances over his shoulder with a smirk and makes his way down the ladder.
It’s the same smirk he used to bait me into spilling my guts at fourteen years old, after I swore I was fine without my dad.
The same smirk that was still on his lips when he let me cry in the treehouse until I fell asleep on his shoulder.
“He’s an asshole. Always was.” He climbs back up the ladder.
My forehead wrinkles. “He’s your best friend.”
“Nah. Hasn’t been for a long time now.” His tone hardens. “After you left with him, he barely reached out. Hell, sometimes I think he used me to get to you.” Something flickers in his face before he looks away, and I know he’s not telling me the whole story.
We work in silence. Him on the roofline, and me making little progress on the knots.
When he’s done with the strand, he climbs down and stands in front of me. “You’re shutting me out. I don’t like it.”
Luke’s always been blunt, while I’m always trying to keep everything locked inside.
“Saylor.” He stands in front of me, eyes steady.
“It’s… embarrassing.” My gaze stays fixed on the twisted cords in my lap.
“It’s me.” His voice softens, using the same tone he used at Dad’s funeral, in the treehouse, when Tyler convinced me to leave town, and that night six months ago when I stumbled back to Willowbrook with a shattered heart.
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink hard.
“Please,” he says.
I hate how easy it is to give in to him.
I keep my head down, not wanting to look him in the eye.
“I can only imagine what you must think of me. Returning home heartbroken, falling asleep on your shoulder, and then kissing you. Seriously.” I drop the lights on the porch and stand, making him step back.
“Maybe we should do the trees this year. Or get one of those giant inflatables. They’re cheery. ”
I make it two steps before his boots thud on the porch behind me, his warmth at my back.
“I don’t think anything of you,” he says, voice low. “I think you were finding comfort in your friend. It was late. You got confused.”
My stomach twists because that’s exactly what I told myself the next morning. But six months later, I can still feel the way his fingers slid into my hair, how his lips coaxed mine apart, how butterflies filled my stomach when his tongue brushed mine.
I shove the thought away. “So… you up for stringing the tree?”
Again, he doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“You’re the only one I’d risk frostbite for.” He goes back up onto the porch, returning with the ladder and lights.
I’m not sure if it’s because he’s just as confused as I am about that night, or if it wasn’t the eye-opening experience for him as it was for me. Either way, better to leave us as friends than lose another person I love.