Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Helen
I gaze up at Teddy, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and throat, unable to speak. My lips are tingling. My heart’s doing something wild and completely unsanctioned.
What the hell just happened?
That kiss was not for show. That kiss was not fake. And it definitely wasn’t supposed to feel that good.
Behind us, my dad clears his throat for the thousandth time, and I jolt, realizing my arms are still wrapped tight around Teddy. I let go and take a large step back, trying to gather the scattered pieces of myself and reassemble them into something calm and unaffected.
My mom is absolutely glowing, her hands clasped like she’s just witnessed a royal engagement. My dad, on the other hand, looks like someone just force fed him expired cranberry sauce.
“Th-thank you,” I murmur to Teddy, which is so weird.
No idea why I said that. I want to crawl into the couch cushions and die.
I just passionately French kissed a man in front of my parents.
I practically climbed him like a Christmas tree, and the worst part is that I want to do it again.
No, that can’t be correct. I want to never kiss him again, right? Yes. No. Ugh. I’m so confused.
“Oh, my heart,” my mom gushes, practically fanning herself with a throw pillow she’s snatched off the couch. “That was so sweet! You two have such chemistry. Don’t they have chemistry, Phillip?”
“Mom, please!” My voice pitches high. Suddenly I’m fourteen again, hiding in the shoe section while my mom buys my first bra.
My dad doesn’t answer. He just makes a noise that sounds vaguely like someone choking on a turkey bone.
“See?” she says, undeterred. “That kiss looked like a scene from one of those Hallmark movies, only, you know, better.”
I resist the urge to burrow into the carpet.
Teddy shifts on his feet and rubs the back of his neck.
“The way you kissed her was so romantic,” Mom carries on, clutching her chest. “I could feel it.”
My dad glares at Teddy. “I also felt it. Deep in my soul. Like indigestion.”
“We—we should watch the movie!” I exclaim, desperate for the safety of a dimly lit room where no one can see me blush.
“Oh! Yes! The movie,” Mom agrees, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
We arrange ourselves on the sofa. I’m trapped between my dad and Teddy, close but not touching either of them.
The movie plays out in front of me, but I’m not paying attention.
I’m too distracted, peeking at Teddy out of the side of my eye.
He stares at the screen. Not a single glance in my direction.
That’s okay. Totally fine. Just focus. Jimmy Stewart. Angel wings. Wholesome content. Forget about that kiss the same way you forgot about that night a year ago. Except, I haven’t really forgotten, have I? I think about it all the time.
Two long excruciating hours during which Teddy’s expression remains flat, emotionless.
None of his usual smirks, jokes, or teasing elbow jabs.
That’s how I know I’m the one who got carried away with the kiss.
To him, it was just a social obligation.
A bit of improv. A brief performance for the sake of holiday tradition and my overly festive mother.
How can I be mad about it? I’m the one who forced him into this role, the dutiful boyfriend.
He did his job, and I embarrassed him. He’s probably mad at me—that’s why I’m getting the silent treatment.
At the end of the movie, when George kisses Mary and tells her he’d lasso the moon for her, I make the mistake of glancing at Teddy again.
Still nothing.
Not a flicker. Not a twitch.
Cool. Super cool.
This Christmas season is off to a great start.