Chapter 3
DEAN
Her lips are softer than I expect them to be.
For a heartbeat, it’s just supposed to be a joke. A harmless, mistletoe-infused cliche to make everyone laugh.
But the moment she tilts her chin up, eyes flashing that little spark of challenge, and suddenly it isn’t funny anymore.
When my mouth touches hers, something in me lights up like a struck match.
It’s supposed to be lighthearted, a teasing peck that earns me a shove and an eye roll before we all sit down and joke about it later over cups of cocoa and another bad Christmas movie. But it doesn’t go that way.
The second she leans in, everything changes.
For half a second, I forget where I am.
Forget who she is.
All I can feel is the heat of her body pressing up against mine.
I pull her closer instinctively, my thumb brushing the edge of her jaw because I can’t help wanting to touch her more.
She makes this tiny sound, a half-surprised grunt that can almost be mistaken as hungry, and it damn near undoes me.
What the hell am I doing?
This is Richard’s kid.
The girl we’ve all heard about in stories since she was knee-high.
The girl who shouldn’t be pressed flushed against me, tempting me to turn her around and pin her to the wall right next to us and show her what I’d really like to do to her.
The room is silent around us except for the crackling fireplace and Grant’s old timey Christmas tunes softly playing.
I feel his stare like a physical thing between my shoulder blades, sharp and burning even though I can’t even see it.
Finally, it’s Cal’s voice that cuts through, his tone calm and grounding. “Alright. Break it up, Romeo. Think you’ve shown her enough holiday spirit for today.”
I pull back, my chest heaving a little.
Noelle looks up at me with those plush lips of hers, her hazel eyes wide, looking at me in surprise, maybe?
Or confusion.
Maybe even a little bit of lust, too.
Hell, maybe all three.
Her breathing mirrors mine, uneven and soft.
I open my mouth to say something to her or crack a joke to break up the tension, but the words won’t come.
Every version of sorry I can think of feels wrong, cheap even, because I’m not sorry at all.
Not even a little bit. Which is probably the most fucked up thing out of all of this.
I take a step back instead, rubbing the back of my neck while trying to find solid ground again.
“Guess I…got a little carried away,” I say, forcing a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
The silence that follows weighs heavy over all of us.
Noelle looks between all three of us, her hand brushing her dark curls off her shoulder, fingers twisting around the ends of it in an unconscious, nervous habit.
When I glance over, I catch Cal’s gaze flicking between us, his expression weirdly calm and, more predictably, unreadable.
That’s how it always is with him.
He’s never been one to show exactly what he’s feeling, even if you ask him.
He doesn’t look upset though.
In fact, he looks almost like he wants to get up and walk over and finish the job for me.
Shit, maybe I’m not the only one struggling with this attraction thing.
Noelle moves then, turning to head back over to the couch and sweep up the spare wine glasses we brought with us to nurse during our decorating.
Her movements are quick and a little stilted, her cheeks still flushed from our kiss.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
Not because I want to start anything again, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, doing so would make me an even bigger fool than I already am.
But because I can’t believe I let it happen in the first place. She’s Richard’s daughter.
His pride and joy.
How the hell could I let my own lust cloud my judgement like that?
Grant finally speaks again, cutting through the heavy quiet. “Maybe we should call it a night.”
He doesn’t sound angry, but there’s a careful, restrained kind of control to his tone that makes it obvious he’s biting back more than he’s saying.
His jaw flexes once. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, which somehow makes it worse.
I nod, mostly to show I can take the hint, but Cal, calm and unflappable Cal, decides he’s not done with the evening just yet.
“It’s still early. Why won’t we do something else.”
Grant shoots him a look, suspicious. “Like what?”
He shrugs, though there’s a glint of mischief behind his composed expression that I’m not expecting.
It’s subtle, but there. “We’ve got half a bottle of wine left. Why not use it? We could play truth or dare.”
That earns a small pause, then a sound I wasn’t expecting floats through the room.
Noelle laughs.
Not the nervous, polite one she’s been giving us since we all walked through that front door, but something bright and genuine that cuts straight through the lingering tension.
It catches me off guard.
“Seriously? What are we, twelve?” she asks.
Cal’s mouth twitches. It’s his version of a smirk, understated but smug enough to make Grant groan quietly.
“Twelve-year-olds don’t usually drink wine while they play games, Noelle.
What kind of middle school did you go to?
Plus, we’re done decorating. And unless you want to cozy up in front of the fireplace and put on another cheesy Hallmark movie, I’d say this is the best option we’ve got. ”
Grant lets out a sigh, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “You’re unbelievable. Noelle, you don’t need to spend the rest of the night with us.”
She shakes her head. “I’m good. I think it will be fun.”
My eyes land on Grant.
Out of everyone in the room, he’s the one I expect to shut this down.
The one who could always end an argument or a stupid idea with just a look.
He’s the grounded one.
The rancher with a quiet kind of authority who never needs to raise his voice to be heard.
To my surprise, he doesn’t shut it down. What surprises me most is how he just…watches.
There’s that subtle spark in his gaze, like he’s reading deep into the situation and figuring out it’s harmless enough to let it play out.
Or maybe he’s curious to see where it all leads.
For the first time all night, he looks a little less like the watchdog hovering over everyone and a little more like a man who’s interested in joining in on the fun.
That alone is unexpected.
I’ve only seen glimpses of the man underneath that composure, flashes of humor when I say something ridiculous, or the quiet acknowledgement he shares with Cal when they fall into some old rhythm in their friendship.
But this—the faint smile on his lips, the hint of warmth in his eyes—it’s different.
“Let’s finish this off and then we can use it as a spinner.” Noelle holds up the wine bottle.
After we’re topped off, the four of us gather in front of the fireplace.
The warmth paints the room in soft gold, shadows flickering over faces that are already too relaxed from the wine.
Cal leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.
That sharp, focused look in his eyes fixates on the bottle like he’s planning a mission instead of a stupid middle-school game.
Even when he’s retired, he looks like a man who could strategize his way through any kind of impending chaos. “Alright. Since I’m the one who suggested this, I’ll start.”
I gesture lazily with my wine glass. “Lead the way, soldier.”
He grabs the empty bottle from Noelle, who’s perched cross-legged on the rug near the hearth.
There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he flicks his wrist to spin the bottle.
It glides smoothly across the carpeted floor. We all watch as it slows, teeters, and finally lands.
The neck of the bottle points directly at Noelle.
She blinks, caught mid-sip, lowering her glass carefully. “Me?”
He nods once. “Truth or dare?”
Her eyes narrow slightly, the corners of her mouth lifting into that small, challenging smile I’ve already learned to look forward to. “Hm… Truth, please.”
Cal hums, the sound thoughtful.
I can practically see the gears turning in his head as he studies her, considering the options being laid out inside his head.
After a beat, he says, “Alright. What’s one thing you’ve done that your dad doesn’t know about?”
She groans. “Oh, come on.”
I can’t help grinning. “That’s cruel, man. You don’t want to ease people into this first? Round one and you’re going for the jugular?”
Cal just shrugs. “It’s a fair question.”
Noelle groans again but she’s still smiling, shaking her head slightly. “When I was in college, I got a tattoo.”
That gets all our attention.
I sit up a little straighter, grin spreading. “Really? What is it?”
That shy spark flickers in her eyes. “It’s nothing crazy. It’s pretty small.”
Cal, predictably, goes for the obvious follow-up. “Where is it?”
She hides her mouth behind her hand, eyes dancing. “That’s not part of the question. You only get one, per turn, remember?”
“Oh, come on. Cut us some slack,” I say, laughing. “You don’t really have a tattoo, do you.”
“Nope. Too bad,” she fires back, leaning forward and wrapping her hand around the neck of the bottle. “My turn. Let’s see…oh! Callum. Truth or dare?”
Cal doesn’t even blink. “Dare.”
Of course he’d say that. No hesitation, no second-guessing.
The man treats everything like it’s a challenge he’s already planning on winning.
He’s never had a competitive bone in his body, but he’s also never been one to not finish a game he’s started.
She tilts her head, pretending to think. “I dare you to…down the rest of your wine glass.”
I groan. “That’s it? Come on, Noelle. You’re going soft on him already.”
Her lips twitch. “Fine, fine. Then I dare him to sing a line from his least favorite Christmas song.”
Cal’s brow lifts. “Really…”
“Yup.” She smirks. “And you have to mean it.”
With an eye roll, he lifts his wine glass to down the entire thing.
Two large gulps are all it takes to drain the glass.
He sets it down onto the coffee table close by, wiping a hand across his mouth.
Then, in the most deadpan, monotone voice imaginable, he starts singing “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”
By the second line, I’m done for.