Chapter Twelve
Tessa
Dinner drags on forever.
Every laugh, every scrape of silverware, every bit of small talk blurs together until it’s just noise. I smile when I should and even manage to laugh at a few of Evan’s jokes. But the whole time, my pulse pounds so loudly in my ears that it drowns out everything else.
Because the whole time, I can feel him.
Clay’s not beside me. Not touching me. He barely even looks my way, but he’s there. He always is. It’s like his presence fills the room, making it hard to relax or focus.
Earlier, I caught him deep in conversation with Evan.
The two were standing near the tree. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I didn’t need to in order to know what it was about.
Me. The way Clay’s jaw was locked, his hands flexing like he was hanging on by a thread, and the way the two kept eyeing me when they didn’t think I was paying attention.
Whatever Evan said got under Clay’s skin. I keep telling myself to play it cool, to act normal. This thing between us isn’t real. It’ll fade if we both ignore it and pretend it’s nothing serious. But every time his gaze flicks toward me, my stomach twists, and I know I’m full of shit.
By the time dessert hits the table, I’m ready to snap. I need to step out before I do something that gives us both away.
When Mom sighs and says, “We’re running low on milk, and I’ll need it for tomorrow,” I latch onto it like a lifeline.
“I’ll go,” I blurt, already out of my chair.
Nobody questions it. Why would they? It’s Christmas Eve, and the store’s only a few minutes away.
I grab my coat, mumbling something about being right back, and slip out before anyone can offer to come with me.
The cold hits me the second I step outside. Sharp enough to make my eyes water. My breath fogs in the air as I make my way down the driveway, boots crunching over the snow.
Mom let me borrow her car, and it’s been months since I’ve driven anywhere beyond a quick errand. At school, I walk everywhere or bum rides from my roommate. Still, it feels kind of good to slide behind the wheel alone again, even if my hands are shaking a little.
Each step away from that house makes my pulse climb. Not from nerves, but because I know exactly what I’m about to do.
The drive into town is quiet. The roads are nearly empty, a few cars parked outside the diner and the coffee shop, their windows glowing softly in the dark.
Christmas lights hang from the lampposts, but half of them are burned out.
It’s all so familiar, the kind of thing that usually makes me feel at home.
Tonight, it just makes me restless.
I pull into the square and park. My fingers tighten around the keys. For a second, I think about just grabbing the milk and going back. That would be the safe thing to do.
But the truth is, I’m not only going for milk. I have something in mind that I want to do for Clay. Something to remind him of what we shared snowed in back at the cabin.
And maybe because I’m just so damn tired of playing it safe.
I grab my purse and head downtown, the cold biting at my cheeks as I walk the quiet street. The square looks like something out of a postcard—brick buildings with fogged windows, Christmas lights wrapped around lampposts, and a faint sound of Christmas music playing somewhere nearby.
Most of the shops are closed for the night, but the little corner grocery next to the pharmacy is still open.
It’s small with only two aisles, and the shelves are crammed with last-minute essentials and Christmas candy.
I grab a gallon of milk from one of the nearly empty coolers, grateful they still have what Mom asked for.
Once I pay, I tuck the bag under my arm and step back into the cold. My breath fogs as I pass the coffee shop, the smell of roasted beans and vanilla syrup trailing me.
That’s when I spot the boutique between the pharmacy and the café. Warm light spills across the sidewalk, drawing me in. I hesitate for a second before pushing open the door. A bell jingles, and I’m hit with heat and the scent of perfume and cedar candles.
I don’t bother pretending to browse. I already know why I’m here. My fingers trail over silk, lace, and satin until one catches my eye—a deep red trimmed in white. Simple but bold. Not me at all. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop looking at it.
My throat tightens as I wonder what the hell I’m doing. This isn’t me. But then I think of Clay—the way his eyes linger when he thinks I don’t notice—and my chest seizes. I can almost imagine the look on his face if he saw me in this.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I press the hanger to my chest, grab the matching silk robe, and take them both to the counter.
The clerk gives me a knowing smile. I mumble something about a gift and hand over my card so fast I almost drop it. My face burns as she slips the lingerie into a glossy bag with tissue paper.
That’s when I notice a jar of oversized candy canes on the counter, tied with little gold bows. Without really thinking, I grab one and add it to the pile. It feels silly, but somehow right. A small, playful touch to balance the nerves twisting in my stomach.
The cold hits the second I step outside, sharp enough to knock the breath out of me. The bag swings from my wrist as I hurry down the sidewalk toward the car. I toss it onto the seat and grip the wheel, my palms slick, my chest tight.
What if Clay laughs? What if he shuts me down again and calls it a mistake? What if he says that with our families here, it can’t happen?
The fear cuts through before I can stop it. My pulse spikes, heat burning through the cold like a warning I can’t ignore.
Because I know the truth.
He can’t hide what I saw in his eyes last night or the way he looked at me tonight. That heat between us has been there for years, no matter how hard we’ve tried to fight it.
I’m done pretending. Done letting logic or guilt get in the way of what we both want.
I start the car, headlights cutting through the snow. The bag sits beside me, like it’s holding its breath right along with me. My hands still tremble with anticipation.
By the time I pull into the driveway, the house is dark and still. The tree glows faintly through the front window, the only light left on. I ease the door open and slip inside, the warmth and familiar scent of home wrapping around me as I lock up behind me.
Mom’s still up, sitting on the couch with a blanket over her legs and the TV turned low. She looks up when I come in, her eyes soft but tired.
“Were you able to find somewhere open to grab the milk?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, lifting the grocery bag a little. “Got the last one.”
She smiles, the kind that says she’s too tired to question anything else. Thankfully, not the small glossy bag hanging from my other hand. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Night, Mom.”
We both head down the hall, her door closing while I duck into my room. When I step in front of the dresser, my gaze catches on the mirror. I stare for a long moment, barely recognizing the girl looking back.
My heart’s beating too fast. Every part of me knows this is reckless, but I can’t shake the pull that’s been building between us. I’ve been trying to ignore the ache twisting low in my stomach since the second I saw him again.
I set my things down and start the bath, peeling off my sweater. I glance over at the glossy boutique bag sitting on the bed like a dare.
I take my time shaving, then rub oil into my skin until it feels soft. Every second drags until I feel like it’s safe to sneak up to his room.
By the time I’m done, the house is entirely still. I slip into the red lace, the fabric soft and daring against my skin. My hands shake as I smooth it down, breath catching in my chest.
The hallway is dark now, with the only light peering out from the crack under his door. My steps are quiet, my heartbeat rushing in my ears.
I stop outside his room, hand hovering halfway to the door. For a second, I almost turn around and race back to my room, but I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath and lift my hand to knock.
The door opens almost immediately, like he’s been waiting for me.
Clay’s broad shoulders fill the doorway. He’s barefoot with gray sweats hanging loose on his hips. His hair is mussed like he’s been raking his fingers through it. My eyes take in the hard planes of his chest, and for a second, my brain malfunctions.
His eyes sweep over me, pausing on the silk robe cinched around my waist, and stopping on the candy cane between my lips. I take my time with it, letting the tip drag along my tongue before I speak.
He steps back to let me enter, his jaw clenching. When the door shuts behind me, he finally speaks.
“What’s this, Sug?” His voice comes out quiet and playful. “Santa short on helpers this year?”
Heat rushes up my neck, but I meet his stare. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying the view.”
Something dark flickers in his eyes, a mix of want and restraint. He doesn’t move, just studies me as I continue to suck the candy cane like it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
I quickly tug on the sash holding the robe closed, letting it fall open. His breath stutters. His eyes drag slowly down my body. “Christ, Tessa…” The words grind out like they’ve been torn from him.
“Merry Christmas.” I smile, small but wicked, because I know I’ve got him.
Clay crosses the space between us, his hands finding my hips as he pulls me closer. My hand lands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering under my palm. For a second, I swear he forgets to breathe.
I push him gently until the back of his legs hit the bed, and he sinks down, eyes never leaving mine. My knees brush his thighs as I climb onto his lap, straddling him.
His hands slip beneath the silk robe, gripping my hips like he’s desperate to touch every inch of me. His chest rises hard, every breath uneven, muscles straining like he’s fighting himself.