Chapter 4
McKenna
Iforgot just how small this place is.
The kitchen and living room are one space with a small hall to the side that has the bathroom, the bedroom, and Reece’s so-called super-secret locked room. At least, that is what Jett calls it whenever she gets the itch to try breaking into it. Either way, calling this a farmhouse is generous.
The place smells faintly of cedar and coffee, like every surface has soaked up Reece’s routines.
A mug sits abandoned on the counter, half-full, the same way he always left one at study nights in college.
I trace a finger over the worn wood of the table before realizing I’m doing it—touching his things like they might explain how he’s changed and why I still notice.
Christmas is five days away, and the bare Christmas tree by the fireplace is close to resembling Charlie Brown’s tree. Green garland with warm tree lights rests across the mantel with four stockings hanging on iron reindeer hooks.
Firewood is stacked in the fireplace with kindling and newspaper tucked underneath for an easy light.
Maybe I can convince Reece to light it even though the low tonight is only in the forties.
I wouldn’t be against curling up in the loveseat with my copy of Festive Faking and tuning out the world for a few hours.
The thought makes me laugh. Who curls up with a holiday romance after spending the morning crying in a principal’s office? Me, apparently. Because pretending I’ve got everything together has always been easier than admitting I don’t.
As much as I want to throw a fit and snap at Reece for leaving me hanging in the doorway, I can’t find it in me. Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted from the day’s events, but the way he caged me against the door as his lips claimed mine felt too real.
I yelled at him for all of thirty seconds. I can still feel it—the heat of his breath, the scrape of stubble when he pulled back too slow. The kind of kiss that sticks under your skin no matter how loudly you pretend to hate it.
The chicken bacon ranch wrap with a cup of ranch on the side that Reece places in front of me is enough to curb my frustration, at least for the time being.
As Reece drops into the seat across from me, his long legs spread open in that wide V men do as he slouches against the back of the chair.
His green eyes never leave me, and I’m suddenly self-conscious of how dipping this wrap in what is essentially a tub of ranch before stuffing my face must look to him.
I should not care what Reece thinks of my eating habits. He is the one who purchased it and placed it in front of me. I should not feel wary of how I look stuffing my face with yummy food.
And yet, I bring the food back to my plate and sigh. “Can you not stare at me right now?” He grins like a cat caught mid-pounce, completely unbothered by my glare. Typical Reece. I could be on fire and he’d probably hand me marshmallows.
“Just seeing how long it takes,” he says innocently.
“How long what takes?”
“For you to lay into me about overstepping by showing up at your place of work this morning and dropping off that stuff for your students. I actually thought you’d have yelled at me for it by now.”
It’s my turn to drop back into my chair. Is it crazy that this morning’s events seem days away at this point? A soft laugh escapes as I think back to how worked up I got over his gesture. Instead of being thankful for his actions, I wanted to tear him down.
“Before you build up to tearing me a new one over it, just know that I didn’t do it on my own. Jett and Noah and a few others in town helped to make it possible.” I hate the adorable look on his face as he admits to things before I say a word.
“Reece…you didn’t need to do any of it, but I appreciate it.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait…Who are you, and what have you done with McKenna?”
I give him a playful shove as I laugh softly. “Stop. Seriously, thank you for thinking of the kiddos. They loved it.”
It hits me then—how easy gratitude can sound when the person you’re thanking never expected to hear it. For the first time all day, my chest doesn’t feel quite so heavy. Both hands drop to the table, palm down as his jaw drops.
“Holy jingle bells. Did McKenna ‘Jack Frost’ Monroe just say thank you?” He pulls a hand to his chest as he continues. “Maybe I should go buy a few lottery tickets.”
I am not proud of the giggle his words elicit, but it’s clear that he is.
“Stop being dramatic,” I mumble before taking another sauce-covered bite. “The kids loved their presents. The real question is why Reece ‘Santa Claus’ Taylor doesn’t have any decorations on his tree,” I say, eyebrow raised. “You going bare this year?”
“I always wrap the important gifts, Kenna,” he says before pulling his lower lip between his teeth.
“The tree, doofus.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I haven’t had time to get the ornaments out. Besides, I wasn’t planning on anyone else being around here since the Flynn brothers have taken over holiday meals and my sister may as well be superglued to Noah.”
“You feel left out.”
“Do not.”
“Do too. That’s the real reason you agreed to all of this. You’re lonely.”
His eyes flick up, daring me to keep pushing. I do, because that’s our thing. We argue until one of us smiles, until the air between us feels a little less sharp. “You can admit it,” I tease. “Mr. Big-Bad-Farmhand just wants someone to bake him cookies.”
“Only if they’ve got extra frosting.”
“Gross.”
“Honest.”
We trade grins, and for a second, it feels like the old rhythm we used to have before everything got complicated.
“For once, can you just let it lie?”
“Yeah, sure, if you’re willing to return the favor and pretend the tears you saw earlier never existed,” I say as I gather our trash and start cleaning up.
“Mmm, no can do, Blue. The only person allowed to get you worked up like that is me. I am your personal annoyance.”
“Joy.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love this.”
“Love what?”
“Whatever this is we’re doing. Whatever we’ve been doing since college. Sneaking around behind Jett’s back, fighting with each other, purposely setting each other off.”
“Reece.”
“McKenna.” He steps closer, his arms coming around me to rest against the sink. As he brushes his calloused fingers along my cheek, a tiny spark in me hopes he’ll kiss me again. Instead, he sighs and backs away. “Take the bed. I’ll sleep in my recliner.”
“I’m not taking your bed. I can manage the couch for a few nights.”
“Can’t have the princess sleeping on a lumpy pile of springs, and you’d never fall asleep in the recliner even if I let you. Besides, you can pay me back by helping with the carriage rides tomorrow.”
“Wait, what?”
He is already strolling out of the house. “We leave at six. Sleep tight!”
I stare at the closed door, half annoyed, half amused, wondering when Reece Taylor learned how to disarm me with six words and a grin.