14. Colette #2
“Do you know what it's like, wondering if something happened to you? If you got home okay after running out of there like that? And before you ask – yes, I drove all the way back to Brookking just to clear this up."
I feel my cheeks flush. "Well, how did you even get back here? Your truck's still in the driveway."
He smirks, pulling out a set of keys. "You do realize I own more than one vehicle, right? I drove my Mercedes back."
"Of course you did." I roll my eyes. "Because one overpriced car isn't enough."
“Well, if you decide to abandon me again, I’ll have to take an Uber to track you down.”
"You're just mad I ruined your little scheme."
"What scheme? Finally getting to go out with my high school crush?" Hoping for, I dunno, maybe a kiss at the end of the night?”
I gape at him incredulously. “High school crush?”
He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne mixed with winter air. "You know what? Fine. You want to talk about schemes? Let's talk about that dance."
My stomach drops. "Don't."
"Senior year… You wore that blue dress," he says, his eyes distant with memory. "The one with the sparkly things on the shoulders."
"Sequins." I correct automatically, then mentally kick myself. "And it doesn't matter."
"You were standing by the punch bowl, talking to Sarah Miller about Mr. Darcy or whatever." His lips quirk up. "—when I finally worked up the nerve to ask you to dance."
"I only said yes because I was too shocked to say no." I wrap my arms around myself. But even as I say it, I remember how my heart had stuttered when he'd held out his hand.
"It took me three songs to build up the courage." His eyes lock with mine. "And when you finally took my hand... You fit perfectly in my arms. Best three minutes of my life. Gawd, Colette, I was terrified I'd step on your feet or do something stupid."
"Like kiss me?"
"That kiss wasn't stupid." He steps closer. "It was perfect. Until you kneed me and ran away."
Heat floods my face. "Because it was obviously a joke! The whole school saw you and Tucker high-fiving afterward."
"What? No—that was because I finally kissed you! I'd been wanting to do that all year."
"Right." I scoff. "That's why you spent the rest of senior year mocking me, calling me Professor?—"
"I was trying to get your attention!"
"Well, you got it. Happy now?" My voice cracks. "And now you?—"
"Shhh!" Hendrix suddenly presses a finger to my lips, head tilted toward the hallway.
Mrs. Fraser's voice drifts through the door. "...saw them sneaking off together. Into the craft room, of all places!"
My head snaps toward the voices. Mrs. Fraser's stage whisper might as well be a megaphone. Heat floods my face. Great. More fodder for the town gossip mill.
"This is exactly what I don't need," I hiss at Hendrix. "People already think?—"
"Think what?" He steps closer, and suddenly the craft room feels very small. "That we might actually get along?"
"That there's something going on between us!"
"Would that be so terrible?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy with possibilities I refuse to consider. Before I can respond, more whispers float through the door.
"First the hockey game, now this," Mrs. Patel's voice joins the chorus. "Young love is so sweet."
"—better check on them," Mrs. Fraser's voice gets closer.
The door handle jiggles.
Without thinking, I grab Hendrix's arm and yank him behind Grannie's towering shelf of yarn. We barely fit in the cramped space, pressed together between wool skeins and knitting needles.
My heart pounds as Hendrix's chest presses against mine in the narrow space behind Grannie's yarn shelf. I try to focus on anything else: the scratchy wool against my back, the clicking of knitting needles as they shift, Mrs. Fraser's voice growing louder.
"I swear they came in here..."
Hendrix's warm breath tickles my ear, and memories of that dance floor kiss flood back unbidden.
The way his lips had been surprisingly soft, how his hands had trembled slightly on my waist. I'd convinced myself for years it was all an elaborate prank, but the intensity in his eyes when he talked about it moments ago. ..
"Did you check the sunroom?" Mrs. Patel's voice calls from the hallway.
I shift slightly, trying to put even a millimeter of space between us, but there's nowhere to go.
My hand is awkwardly trapped against his chest, and I can feel his heartbeat racing as fast as mine.
A ball of yarn rolls off the shelf, and Hendrix catches it with lightning-quick reflexes. The movement brings him even closer.
"Maybe they snuck out the back door?" someone suggests.
Hendrix's fingers brush my waist as he steadies himself, and electricity shoots through me. This is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. But being this close to him, smelling that cologne, feeling the warmth radiating from his body—it's doing dangerous things to my resolve.
My legs start to cramp from standing so still. I shift slightly, and Hendrix's grip on my waist tightens. The same protective instinct he showed on the dance floor all those years ago. Back then, I'd convinced myself it was all an elaborate prank. But now...
"Should we check the basement?" another woman asks.
Please check the basement, I silently beg. Because if they don't leave soon, I might do something incredibly stupid – like find out if Hendrix's lips are as soft as I remember.
"Ladies!" Grannie's voice rings out. "We’re supposed to be caroling! We need your lovely singing!"
The voices fade down the hallway, but neither of us moves. My breath catches as his thumb traces small circles on my hip, probably unconsciously, and I'm seventeen again, swaying in his arms under the gym's twinkling lights.
"Colette," he whispers, and my name on his lips sends sparks down my spine.
In the dim light filtering through the window, his eyes are dark and intense. They flick down to my lips, and I forget every reason why this is a terrible idea.
"Colette," he whispers again, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek.
My heart hammers against my ribs as he tilts my chin up and I find myself melting into his touch despite my better judgment.
He dips his head slowly, giving me time to pull away. I don't. His breath fans across my lips, mingling with mine. The anticipation builds like electricity between us. My fingers curl into the fabric of his sweater, pulling him closer without conscious thought.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs.
I should. I really should. But the words stick in my throat as he leans closer, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to. His cologne wraps around me – making my head spin. Or maybe that's just the wine. Or the way his breath fans across my lips, warm and sweet.
His nose brushes mine, and my eyes flutter closed. The hand on my hip slides to the small of my back, drawing me closer until there's not even air between us. Just wool yarn and fifteen years of misunderstandings.
"Colette," he breathes my name reverently.
Our lips are a whisper apart when a loud cymbal echoes from the living room, followed by Grannie's voice singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" at full volume.
Reality crashes back. What am I doing? This is Hendrix Ellis – the guy who's been sabotaging my Christmas pageant, stealing my gym time, and generally making my life difficult since he got back to town.
I shove him away, stumbling out from behind the yarn shelf. "I can't… this isn't…"
"Wait," he reaches for me, but I'm already backing toward the door.
"This was a mistake," I gasp out, fumbling for the handle. "I need to go."
I bolt through the hallway, past the carolers, past Mrs. Fraser's knowing look, grab my coat from the rack, and burst out into the snowy night. I don't stop running until I reach my front door, hands shaking so badly I can barely get my key in the lock.
Behind me, Grannie's house glows with warmth, Hendrix's silhouette a dark blur against the Christmas lights as he runs into the street. He's calling after me as I shut myself inside, out of breath. What just happened?
I double check the deadbolt—not that Hendrix would try to break in… But I swear I can still feel the phantom press of Hendrix's fingers on my hip, and a tiny part of me wishes he would.