Chapter 8
REESE
Room twenty-three feels smaller than it did when I was up here earlier. Then again, I am running on a major sleep deficit.
Or maybe it’s because of the details, including the turned-down bed with chocolates on the pillows, the couch that’s been made up with sheets and a blanket, and the way Rebecca’s sweet scent mingles with pine from the garland draped over the mantel.
Or perhaps it’s because I’m about to spend the night in the same room as the woman I just realized I’m falling for.
“I’ll take the couch,” I say, because that much is obvious.
She sets Pookie down, and the dog bounds toward it, scrambling for a boost since she can’t climb up herself.
“Pooks, you’re sleeping in the bed with me.” Rebecca plops her on the mattress.
The dog whines and looks between us like she’s being asked to choose sides in a custody battle.
Before I can stop myself, I scoop her up. “Come here, drama queen.” Pookie burrows into my arms with a satisfied grunt as her little corkscrew tail wags. I set her on the couch and she looks up at me with satisfaction in her bug eyes like I’m her new favorite person.
“Pookie, seriously?” Rebecca crosses her arms, mock upset. “I feed you. I buy you expensive treats. And you choose him?”
I can’t help my grin, trying not to look smug as I scratch behind the pug’s ears. “What can I say? She has good taste.”
Rebecca murmurs, “Yeah, she does.”
Then, she and I do an awkward dance where we both start to speak at the same time and then go to grab the pajamas from the gift shop bag. Our mouths open and close as if we’re not sure what to say or how to say it.
“Please, go first.”
“No, you’re my guest. I insist.”
With a tuck of my chin, I disappear into the bathroom. I take a quick shower, marveling at how even the bath products are Christmas-themed with minty, candy cane-scented body wash, sugar cookie shampoo and conditioner.
After I put on the red plaid flannel PJs, I brush my teeth—thank you, Noella, for including this in your turndown service.
I glimpse my reflection in the mirror. My mother would love to see me wearing these pajamas because she always got me a pair for Christmas until I eventually thought I was too cool for them.
I also know she always liked Rebecca. On more than one occasion, she said, “That girl is going places,” but added that she hoped she never went far.
Being here, with her, I feel comfortable in a way that makes me think about lazy and cozy Christmas mornings and not having anywhere to be.
When I emerge, Rebecca is waiting with her own set of pajamas clutched in her arms. Our eyes meet for half a second before she darts past me into the bathroom.
I settle onto the couch, testing it out. It’s fairly comfortable, though I’m not sure how much sleep I’m going to get knowing she’s merely a few feet away.
The shower turns on and Pookie and I have a staring contest. It’s like she’s asking me whether I plan to stick around or if I’m going to break her mom’s heart.
Whoa. Where did that thought come from?
My ears are still warm a few minutes later when Rebecca steps out of the bathroom in matching plaid pajamas. Her auburn hair is loose around her shoulders instead of styled for the stage. She looks younger like this. More like herself.
And absolutely devastating.
My whole body is on fire. My training tells me to stop, drop, and roll, but that’s not going to help this particular situation.
I clear my throat and say possibly the dumbest thing ever, though it’s better than the dangerous things scrolling through my mind. “The couch and pajamas are cozy.”
“I’m really enjoying not having my phone, but maybe we should take a photo in our pajamas.”
I tip my head back and laugh. “If we don’t capture it, it didn’t happen,” I joke.
But it did. It is. This is real and as we scootch together with Pookie, I take a selfie and breathe in this moment because it’s certainly not one I’ll soon forget. We take a few shots of us smiling and goofing around, making silly faces, laughing all the while.
She climbs into bed and pulls the covers up to her chin. “Oh, and by the way, it’s Christmas Eve, so anything but cozy would be wrong.”
I worry that what we’re doing is wrong, but if that’s the case, I’m not sure I want to be right.
I can reach the light switch and flip it off, but a small, ceramic lamp shaped like a Christmas tree glows with colorful lights.
Rebecca and I lie there in our separate spaces, the room quiet except for Pookie’s soft snoring from her spot on the bed.
After a beat, when I should be counting sheep, Becca’s voice breaks the silence. “Remember when you and Brady tried to stay up all night to catch Santa?”
I smile at the ceiling. “We made it to nine thirty.”
“I was too afraid to get in trouble.”
“Your mom found us passed out on the couch with half-eaten cookies.”
She giggles again. “And a note for Santa that said ‘We’re watching you.’”
I chuckle. “You remember that?”
“I’m surprised he still left gifts.”
“In our defense, we were very committed to the stakeout.” I shift to look in her direction. “Your mom made everything special. Mine too. They were friends except when it came to fruitcake.”
Rebecca laughs. “She makes the worst fruitcake every year. And every year, people pretend it’s delicious.”
“My mom was honest about it,” I add, recalling the memory.
“Is any fruitcake good? It’s kind of like a dry brick rather than cake.”
I laugh. “I’ll have to add it to the list of things to try making at the bakery as a special seasonal Crush Cakes flavor.”
Rebecca, voice barely above a whisper, says, “Your mom would be proud of you.”
“I miss her, especially at Christmas,” I admit.
“I’m sorry, Reese. She was wonderful.”
We talk for a while longer about childhood Christmases, and I’m so relaxed that I almost miss it when Rebecca speaks again, her voice small. “I had such a crush on you.”
My brain takes a second to catch up. “What?” Did she say something about slush, like on the roads once the storm stops, or did she say something else?
“I had a crush on you for almost as long as I can remember. It was bad when I was sixteen, but the heart eyes hit a critical point this one Christmas ...”
“I’m not being modest, but this is news to me.”
“I’d been eighteen for barely a month, still a senior in high school when you and Brady came home from your academies for break.
You’d both grown up and ... I had the worst crush.
” She pulls the blanket higher, like she’s hiding.
“You probably don’t even remember. I was just Brady’s annoying little sister who followed you around. ”
Warmth radiates through me at her confession. “You weren’t annoying.” I should stop there. Leave it at that. But the words keep coming as a long-buried memory comes to the surface. “And I remember that day. Maybe a little.”
“You do?”
I stare at the ceiling, seeing that night as clearly as if it were yesterday.
I might have had to convince myself that I was imagining things because Brady’s sister came with a big, neon Off-limits sign.
“Your mom made hot chocolate, and you sat at the old upright in your living room and played piano, and I remember thinking ...”
“Thinking what?”
“Thinking you were too young and you were Brady’s sister and I had no business thinking you were beautiful.”
The silence that follows feels heavy with possibility. With all the things we’re not saying. With almosts and what-ifs and careful distance because of unspoken rules.
Then I hear something—jingle bells—and go still. Rebecca listens too. They’re faint but distinct, coming from somewhere outside.
“Did you hear that?” Rebecca throws back her covers and rushes to the window.
I’m right behind her, and we stand side by side, peering out into the snowy night. There’s nothing but snow falling in thick flakes, covering the world in white, and the distant glow of the lodge’s Christmas lights like gumdrops.
“Probably someone’s decorations,” I say, but my voice comes out hushed.
“Or maybe Santa is making his deliveries,” she whispers.
We stand there watching the snow, and I can see our reflections in the glass—her in plaid pajamas with her hair down, me rumpled and trying very hard not to think about how close she’s standing.
Then she turns to look at me, and I’m already looking at her. The current between us sparks and snaps.
Her lips part slightly as her gaze hugs mine.
This is the moment where I either step back and preserve the careful boundaries we’ve maintained, or I step forward and risk everything.
“Becca,” I say, and her name feels like something special on my lips.
“Reese?” The corners of her lips twitch with a smile.
“Tell me if this is a terrible idea.”
“What idea?”
Instead of answering, I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers graze her cheek, and she shivers.
Biting her lip, her eyes lock on mine, and I see the answer there, shining with the same want, the same fear, the same inevitability that’s been building between us since I knocked on her door this morning.
She rises on her toes, and that’s all the permission I need.
I cup her face in my palms, and then I kiss her. Soft at first, tentative, giving her every chance to pull away.
She doesn’t.
Instead, her hands tangle in my hair and pull me closer. The kiss deepens into something that makes my head spin and my pulse race and my entire world narrow down to her lips on mine, our breath mingling, the taste of warm chocolate.
The kiss deepens as she runs her hands along my back and I dip mine to the slope of her waist. Our pulses thunder—or maybe that’s the reindeer on the roof.
I can’t be sure what’s real or whether this is the best kind of Christmas Eve dream.
But I like it. A lot. Becca too. She’s a gift in human form and this kiss is icing on the Christmas cookie.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. My forehead rests against hers, and her heart pounds where her chest presses against mine.
“That was—” she starts.
“Yeah,” I breathe, because I can’t form actual sentences, never mind thoughts, right now.
Outside, the jingle bells ring again. The snow continues to fall and once more, I’m kissing my best friend’s sister again on Christmas Eve. It’s either the best or worst decision I’ve ever made.
Right now, with her in my arms, I’m betting on the best.
We eventually pull apart, though I keep hold of her hand like I’m afraid she’ll disappear if I let go.
“We should probably get some sleep,” she says, but neither of us moves toward our separate sleeping spaces.
“Probably,” I agree.
“Santa’s coming.”
“Right. Santa.”
She laughs softly and squeezes my hand. “Good night, Reese.”
“Good night, Becca.” I drop a kiss on her forehead.
Almost hesitantly, as if she doesn’t want tonight to end, she climbs back into bed, and I return to the couch, but everything feels different now. The air is charged with possibility and uncertainty and the recent memory of that kiss, already printed in my mind, where it will live forever.
I lie awake for a long time, listening to her breathing even out, watching the snow fall through the window, and thinking about how tomorrow is Christmas morning. Most of all, I have no idea what happens next.
But somewhere between worrying and wondering, exhaustion finally wins, and I drift off with the taste of chocolate still on my lips.