Chapter 18
Hailey
I’ve walked into this house a thousand times, sleepovers, prom photos, college-break movie nights, the year Maddie got her wisdom teeth out and I had to stop her from texting her ex, but never looking like this and never while secretly sleeping with her older brother.
Snowflakes cling to my hair as we step onto the porch, and I can already hear Marla’s Christmas playlist through the door. Same Bing Crosby, same laughter, same smell of cinnamon and roast beef. It’s so familiar my chest aches.
Maddie doesn’t even wait for a knock. She just swings the door open and yells, “Simpsons are here!”
My mom and dad embrace her in a hug as she ushers us inside the already packed house.
The Bristols go hard for Christmas. There’s a garland on every banister, stockings on the half wall because there’s no room left on the mantel, mistletoe in two doorways because Marla is a menace.
The tree in the corner is the same one I helped decorate in middle school, only now it’s a little more raggedy and a little more covered in tinsel.
“Hailey!” Marla appears from the kitchen, cheeks flushed, red apron on. “Oh, honey, you look beautiful.”
My heart squeezes. I hug her tight, breathing her in. “House looks amazing. I wasn’t sure it would get done in time before I left.”
“Doesn’t it? Maddie lit a fire under Cole’s ass and bossed him around.” She leans back to look at me again, eyes sparkling. “That dress. I love the red.”
“Thanks.” I smile nervously, suddenly feeling overdressed.
I slip out of my coat and hand it to Maddie, and that’s when I feel it, his steady gaze from across the room. I don’t look right away.
“Everyone’s already here,” Marla is saying. “A few of Jim’s work friends and the neighbors from the corner that just moved in. You haven’t met them yet, have you? And some of the kids’ friends. Come say hello.”
“Yeah,” I say, hugging all of the familiar faces. I’m not a guest here, not really. I’m part of the chaos. I’m the extra daughter who knows where the wineglasses are and how to jiggle the downstairs bathroom door so it latches.
I finally look over the sea of people and spot him. Cole’s by the living room archway, dark sweater, beer in hand, talking to his dad and a guy I don’t recognize. And he’s not just looking at me. He’s watching me.
His gaze drags down the red dress slowly, like he’s picturing what it would look like puddled at my feet. My pulse trips. For a second his jaw flexes, like he’s physically restraining himself, then he fixes his face and nods at something his dad says.
Nobody else seems to notice it but I do.
“Come on,” Maddie says, looping her arm through mine and tugging me toward the kitchen. “You gotta meet the new neighbors. And Mom invited Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, you remember, they bought the old Fuller place. And she said someone from Dad’s office was bringing his daughter—”
“Is this payback for me making you go to my company happy hours?” I tease.
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “Also, you moved away, so everyone’s obsessed with you like you’re the Hallmark movie heroine who left the big city and moved away but has returned.”
“Literally, gone for four weeks,” I whisper, but I follow her anyway.
We weave through the house. I say hi to Mr. Bristol and other relatives of theirs, and then Maddie does rapid-fire intros.
“This is Hailey. She basically lived here growing up. She’s like my sister, and she now lives in Denver.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh! You’re that Hailey,” the neighbor woman says, like she’s heard legends. “We’ve heard about you.”
“Oh no.” I laugh, looking over at Maddie. “What did you tell them?”
The group bursts into laughter and Maddie immediately launches into one of our old stories. She’s describing how my shorts got stuck on the fence when I tried to climb it after throwing dirt clods at some boys.
I’m nodding and talking and laughing, but the whole time I can feel him. He’s moved closer to the kitchen, like he’s adjusting his position to keep me in his line of sight. It feels sexy and dangerous.
I glance over Maddie’s shoulder. He’s leaning casually against the counter. His eyes meet mine, and heat hits me low and hard.
I mouth the words stop staring. His mouth tips, just a little, before mouthing back a very obvious NO.
“Okay,” Maddie says, oblivious, “after this, we’re doing cookie decorating in the dining room. Mom got the good sprinkles. And don’t let Mrs. Clarke talk your ear off about the HOA; she will never stop.”
“Got it,” I say, sipping the mug of warm cider she just thrust into my hand.
“Also.” She drops her voice. “At some point tonight you have to tell me about your mystery guy.”
My brain short-circuits. “What mystery guy?”
“The one who clearly has you walking on cloud nine and making some weird faces.”
“I make a lot of faces.”
She narrows her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
I laugh it off, heart pounding, because my mystery guy is currently five feet away, pretending to listen to his dad and very much thinking about what I look like without this dress.
Across the room, Cole checks his phone, thumbs moving like he’s texting. And I know without even seeing the screen it’s for me.
My phone buzzes in my hand a second later, and my stomach drops like I’ve just stepped off a cliff.
Cole: I’m going to take that dress off your sexy body with my teeth.
I press my lips together, pulse hammering. Do not respond. Do not indulge this right now.
Maddie is chatting about cookie cutters and how it ties into the current neighborhood gossip, but I can barely hear her. My skin feels too tight. My thumb hovers over the screen.
Me: You’ll have to catch me first.
I hit send before I can stop myself, then tuck my phone against my cider mug like nothing happened.
I glance up. He’s still by the counter, smiling down at his phone. He lifts his gaze, his eyes settling on mine, and he flashes me that look, the one I told him about last night. He drags his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes shamelessly undressing me, and my knees nearly buckle.
“Hailey, come help me grab more napkins!” Maddie shouts, already pushing toward the dining room.
Saved by the Christmas elf.
I follow her, squeezing between people, pretending like my face isn’t on fire. Every time I pass a reflective surface, I catch the same look on myself, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, mouth a little too soft. It’s the look of a horny woman who needs to be dicked down before she loses her mind.
The dining room table is a sugar bomb. Cookies half-decorated, frosting tubs open, sprinkles everywhere. Marla is singing along to “Santa Baby” like it’s an audition. Jim’s telling a story about a busted snowblower.
And right there, hung perfectly in the doorway leading back to the living room, is a sprig of mistletoe.
“Maddie,” I hiss, setting down the napkins. “You guys have two of these this year?”
She grins. “Three, actually. Mom’s on a mission this year. Something about spreading Christmas cheer through ‘healthy affection.’”
“Oh my God,” I groan, but she’s already gone, sliding between guests to hand out more cider.
I turn and nearly slam into Cole.
“Hi,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
“Hi,” I echo.
“Enjoying yourself?” His gaze dips to my mouth.
“Trying to.”
His lips twitch. “You sure? You look a little… frustrated.”
I swallow hard. “We are surrounded by your entire family.”
“Yeah.” He leans in just enough that his breath skims my neck. “Makes it more fun.” He steps back slowly, then looks up, nodding toward the ceiling. “Mistletoe.”
Laughter erupts from somewhere behind us, and Maddie yells, “Oh, come on, someone’s gotta kiss under it!”
My heart stops. I shake my head. “Nope. Not a chance.”
Cole smirks, voice low. “You heard her.”
Everyone’s preoccupied laughing and he leans closer, whispering in my ear. “You’re lucky I play nice in front of an audience.”
Then, just to torture me, he brushes his knuckles along my arm. “Merry Christmas, Hailey.”
I step out from under the mistletoe before I combust and make a beeline away from the crowd. But when I finally sneak a glance across the room, Cole’s already looking at me again, thumbs moving on his phone.
Cole: Meet me upstairs. Ten minutes.
I stare at the message, heat flooding my entire body. My fingers tremble as I type back.
Me: We shouldn’t.
The reply comes instantly.
Cole: Exactly.
I shouldn’t. I absolutely, one hundred percent should not. And yet ten agonizing minutes later, I’m standing at the bottom of the staircase, pretending to examine a framed photo of the Bristol family in matching pajamas while my pulse beats in my ears.
The house is distracted. Bing Crosby is still crooning over the speaker. I glance over my shoulder. Nobody’s watching. Not even Maddie. I set down my empty mug on the entryway table, glance left, then right, and slip upstairs.
Each step creaks beneath my heels even though I try to remember which ones creaked from childhood.
My heartbeat is so loud it feels like someone might hear it over “White Christmas.” I reach the top of the stairs and let out a slow breath.
I take two steps down the hallway and my eyes are immediately drawn to his old bedroom.
I double-check that nobody is watching, then close the distance, tiptoeing quickly until I’m right outside his door.
It’s cracked open. I hesitate only for a second before pushing it wider and stepping inside.
My breath catches when I see him, like I wasn’t really expecting him to be here.
He’s leaning against his dresser, hands shoved in his pockets, sleeves of his sweater rolled up.
The lamplight hits him just right, glinting off the faint gold in his hair.
His expression isn’t playful like it was across the kitchen. Now, it’s hungry.
“You came,” he says, voice low.
“Technically, I just walked up the stairs.”