Chapter Seventeen Scarlett
“Why don’t we do what people our age are supposed to do and go Christmas shopping online?” Kennedy complains for the hundredth time today as we make our way through the Christmas markets downtown.
Wren and I share a look, but I just roll my eyes, not wanting to get Kennedy on another I-want-to-go-home rant. She’s not the only one who feels that way.
It’s fucking freezing outside today, and the entire town are doing their last bit of Christmas shopping before the markets close for the holidays.
I, unfortunately, am among them. I might have my college life under control and a plan for my future, but when it comes to any sort of holiday shopping, I am the worst at getting organized for it.
I hate shopping online for gifts. I like to go out to stores and see what I’m buying before I get it.
I like seeing something random and realizing it would be a perfect gift for someone.
I just have bad luck with picking the right time to go.
With how busy I’ve been with the project for class and the list, I feel like I deserve this night out with my friends.
My SEI application is coming along well, I’ve successfully completed another thing off the list, the winter line is coming together well enough that I could probably show my parents my designs over Christmas break.
The cannolis are still a work in progress, but it’s progress nonetheless.
Being here, surrounded by my friends and the smell of roasted chestnuts and hot chocolate is just what I need.
The entire city is covered in a thin layer of snow, the mountains twinkling and perfect in the distance.
The layers of clothes I’m wearing under my puffer jacket still don’t feel like enough to save me from the cold, and I find myself rubbing my gloved palms together every couple minutes to keep the heat going.
After living here for most of my life, I’ve become more accustomed to the cold weather, but I still get surprised every December when the temperature reaches its lowest and all I want to do is sit inside by the fire with a steaming mug of cocoa and a movie.
But the Christmas markets are too good to miss.
Lights hang from the top of every stall and hut, an Alpine lodge and a tall Christmas tree at the heart of it all.
There’s music playing from every speaker hidden in the trees, the sound of children laughing and running around with oversized cuddly reindeer toys, and the smell of cinnamon buns and mulled wine invading my senses. It’s flawless.
“It’s more fun to be outside,” Wren says, hooking her arm through Kennedy’s.
That just makes her sulk even more. “Really? Says who?”
“Says literally everyone else,” Wren laughs, gesturing to the swarm of people around the carousel and the toffee apple stands.
“I want to go home,” Kennedy moans, tugging on my arm, and I just laugh, shaking her off before patting her beanie.
“We will soon. I just need to find this perfume for my mom,” I say, taking another scan of our surroundings for the fragrance stand I visit every year.
The markets have been getting bigger over the last two years, new vendors coming in to show off their cool products, and there’s always something for everyone here.
The only downside is that the map is too complicated, and I’ve been struggling to find my mom’s favorite perfume.
“From the market? Doesn’t she need high-end, super expensive stuff?” Kennedy asks.
“I mean, yeah, but she won’t really know the difference,” I say, shrugging as we stop at a candle stall.
“Who would’ve thought? Camilla Voss is a performative snob,” Wren giggles, shoving her nose into a Christmas-spiced candle.
“She is full of surprises,” I mumble. We continue down the row of stalls, all of the bags my friends have so graciously offered to carry for me bumping into my sides as we walk.
“How have you both got all your Christmas presents already?” I ask, pulling out my phone to double-check the never-ending list.
“Because we shop months in advance like normal people,” Wren says, using one of my bags to hit me on the thigh.
“Yeah,” Kennedy agrees. “Plus, I have two friends, and my family hate me, so it’s not that difficult.”
“Your family don’t hate you, Ken,” I tell her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. She just scoffs, tucking a curl back into her beanie.
“Right. That’s why they haven’t called in six months,” she says, and I wince.
“I love Mia, but she’s being a really shitty sister right now,” Wren says, and I hum in agreement.
Mia became all of our little sister when Kennedy first moved here, and now that she’s gone back to South Carolina, it’s like she took a piece of Kennedy with her.
Nothing has been the same since they left, and there’s only so much Wren and I can do to show Kennedy that we’ve got her back.
That we can be her chosen family too when her real one fails to show up for her.
“Tell me about it,” Kennedy groans. “I texted her about the new season of The Great British Baking Show and she reacted with a thumbs-up emoji.”
I suck in a breath. “I’m sorry, Ken. That’s brutal.”
Kennedy shrugs, not saying anything else.
Wren squeals suddenly, running toward a shoe stall, where she picks up the ugliest pair of clogs I have ever seen. “Do you think Miles would like these?”
“You’re joking, but he would absolutely wear those just to piss you off,” I say, laughing.
Wren shudders at the thought, placing them back. “You’re right. I’m not going to give him the ammunition.”
After walking around the markets for another hour, we decide it’s a good time to take a break from the shopping and get a cup of hot chocolate from the lodge. The area has quietened down as the evening has gone on, so we make our way up to the aerial tram.
It’s been a tradition for years, every Christmas since Wren’s parents took me with them when we were kids.
I always look forward to it, and getting to add Kennedy to the tradition is even better.
There’s a stunning view of the Wasatch Mountains covered in snow, and the Christmas lights shining over the city from a distance.
It seems like we came at the perfect time since we get an entire car to ourselves. Kennedy is practically bouncing as we make our way into the car, but Wren is a little more apprehensive.
“You okay?” I ask, taking a seat on the bench across from them, taking off my gloves and shoving them into my coat pockets.
Wren nods, but her smile wobbles slightly. “We do this every year, and I still get scared.”
Kennedy’s eyes widen as she looks between the two of us. “Did you guys see that movie where three friends get on a ski lift at a resort, and it stops halfway through, and they freeze to death?”
I press my lips together so I don’t laugh, because I have seen that movie and because of the way Wren’s head snaps toward Kennedy so fast I’m pretty sure she’s going to have whiplash.
“That is not helping, Kennedy,” Wren whisper-shouts.
“Well, this isn’t technically a ski lift, so it’s very unlikely that would happen to us,” she mumbles, and I snort.
Wren huffs, turning toward me. “Distract me with something, please.”
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
These girls know everything that goes on in my life—from the mundane things to the bigger ones. It’s hard to think of something that they don’t already know.
Well, there is one pretty major thing I haven’t told them about.
“Evan and I kissed the other day.”
The entire car shakes as they both leap out of their seats, yelling something at me as I grip on to my own seat.
Okay . . . So maybe telling them this here wasn’t the best idea.
For two people that have been encouraging me to work out my frustrations with Evan in ‘other’ ways for years, I can’t tell if they’re mortified or excited.
“WHAT?!” Kennedy yells, eyes wide.
“And you’re only just telling us this now?” Wren adds.
I snort. “Jesus, can you sit down?” I shout back, gesturing at them until their eyes return to their normal sizes and they sit back in their seats. I shuffle slightly, pulling off my beanie so my hands have something to do. “I didn’t really think it was important.”
Liar, says a voice inside my head. It’s all you’ve thought about since it happened.
“You kissed?!” Kennedy squeals, and Wren makes a little noise that she covers with her hand. “What? When? Where? Why?”
“Wow. That was almost the five Ws,” I tease. Kennedy does not find my joke funny, and she leans forward, gripping on to my knees and shaking me, waiting for answers. I sigh. “He was helping me with something on the list. You know, the interview with a distant family member.”
“You let him help you?!” Wren asks, and Kennedy slaps her knee. “Right. Not important. Continue.”
I wince. I knew I should’ve told them that much at least. But as Kennedy says, that’s not what’s important right now, so I continue.
“We were at this dodgy cabin in the woods that my estranged aunt lives in. She was so lonely, and I felt super bad for her. But she did have these weird taxidermy animals and Evan was terrified. So—”
“Yes, yes. Skip to the kissing part.” Kennedy taps her foot impatiently and Wren snickers.
“I don’t even know how it happened,” I say, groaning as I shove my face into my hands.
I look at them through my fingers. “I was just looking at him and he looked . . . gorgeous. His hair was all messy and blond and perfect from the running, and he held my hand, and I kissed him, and we made out against a tree.”
Kennedy’s mouth hangs open and Wren speaks for her. “Wow.”
“Yep.”
“Wait,” Wren says, holding her hand up to me. “You kissed him.”
I groan, throwing my head back. “I know. It’s terrible and horrible and disgusting and I have no idea what’s wrong with me.”
Even saying those words out loud, they don’t seem true.
Kissing Evan wasn’t horrible or disgusting.
It was messy and perfect and chaotic, but it felt .
. . right. It felt like what we needed to do.
I needed his hands on me. I needed to feel him close to me and find out what his lips felt like.
I felt like a teenager again, all nervous and excited at the same time.
I can’t remember the last time kissing someone made me feel so .
. . much. I think I might’ve needed it more than he did.
“When did you guys even properly become friends?” Kennedy asks, tilting her head to the side.
I shrug. “I guess we’ve been hanging out more over the last few weeks for the project and he just . . . he’s really not as insufferable as I hoped he’d be.”
“We’ve been saying that,” she mutters, sharing a look with Wren. A look they’ve been giving each other a lot whenever Evan’s name is mentioned.
“What?” I ask, irritated.
“We’ve been saying that for years, Scarlett,” Kennedy says, letting out a short laugh. “I don’t think he could hate you if he tried. He just doesn’t know what to do with himself when he’s around you, so he plays along with whatever game you’re playing.”
I blink at them. “Seriously?”
“Yes!” Kennedy exclaims, exasperated. “It’s obvious . . . To everyone except you, apparently.”
I try to think about what they’re saying, but none of it makes sense. Evan doesn’t like me. He might tolerate me, sure, but he can’t like me.
But he did drive with me all the way to my aunt’s house for no reason other than to keep me company. We both pretended it was so he could help with the interview, but we knew that wasn’t the real reason I wanted him there. I just . . . wanted him around.
He went to a bar to pick me up, and made sure I got back to the hotel okay. He let me use his shower and he gave me a shirt to sleep in that I still haven’t returned. And I’m pretty sure he let me sleep in his bed while he slept on a chair.
He told me about his OCD because he thought I’d understand. He trusted me with that part of him, let me get to know him in a different way.
And he kissed me back, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t just kiss him—he kissed me, with purpose too. And he put his hands under my shirt and his fingers in my hair and his lips on my neck and it felt so good.
I’ve denied it for years. I’ve forced myself to not think about it for more than a minute at a time, but the truth of it is so clear, so forceful, taunting my every waking thought.
Evan Branson is hot.
I don’t think he even tries to be. He just exists with those lined dimples and creased shirts and loose ties.
He exudes this simple confidence with everyone else that it feels like his softer side is reserved just for me.
Like when his mask slipped in Denver or when he asks me questions or holds my hand while we run through the woods.
He’s sweet and thoughtful even when he tries not to be.
He listens to me. Not just when I’m telling him to do something, but the important stuff too.
“Are you okay?” Wren asks softly.
I let out a weird sound like a yelp and a cry. “Just . . . processing.”
“Right, well, take your time with that. I think we’ve all been waiting a while for you to catch up,” Kennedy says, folding her arms against her chest and laughing.
I tug at the strands of my frizzy hair. “I-I just came to terms with the fact that he’s a decent guy, and I’ve just made out with him and made things weird.”
“A bit of a change in your relationship won’t kill you,” Wren offers.
“It might! I can’t even look at him anymore. I told him the whole thing was a moment of weakness.”
“Well, take it back,” Kennedy says easily.
“Take it back?”
“Yeah, tell him you’ve come to your senses, and you’d really like to kiss him again.”
Fuck. Do I want to kiss him again?
I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, that’s for sure. But Evan is . . . Evan. And I’m me. He’s a Branson above it all, and getting involved with him more than I am already would be a bad, bad idea.
I shake my head. “No. I’m not doing that.”
Kennedy all but growls at me. “Fine. Have it your way and be miserably horny forever since you won’t admit that you want to be smooching faces with Evan Branson.”
I don’t argue with her. I can’t. And for the rest of the night, I hardly say a word.