I begin to shake my head, holding up my hands.
“Rules are rules,” Layna laughs. “Get over here, Kirt.”
But I don’t even know him!
I catch Isaac’s eye, and for once, he’s not smiling. He crosses his arms, his expression oddly blank, and watches the show.
Layna pulls me to my feet, setting my plate aside. “Come on, Kirt. Kiss her!”
Kirt stops in front of me. He’s fair-skinned with a strawberry tone to his blond hair, and the tips of his ears are bright red.
“Can I at least introduce myself first?” he says with a nervous laugh.
The room finds that particularly amusing.
He extends his hand so I can shake it, which seems like a weird prelude to a kiss. “Kirt,” he says.
“Georgia,” I answer.
Once the introductions are complete, he brings my knuckles to his lips and brushes a soft kiss over them. With a wink, he says, “Nice to meet you.”
I grin, beyond relieved.
Our spectators boo, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not kissing a stranger. Laughing, I return to my seat.
“Are you going to allow that, Layna?” Isaac suddenly calls out, making the room go so quiet, you could hear that mouse from the poem stirring.
I stare daggers at him, silently telling him to leave it alone.
“What kind of Christmas game is this?” he says with a grin, making people laugh.
My stomach flutters, and I almost drop my plate. What is he doing?
Layna holds out her hand, thoroughly enjoying herself. “I’m going to need your pin, Isaac.”
Isaac walks forward, unclipping it from his sweater, locking me in his gaze. “That’s fine, but I want to choose who I kiss.”
11
“That’s not the way it works,” Kevin, Layna’s husband, calls from near the tree.
“Layna,” Isaac says with an exaggerated sigh. “Who do you want me to kiss?”
For a moment, I worry she’s going to say Jen. Her sister is certainly willing. Jen leans forward in her chair, eyes wide and eager.
However, Layna doesn’t pay her sister any attention. She looks between Isaac and me, delighted. “Who wants to see Isaac kiss Georgia?” she calls to our old friends.
Emery whoops from beside me, earning a scowl. She flashes me a sheepish smile and then shrugs.
Jen looks about ready to murder her sister. That’s almost worth letting Isaac break another rule.
Isaac stops in front of me and holds the mistletoe over his head. He raises his brows, daring me to walk away now that he’s set up the challenge.
Slowly, I stand. My heart beats a mile a minute, but I remind myself it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like I’ve never kissed the man before. We’ll make it quick, give our friends a laugh, and then I’ll yell at him in the car later.
When I’m on my feet, he tosses the mistletoe to Layna and closes the distance between us, not yet touching me.
“You gonna chicken out on me?” he whispers, just loud enough only I will hear him.
I roll my eyes and tilt my face toward him. “Hurry up.”
Isaac grins and then leans down, taking his dear sweet time. He smells just faintly of peppermint lip balm, the same stuff he’s used forever. You’d think that would soothe my nerves, remind me this is familiar, but nothing about this feels the same.
Suddenly, I want him to touch me, draw me closer. Our spectators have faded into the background, but I hear them laughing and coaxing.
Isaac is playing this up for them, I remind myself. It’s not for me.
He got a little jealous, that’s all. Just like the way Jen fawning over him makes me a bit unreasonable, he didn’t like Layna pushing Kirt on me.
I’m about to lose my patience and yank him to me when his lips finally meet mine. Briefly. The kiss lasts no longer than a second. To be honest, it’s probably the most disappointing moment of my life. It’s a tease, a taste, a sample.
My stomach knots, and my whole body screams, “More!”
Our eyes lock when he pulls back. I’m breathing too hard, and his gaze is intense. He wants it too.
The realization is a lightning bolt to my system. It fries wires in my brain (likely important ones I’ll miss later) and starts a raging wildfire in my chest.
If we weren’t surrounded by people, if we weren’t the currently scheduled entertainment, this wouldn’t be the end of it. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Ripping my eyes from his, I shift away, needing distance.
The party goes on. Our old friends go back to talking and eating, and they forget all about us. Kevin calls Isaac away, and I go back to talking to Emery.
But we’ve been magnetized.
I keep glancing at him. He keeps looking at me. Every few minutes, our eyes meet, and something silent passes between us. It’s terrifying and exhilarating, and I have no idea what it means.
The drive back to my parents’ house is crazy tense. Isaac barely says anything to me, and I can’t think of a thing to say to him.
We talk a little about the party, but neither of us brings up the kiss.
My hands fidget in my lap. Every time I catch myself, I tell them to be still, but they seem to have a mind of their own. I’m still in the ridiculous sweater dress—Layna told me to wear it home tonight and just drop it by when I next get the chance. I’m not sure when that will be considering I’m supposed to fly back to Phoenix the day after tomorrow so I can sort out my life. Or, more accurately, my stuff.
What am I going to do with it all? I’ll have to rent a moving truck to bring it back home.
But I don’t want to leave Arizona.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Isaac finally says when we’re only about five minutes from the house.
“Long night.”
Even though I look straight out the windshield, from the corner of my eye, I can see him glance at me. He wants to say something—silence kills Isaac. He’s always had to fill it up with chatter or music. Usually, I’m the opposite. I like the quiet. It’s peaceful, calming. Tonight, it’s deafening.
To put both of us out of our misery, I lean forward and turn on the radio, finding a local channel with Christmas music. A female artist I don’t recognize belts out, “All I Want for Christmas is You.”
Well, what do you know—the music makes it so much worse.
When I can’t take it any longer, I lean forward and flick it off.
I can feel Isaac’s eyes on me, and I mentally beg him to drive faster, hurry to the house where I can escape. As if reading my mind, he does the exact opposite.
The car slows as we pass a local park I used to play in when I was little. The playground equipment has been replaced with newer, more exciting things, but the rest is the same. Snow clings to the grass and trees, and only a few streetlights line the concrete walking path.
“What are you doing?” I demand when he turns in, my hands winding together once more.
“Parking.”
“Why?”
He lets out a soft snort. “Why do you think?”
I swallow, refusing to let my mind mull over it too much.
Isaac pulls the car into a space toward the back of the lot, near a group of tall, bare ash trees. On the other side, there are ancient tennis courts and a small community pool. He leaves the engine running but unbuckles his seatbelt and turns until his back is against the door, lounging like he’s not too broad-shouldered or tall to be comfortable in such a position.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Get it out of your system.”
“Excuse me?”
Just like the night I picked him up from the airport, it’s too dark to see him well, but I can just make out his quick grin. “You’re dying to scold me—I broke five, maybe six, of your rules when I agreed to keep all but four. I know you; it’s eating you alive. So, go on. Let it out. You’ll feel better.”
I stare at him in the dark. He’s wrong—I have no desire to nag hi
m. No, what I want to do is to crawl over this very inconvenient console and demand he kiss me again. But we’re not teenagers anymore. Things that might have been doable at seventeen are a bit more complicated at twenty-seven.
“Listen, I get it,” I finally answer, looking away, deciding to act my age and stop entertaining the idea of making out with my ex-boyfriend in my parents’ car. “I tell myself I shouldn’t be, but I’m possessive of you too. The looks Jen gave you tonight made my blood boil. I’m fully aware the kiss didn’t mean anything—it was just a product of our history. So we’ll just put it behind us.”
Isaac is quiet for long enough; I’m forced to look back just to gauge his reaction. My mouth goes dry, and my stomach clenches. There’s something about the moment that has me feeling just like I did after our kiss, like he’s drawing me in, and I’m helpless to resist. But he hasn’t said a word.
“I’ve dated since we broke up,” he finally says, and his words are like a bucket of cold water right over my head.
“So have I,” I say defensively. Surely he doesn’t think I was saying I was still in love with him? “I’ve—"
“But no one has ever gotten under my skin the way you do, Georgia.”
My words are lost, and I slowly press my lips together as I process that statement.
Do, he said. As in not in the past, not in the haze of memories.
Presently. Currently. Right now.
Forget the cold water. Just like that, it sizzles into steam. I wait for Isaac to say something else—anything else.
After another moment, he turns back to the front, buckles his seat belt, and drives me home.
12
I shouldn’t have kissed her. It was stupid; I knew it was stupid…but I did it anyway. And now I’m paying for it.
It’s three in the morning, and the house is silent. Georgia is asleep not twenty feet away, with nothing but two doors and a bathroom between us. This cot has become a concrete pad in a prison cell cleverly disguised as an office. I’m going out of my mind.
I roll over and attempt to beat the pillow into a more comfortable position. Forcing myself to close my eyes, I focus on things that have nothing to do with Georgia—engines, mufflers, transmissions.
I’m trying so hard to keep my mind off her, I almost miss the bathroom door opening and the sound of soft footsteps padding across the hardwood. I freeze, my eyes still closed, every muscle in my body tensed as I pretend to be asleep.
“Isaac?” Georgia whispers softly.
I lie here, unsure if I should answer, but curiosity gets the best of me. “Hmm?” I finally murmur.
She hesitates. I roll over to face her, worried she’s going to change her mind and dart back to her room.
“I…well…” She’s losing her nerve. “It’s cold in here,” she says suddenly.
It’s a little cool. I’m pretty sure the heat vent is closed, but you don’t notice until the door is shut for the night, and I keep forgetting to check it before bed.
Sitting up, I turn to rest my feet on the floor and then pull the comforter up so it’s draped over my shoulders. Then I hold it out, inviting her to join me. “It’s okay,” I say quietly when she hesitates. “This cot is neither comfortable nor big enough for you to worry about me making a move.”
I can almost feel her rolling her eyes, but she joins me without any further prompting. When she’s next to me, sitting shoulder to shoulder, she pulls her feet up, crossing her legs, and tugs the comforter around herself.
“Why are you up at three in the morning?” I ask when she stops shifting.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Something is on her mind, and from her tone, I don’t think it’s anything romantic. Which means she’s panicking about the nosedive her life took last week, and here she is, seeking comfort from me again.
That means something.
I don’t know what…but it’s definitely something. Feeling bolstered by that fact, I wrap my arm around her back, expecting her to pull away.
She doesn’t. Instead, she melts into me, resting her head against my shoulder. It feels good, maybe even too good—the kind of good that’s going to hurt later.
But I can’t help my reaction to her. I lay my head against hers and close my eyes, living in the moment. I can just make out the scent of her shampoo, a coconut fragrance her mom stocked in our bathroom. Her hair is soft against my cheek, and she’s warm. Suddenly, my mind is quiet enough I could pull her onto the cot with me and fall asleep. If there were room. Which there is not.
I don’t ask her to tell me what’s keeping her up, though I want to. We just sit together in the dark, in complete and comfortable silence.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she finally says, so softly I almost don’t hear her.
I turn my head so my lips are close to her hair and hold her closer. “You know, I think I like After-midnight Georgia.”
She lets out a breathy laugh.
“You’re not still angry with me for showing up?” I ask.
“No.”
I wait a moment, wondering how far I should push her. Softly teasing, I say, “You know you’re breaking several of your rules right now?”
“I’m aware, but thank you for pointing it out,” she answers wryly, turning her head until she’s looking at me.
I almost suggest we break another rule since she’s in the mood to rebel, but too soon, she lays her head against me once more. With a sigh, I lift my hand, stroking her soft hair. I tell myself to be happy with this, not to push her too far too fast.
I don’t realize she’s crying until her shoulders begin to shake. I sit straighter, startled. She tries to pull away, but I capture her face in my hand and wipe her cheeks with the pad of my thumb.
“Why are you crying?” I whisper.
She lets out a soft gasp that breaks my heart. I hate it. I can’t bear to see her like this and not be able to fix it.
“Because you’re here and you’re perfect.” She turns her face out of my hands. “And you should hate me, but you don’t.”
“Why?” I demand softly. “Why should I hate you?”
She makes a scoffing noise that sounds like a sob. “Because I broke up with you. You offered forever, and I left. How can you even look at me? Why are you so nice?”
Believe me, she doesn’t mean the word as a compliment. How it can’t be a compliment, I don’t know. But it’s not.
“It wasn’t our time.” I run my hand up and down her arm, trying to soothe her. “You weren’t ready.”
She stands abruptly, leaving the warm blanket. “Stop being so accommodating.”
Before she can storm off, I grasp her wrist. “You destroyed me.”
She freezes and then slowly turns to face me, my hand still keeping her in place.
“You want the truth?” I continue. “Fine. The day you walked away, I wanted to die.”
The words hit her as hard as I expect, and she begins to tremble under my fingers. I want to pull her back under the comforter, but I know she wouldn’t allow it, not right now.
“Was that why you broke up with me—to cause me pain?”
“No,” she whispers.
“Did it give you joy? Did it fulfill some kind of vindictive vendetta?”
“No.”
She’s crying again, but I have a point to make, and if it’s messy getting there, then so be it.
“How could you even say that?” she demands.
“Because you don’t get it. Even when I was at my lowest, I knew you weren’t intentionally trying to hurt me. You had a legitimate reason for leaving. You didn’t do anything wrong, so why would I let my pain fester into hate? I didn’t hate you then, and I don’t hate you now. I loved you.” I drop her wrist. “And Georgia, let’s be honest. I still love you. I can’t help it.”
She stands there for several long moments, saying nothing. My heart beats like a drum, but I don’t regret the confession.
“I…” She takes a step toward the door. “
I’m going back to bed.”
The door shuts softly behind her, and I stare at it. After several seconds, I shake my head and laugh to myself, feeling like an idiot. What did I expect? That she’d fall into my arms and we’d pick up where we left off ten years ago?
I stretch out on the cot, pull up the still-warm comforter, and stare at the dark ceiling for what seems like hours.
The sun shines through the slats in the blinds when I wake up. I yawn, still half asleep. I’m not so groggy, however, that I don’t notice something is amiss when I sit up.
There’s an extra blanket, a black and white-checked fleece throw, carefully laid out on top of the comforter.
It wasn’t there last night.
13
You know what’s fun? Pretending your ex-boyfriend didn’t admit he’s still in love with you after you barged into his bedroom in the wee hours of the morning with what was pretty darn close to a full-out panic attack.
Oh, wait. That’s not fun at all.
I was fine when I went to bed. My mind was on the party, our kiss—you know, the usual things you’d expect. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, thoughts of losing my house, dog, job, and dignity swirled around me like a cyclone. It got so bad; I couldn’t breathe.
So what did I do? I ran to Isaac.
Again.
I’m ashamed to admit that it helped. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as safe and protected as I did all wrapped in that blanket with Isaac’s arm around me.
Then he went and told me he still loves me, and I panicked for a whole new reason. If he didn’t think I’m the most heartless person alive before, he surely does now. Who listens to that kind of declaration and then runs away?
Even I hate myself a little bit.
“You and Isaac seem to be getting along,” my mom says casually as she flits about the kitchen.
There’s something in her tone that makes me pause. I press the “brew” button on the coffee maker and then turn to her with narrowed eyes. It’s only seven, bright and early on Christmas morning, and we’re the first ones up.
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