Page 2 of Merry Little Hate Notes

Mom and Dad watched the scene before us, giving me sympathetic looks. Christian and Brandon always stole the show, without even trying.

Mom came over, wrapped her arms around me, and whispered in my ear, “Someday Christian will grow up and realize the world doesn’t revolve around him.”

I laughed. “I’m not so sure.”

Mom kissed my cheek. “Just remember, darling, it’s girls like you who make the world go round.” She always said that. More importantly, she made me believe it.

“Let’s do cake and ice cream now,” Dad suggested. “I made the cake to look like a sugared winter forest.” Dad was always so proud of his cakes. He said if he hadn’t decided to study anthropology, he would have opened a bakery.

“Let me finish the final touches on my lantern and I’ll be right up.” Which was code for: I need to get that note before someone else finds it.

“All right, honey. Don’t be too long.” Mom gave me one more squeeze.

Dad reached for her hand, and together they walked up the stairs. I loved how much my parents loved each other—and me. And Christian, I guess. The jerk.

As soon as they were out of sight, I dashed over to the utility closet where we kept all our camping gear. I snuck in like I had a starring role in aJames Bond film and had to detonate a bomb. My heart kind of felt like it might explode. A little hate note shouldn’t bring me so much happiness. Neither should my brother’s best friend, but some things just couldn’t be helped.

I searched every built-in shelf to the sound of the rumbly furnace. It took me thirty seconds to spot a bright-blue corner peeking out from beneath one of our camp stoves. It was Brandon’s signature sticky note color. He usually gave me all the other colors in the pack and kept just that shade, like he was egging me on to continue our dumb game. Believe me, I was happy to keep playing it with him. I supposed someday soon it would be over. Adults didn’t play games like this.

I carefully slid the sticky note out and read it.Happy birthday,Holly-Pops. You’re welcome for coming to your party. Best gift you’ll ever get.

I rolled my eyes. He was so full of himself, even if he was right. I was happy he’d come. I didn’t even care that he called me Holly-Pops, the nickname he and Christian had made up when I became obsessed with lollipops at the age of ten. Thankfully, I had since recovered from that strange addiction. It probably had something to do with getting my first cavity.

It startled me when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I shoved the note down my bra since I was wearing a lacy dress with a layered skirt and no pockets. Christian had teased me earlier, saying that it made me look like a wannabe Barbie doll.

With the note hidden, I bolted out of the utility room, trying to think of an excuse for why I’d been in there. But the person who belonged to the footsteps already knew why.

“Brandon,” I said, like the breathy teen girl I was. “What are you doing down here? I thought you would be trespassing on the golf course by now.”

Brandon didn’t say a word. Instead, his brown eyes with flecks of gold like a caramel brownie moved over every inch of me. No one had ever looked so hungrily at me. It made me feel exposed, yet seen. And did I ever want Brandon to see me.

As Brandon inched toward me, I backed up against the wall for fear my knees might buckle. The charged atmosphere spoke of something significant happening. Anticipation crackled in the air, making me feel vulnerable and breathless.

Brandon came to stand inches in front of me, filling my nose with his musky cologne.

“Hi,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.

Brandon moved in closer, his tall frame towering above me. “Happy birthday, Holly.” He ran a finger down my smooth cheek, leaving a trail of fire.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. Was I going to get myPrincess Diariesmoment? A foot-popping kiss with the boy of my dreams?

“Thank you,” I stammered, hardly able to speak.

Brandon’s hand slid across my cheek and into my hair, while his other hand rested at my waist like he was a pro at this. No doubt he was—I’d seen all the gorgeous girls he’d dated. He drew my body closer with just the slightest coaxing of his hand on my waist while his head lowered, his lips hovering above mine.

“You’re beautiful, Holly,” he whispered before his lips brushed mine.

I gripped his tie, feeling so wonderfully lightheaded. Brandon thought I was beautiful and kissed me. My foot was so going to pop.

His lips found mine again. This time they moved more urgently, yet still tenderly. Instinctively, my lips parted, and he didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept my mouth over and over again, exploring every inch. He tasted like chocolate and peppermint and all the good things.

I don’t remember how long the kiss lasted. All I knew was it was the best birthday gift ever, even better than the car my parents had given me. I knew something else, too.

I loved Brandon Cassidy.

HOLLY

OH, NO, NO, NO. HE can’t be here. Not today. I had zero warning.I panicked when I saw the corner of a bright-blue sticky note hidden carefully among the files on my desk. It had been years since I’d gotten such a note. I’d hoped never to get one again.

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