Page 16 of Wrapped Up

I shake off the thought. It’s just a fantasy. Tonight is about reality—friends, good food.

Chapter6

Jennifer

As I trudge through the snow-dusted streets of the city, the world around me stands in stark contrast to the turmoil raging within. The air is crisp and biting, my breath forming puffs of white in the frosty December air. The city is decked out in its Christmas best—twinkling lights adorn the storefronts, garlands and wreaths hang from the lampposts, and the distant sound of carolers fills the evening.

Yet, instead of filling me with the season's cheer, the festive displays only serve to deepen my scowl. Everywhere I look, there's another reminder of the magic I've been so cruelly denied. Magic. Right. More like a cruel joke.

I turn the corner, narrowly avoiding a cluster of carolers. Their joyful voices grate on my nerves, each note a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. My mind drifts, unbidden, to him. The Christmas Prince. I scoff at the ridiculous nickname, anger bubbling up inside me.

“Let it go,” I mutter, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets. But my traitorous mind refuses to obey. Instead, it conjures up images of piercing green eyes, strong hands, and that infuriatingly perfect jawline. I grit my teeth, frustration mounting as I feel the familiar warmth spreading through my body.

A month. It's been a whole damn month, and still, I can't shake him. My dreams replay that night torturously—the heated glances across the bar, the electric tension during our game of truth or dare, the scorching kisses in the stairwell. Each memory is a dagger, twisting deeper with the knowledge that it was all a lie.

I pause at a crosswalk, my reflection staring back at me from a festively decorated shop window.

“You're pathetic,” I tell my mirrored self. “He has someone. Someone he calls Honey, for Christ's sake.” The light changes, and I storm across the street, my anger propelling me forward.

How could I have been so blind? So foolish? The intensity in his eyes, the raw passion in his touch—it had felt so real. But clearly, I'm an idiot who can't tell the difference between genuine connection and a player's game.

A couple passes by, hand in hand, lost in their own little world. I glare at their retreating backs, envy and bitterness churning in my gut.

“Why?” I whisper to the uncaring universe. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

But the universe, as always, remains stubbornly silent. The only response is the distant sound of sleigh bells and the muffled laughter from a nearby pub. I shake my head, quickening my pace.

Anna and Peter's apartment isn't far now, and I'm already regretting agreeing to this Christmas Eve gathering.

As I round the final corner, a gust of wind whips past, carrying with it the scent of cinnamon and pine. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, it reminds me of him. Of the intoxicating mix of his cologne and how erotic it felt when he tied me to the railing in that stairwell.

“Damn it.” Angry tears are pricking at my eyes. I blink them away furiously, refusing to let him affect me any more than he already has. But even as I turn the corner into Anna's street, I can't help but wonder:Will I ever learn? Or am I doomed to keep falling for the promise of love, only to have my heart shattered again and again?

I pause at the foot of Anna and Peter's brownstone, my breath catching in my throat. The sight before me is so utterly ridiculous, that for a moment I forget why I was even upset.

“Holy reindeer,” I whisper, awestruck.

Their house looks like Santa's workshop exploded. Twinkling lights drape every inch of the facade, blinking in mesmerizing patterns. An inflatable snowman towers over me, its plastic face frozen in an eternal grin. Tinsel garlands snake around the porch railings, and a giant wreath adorns the front door, complete with a red bow the size of my head.

A laugh bubbles up inside me, unbidden. Of course Anna went overboard. Why am I even surprised? My best friend's enthusiasm for Christmas makes elves look like amateurs.

I shake my head, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. It's so perfectly, ridiculously Anna that I can't help but feel a spark of warmth in my chest. This is what happens when Anna loves something—she dives in headfirst, no holds barred. And Christmas? Well, that ranks right up there with Peter on her list of loves.

Taking a deep breath, I climb the steps and ring the doorbell. Instead of a chime, I hear “Jingle Bells” played on what sounds like a kazoo.

The door flies open, and there's Anna, a vision in red and green. She's wearing a sweater that lights up, antlers on her head, and—are those jingle bell earrings?

“Jenn!” she squeals, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. “You made it!”

Before I can respond, she yanks me inside, and I stumble across the threshold only to have my jaw drop. If I thought the outside was over-the-top, it's nothing compared to this.

Every surface gleams with tinsel and ornaments. A massive tree dominates the living room, so laden with decorations I can barely see the green. Garlands drape from the ceiling, and the air is thick with the scent of cinnamon and gingerbread.

“Wow,” I manage, spinning slowly. “Anna, this is... I'm speechless.”

She beams, practically vibrating with excitement. “Isn't it amazing? We really went all out this year!”

I can't help but chuckle. “I can see that. The only thing missing is real reindeer in the living room.”

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