Page 29 of Santa's Pretty Helper

The house is lit up with twinkling lights on the outside and glowing warmly from within. The sky is a light gray, and small, delicate flakes are floating down. The air is cold and fresh, and the world feels quiet. Gabe’s hand is warm on the small of my back as we make our way up the steps to the porch, our arms full with food and bags of presents.

The door is unlocked, and we step inside without knocking. A sparkling garland winds its way up the staircase, decorated with more twinkling lights and red bows. The house smells like cinnamon and sugar, and I can hear Frank Sinatra crooning his Christmas waltz from the living room.

We quickly kick off our boots and toss our coats over the banister before making our way into the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas!” Mom says when she sees us, making a beeline for me. She cups my face in her hands and plants a kiss on my forehead. Then she steps back, hands still in place, to scrutinize me. “You look…different,” she says, one eyebrow arching up.

“I do?” I ask, panic flickering to life inside me. Gabe’s movements slow as he puts food into the fridge.

“You do. You’re glowing. You look…you look really happy, honey.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. I am.”

“School must be going well,” she says, returning to arranging cut vegetables onto a tray.

“It is.” I meet Gabe’s eyes over her shoulder and he winks at me.

Scoundrel.

God, I love him.

We move into the living room, where the tree looks magnificent. It’s beautifully decorated—I can tell Mom rearranged some of the ornaments after the party—and my eyes snag on the sparkling crystal snowflake. The memory of Gabe lifting me up to put it on the tree comes rushing back, and I find myself blushing, even though the moment itself was pretty innocent. But that was the night everything started. When he was so wound up over wanting me that he moaned my name while camming, giving me the courage to shoot my shot, so to speak.

A fire is crackling softly in the fireplace, giving the room an even cozier glow. Presents crowd around the tree, all wrapped in festive paper and ornate bows.

My family has always celebrated Christmas over the course of two days, on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. On Christmas Eve we spend the entire day eating and drinking, and when night falls, we go for a walk through the neighborhood to see all of the lights. Then we come home and have a lovely dinner, open a few small gifts, and watch Christmas movies. On Christmas morning, we do our big gift exchange, eat a three-course breakfast, and spend the rest of the day lounging and relaxing, eating and drinking whatever we want.

I glance over at the stockings hanging from the mantle above the fireplace, my stomach churning slightly at the sight of Eric’s name. How will he react when he finds out about me and Gabe? Will he freak out? Will it cost Gabe Eric’s friendship? I bite my lip, tension gathering in my neck and shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, honey,” says my dad as he returns from the backyard with an armful of logs. He carefully loads them into the brass holder beside the fireplace and then wraps me up in a hug. He smells like snow and pine, and he’s wearing the mostridiculous sweater. It’s got an enormous reindeer on it with a flashing red lightbulb nose.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” I say, stepping back. He shakes Gabe’s hand and claps him on the shoulder, and again, I can’t help but wonder how he’s going to treat Gabe when he finds out that he’s my boyfriend.

Gah. Gabe Mitchell is my boyfriend. I don’t even need any Christmas presents this year. Not if I get to have Gabe.

The front door opens, bringing an icy gust of wind with it, and Eric steps inside. I lick my lips and swallow, heading to the kitchen for a glass of wine. I’ll need something to calm my nerves if I’m going to make it through today.

Maybe waiting to tell them was a mistake. Maybe we should’ve come clean weeks ago.

Too late now.

Eric shuts the door behind him, and I see Gabe heading towards him as I duck into the kitchen. There’s already a bottle of white open, so I pour myself a small glass and take a healthy sip.

“There’s eggnog, too, honey,” says Mom, putting the finishing touches on a mouthwatering charcuterie board. She picks it up and takes it into the living room, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I take a moment to gather myself, take another gulp of wine, and then follow her.

Gabe and Eric are chatting, and Eric pulls me into a hug, crushing me against his sweater and then looping a heavy arm over my shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Bella,” he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. Then, he gives me the same assessing gaze that my mother did. “You look…”

“What?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel like there’s a neon sign glowing above my head flashing with the words “Your Best Friend Took My Virginity.”

“You just seem really happy. You have, like, this glow about you.”

I glance up and meet Gabe’s eyes, and his mouth turns up in a soft smile that makes butterflies flap in my stomach.

“It’s probably just the wine,” I say, trying to step out of the spotlight.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Thankfully, he drops it, and we all settle into the living room, drinking and eating and talking while Christmas music floats on the air, mingling with the soft pops and crackles from the fire. I’m sitting on the sofa next to my mom, with Gabe seated beside Eric on the loveseat opposite. Dad is in his usual armchair near the fire.

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