Page 16 of Under the Mistle-Foe

I said my goodbyes and gave Uncle Rob a hug. While walking out, Dad called just as the door closed, “Remember what I said on the way here!”

The door shut behind me before I could reply, so I pretended I hadn’t heard anything at all. I had the rest of the day to myself, and I fully planned to use it to rest and maybe contemplate my choices. From my visit back to Christmas Falls this time, it was clear to me that I couldn’t keep running away. I was not only hurting myself but my dad as well.

Five years.

That was how much time I’d stolen away from us by only visiting him two or three times a year. And hell if that didn’t make the guilt well up even more.

I’d fully planned on hiding back at home, maybe moping a bit before reevaluating my priorities. But instead of making the short walk back to my childhood house, my feet led me out of my neighborhood and into the more ritzy part of town, where the houses were twice as large as the other neighborhoods.

Jett’s family lived in a large two-story brick house that might as well be a mansion with how big it was. How anyone needed this much space was beyond me, though it wasn’t likeI’d ever been inside his house, considering Jett and I weren’t particularly on good terms during high school. But every year, his mom would decorate the place to the nines for the light tour, so even though I’d never been inside, there was still a sense of familiarity with the house from seeing it on the tours. Up close, the house looked completely different without all the decorations.

I rang the doorbell, and some festive melody rang from inside the house because, of course, they would have some fancy doorbell tone instead of the generic one. A minute passed without any movement, and I was starting to worry that maybe Jett didn’t live here anymore. I’d assumed he hadn’t moved, and that he would be here, but maybe not.

I tried the bell once more, just in case, and when I still didn’t hear any movement from the other side, I turned to leave. Right when I took a step away, the door behind me opened and a confused-sounding voice called out, “Remy? What are you doing here?”

“Heard you might be needing some help setting up for the light tour,” I said, slipping my fingers inside my front pockets and turning to face him. Jett was all sleep rumpled, hair tousled every which way, with a befuddled expression like he thought he was still dreaming. He was wearing a tight, long-sleeve shirt and sweats, completely different from his normal style, which made me wonder if he’d just woken up.

Despite him being probably an inch taller than me and double my size with all those muscles, he looked almost…cute.

The ridiculous thought disappeared just as quickly as Jett’s crooked smile appeared.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” I asked.

“It’s fine. It’s about time I got up, anyway. Come in,” he said and stepped aside to give me space. I followed him inside while wondering if this was the time he usually got up,which didn’t make sense since he was at the diner bright and early most days. Then, as if reading my mind, he said, “I was up late last night finishing up the project.”

“I told you yesterday that you shouldn’t have bothered with my dad and focused on your work,” I said with concern. Now that I was looking closer, there were visible dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He was probably up into the wee hours of the morning, but one wouldn’t be able to tell by his bright smile.

“I like talking to Adam. He’s a funny guy,” he said, moving to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. I accepted the mug he offered me and watched him add enough sugar to his mug to practically cancel out the coffee. He let out a sigh of appreciation after his first sip, then turned his dark gaze to me. “I never imagined you’d stop by to help me.” His smile toward me was so blinding I had to look away.

“I can be helpful sometimes too,” I said and stood to look around his kitchen. It was a lot nicer than any kitchen I’d been in before, with large, shiny appliances and so much counter space that five people could easily work together there.

Although the entire place was a bittooclean, as though it was rarely used. Which made sense since Jett’s parents weren’t here and the man himself practically had every meal at the diner these days.

“You haven’t eaten yet, right? I’ll make you something,” I said, opening the fridge to see my options. The fridge was massive but depressingly empty inside, but at least there were eggs and bacon.

Jett quickly followed. “You don’t have to cook for me. There’s cereal somewhere in the pantry.”

“I’ve fed you all week, so I might as well keep it going,” I said with a shrug, then stepped around him to heat up the pan. Jett hovered nearby, his eyes firmly placed on me.

“I’m not going to burn your house down if that’s what you’re afraid of,” I teased, flicking my gaze to him before focusing on the bacon. The grease from frying it would add a rich flavor to the scrambled eggs.

“That never even crossed my mind. It’s just…this is all a bit of a shock to me. I never thought you’d ever be in my house, much less cook for me.”

I eyed him while plating the bacon. He didn’t look angry that I’dcommandeered his kitchen. It was the opposite, in fact. There was a silly smile on his face as he watched my actions. I wondered what he was thinking in that head of his but didn’t question it and focused back on the pan.

Once the meal was cooked, we moved to the glass dining table tucked in the corner of the kitchen. It took no time for Jett to start scarfing down the food like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Smirking, I pushed his mug closer to him in case he suddenly choked with how fast he was eating.

When half the plate was finished, Jett finally slowed down enough to say, “There’s something about your food that tastes very…homey. It’s comforting.”

His words spoke to something deep inside me, a long-forgotten memory of learning how to cook in my family’s kitchen. Dad solemnly instructing me while trying to explain the dangers of being near a fire while Mom stood to the side, cheering me on and teasing Dad for his grumpy expressions.

Dad taught me how to make pancakes that day, and it was the first thing I’d ever cooked for my family. It couldn’t have been good with it being my first creation, but in my memories, it’d tasted like home.

“It’s been a while since I had a meal with someone at home, with my parents gone most of the time and all,” Jett suddenly said.

Technically, I wasn’t eating and was just sipping my coffee while watching him, but I didn’t mention that. “Heardyour folks won’t be able to make it back this festival season. Are you heading to New York to spend Thanksgiving with them?” I asked instead.

“Nah, not a huge fan of the big city. I was made for the small-town life, you know?” he said with a toothy grin, then shoved another forkful of egg into his mouth.

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