Page 17 of Under the Mistle-Foe

I couldn’t imagine spending Thanksgiving all alone in this giant house. Holidays were meant to be spent with loved ones…though that was the optimistic side of me speaking. The now more cynical side knew there were tons of people who didn’t have a choice in the matter.

The concern must have shown on my face, because Jett was suddenly bumping my shoulder with his and saying, “Don’t worry about me. I heard Rudolph’s was unofficially doing something for Thanksgiving. A single mingle or something.” He smirked, looking past me as if he was lost in thought. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even meet someone special there?”

Something about that just didn’t sit right with me. A nagging feeling that pricked my skin a little too uncomfortably. I pushed the sensation to the back of my mind. This wasn’t the first time Jett had gotten under my skin with something he said, so I chalked this time to being much the same.

Just ignore it, Remy.

Easier said than done. Jett’s words replayed in my head as I tried to figure out what it was he said that I had a problem with. But no matter how long I thought—long enough for Jett to stop eating to watch me warily—I couldn’t figure the damn thing out.

The emotions swelled up until they were about to explode, then before I could control it, I heard myself saying, “Come spend Thanksgiving with us.”

It came out sounding so demanding, even to my ears, thatI internally grimaced, scrambling to figure out how to take back the words I’d already put out. Then Jett smiled, a shy one that I’d never seen on him before, but suited him very well. He nodded ever so casually and resumed eating his breakfast.

My skin didn’t feel so tight anymore.

CHAPTER 8

JETT

I must have diedand gone to heaven because there was no way I would be so lucky to have Remy Trentvoluntarily cook for me in my kitchenandinvite me—more like demand, and I was swooning—to spend Thanksgiving with his family.

It was probably a pity invite, one he extended when he heard my sorry ass was going to be spending Thanksgiving alone, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when I got to spend the day at Remy’s house, eating his cooking. Or I assumed he would be cooking since Adam was kinda out of commission for a while.

I was on a high the rest of the day, made even better by getting to spend most of it with Remy. He said he’d come over to help me decorate for the light tour, but I hadn’t expected him to stay the entire time—and it tookallday to set up because of the sheer amount of decor and lights I’d ordered. I had to make our house so perfect that Mom couldn’t pick out a single thing to complain about.

The task didn’t even feel like work, with time passing quickly as Remy and I shot the shit, talking about TV showswe’d been obsessed with recently and what we’d been up to since high school. The conversation flowed easily, and I was surprised that I didn’t put my foot in my mouth even once. Maybe it was all the tense nerves that had always made me say the wrong thing around him, but there was none of that today.

I would almost dare say that being with him felt natural as we worked together, him holding the ladder and handing me items as I hung them around the house. Night came a little too quickly for my liking, and when it was time to get the first look with all the decorations lit up, we stood in my driveway, side by side, Remy so close I could smell the detergent that lingered on his clothes and the slight heat exuding off him that had me forgetting how cold it was now that the sun had gone to sleep for the day.

“Ready?” he asked, holding the switch that would turn on all the lights.

“Ready!”

He flipped the switch, and the house in front of us glowed. The blow-up elves and snowmen had a snowball fight on the front lawn while the snowflakes we’d hung up along the front of the house flickered in a pattern to look like it was snowing.

I’d decided on a winter wonderland theme after studying all the previous light tour winners, so most of the lights were a muted blue with accents of different colors that were cohesive to the theme.

“I think we did it,” Remy started. “It’s gonna be the best one of the year.” He turned to me with a smile that looked so excited and carefree. It was one I hadn’t seen since he’d been back here. One that lingered on my mind, even into my dreams that night.

I wondered if he’d be that excited to see me for Thanksgiving the next day. Which then had me freaking out aboutthe idea of spending the holiday with him and what to bring as a guest. I was muddle headed throughout the entire day, contemplating if I should make something with my limited skills or just buy something from the grocery store.

I was so distracted that even when Nikita called to invite me over to spend Thanksgiving with his family—since he knew my parents wouldn’t make it back to Christmas Falls for the holidays—I couldn’t come up with a proper excuse and truthfully told him I was going to the Trent house instead.

“When did you and Remy get so close? I thought you guys didn’t like each other?” he asked, shocked. Which wasn’t surprising, considering we hadn’t much to do with each other, even in school.

“We’re friends,” I replied with a smile stretching my lips. It was a milestone I thought would never be possible for us after four years of trying when we were in high school.

Nikita was skeptical and kept bombarding me with questions, but I somehow managed to avoid them all. Ending the call with the excuse of heading to the store, I entered Tidings & Joy with the list of ingredients needed for an apple pie.

Since they had the sincerity to invite me to Thanksgiving dinner, then it was only appropriate to return that sincerity with something homemade. That was what I thought…but six hours and a messy kitchen later, I’d finally made an apple pie that wasn’t burnt.

The top was a brownish color, not the alluring baked brown like the crusts you see on those baking shows, but one that looked slightly overcooked…better that, than burnt, though. And instead of those elaborate cross-pattern crusts, it was just a single sheet that spread on top,ladened with holes, and apples peeking through them, from where I’d accidentally ripped it.

By the time I had the kitchen cleaned, all I had the energyto do was fall on my bed and pass out. Thankfully, I’d gotten the project for work done quickly and was able to take the holiday early, because I didn’t have the brainpower for anything else but sleep right now.

The next day around noon, I was ringing the doorbell to Trent’s house with a bottle of wine and my poor attempt at an apple pie in hand. The door swung open, and Remy—with his shoulder-length hair tied out of his face, looking sexy as fuck—looked at the items in my hands and smiled.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he said and let me in.

---