Page 26 of Storybook Christmas

When he spins me in close, our eyes meet, and I don’t look away. My heart races, and I let myself get lost in Finn’s eyes, swirling pools of jade that I swear can see into my soul.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” he says, a teasing hint in his tone.

“You’re not so bad either.”

“You were sandbagging me that first time.”

I think back to that night at my house and laugh. “I was very drunk. Very nervous.” I shrug. “And very intimidated.”

“You were, now?”

“A little.” I lean into his ear and whisper, “A lot.” My lips brush his lobe when I say, “But no longer—now that I’ve come to know the man behind the mask.”

He slowly turns his head, putting his lips against my ear when he says, “You’re killing me, Lacy Callahan.”

That same reminder pops into my head—the one where I shouldn’t be thinking about other men this way because of Joshua.

But it hits me. I don’t wantmen. I’m not even looking. This isn’t about men; it’s about Finn. And Finn is different.

The thought dials up my jump-him index to an eleven. Finn’s lips part slightly, and all I can do is imagine my mouth touching his. I can’t even pretend I’m not hot-and-bothered in a major way. It’s clear Finn feels the same, his chest rising and falling.

We both lean in, a magnetic pull that feels far beyond my control, worsened by the dizzying buzz rushing to my head.

Without breaking our gaze, Finn utters, “And if you don’t stop, I’m gonna wanna do a whole lot more than dance.”

“And I wouldn’t say no.”

He lets out a jagged breath. “Oh.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, he says, “Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, we start to leave, when, out of the corner of my eye, I see him.

Joshua.

And he’s unapologetically breezing through the door—way beyond fashionably late—arm in arm with… Annabelle?

Annabelle?

It can’t be.

What? How? Most importantly,when?

I drop Finn’s hand, then I choke on nothing. After my hacking cough subsides, I manage to swallow. Looking at Finn, I say, “Is he with…her?”

“I think so.” Finn’s lip curls. “Gross.”

My throat goes so dry, it feels like cacti could grow there. I lick my lips, fighting the urge not to stare. “Did you know about this?”

“No. I never ask Joshua anything personal.” Finn shakes his head emphatically. “And this is why.”

Then Joshua escorts Annabelle to the dance floor.

Joshua isdancing.

With her.

And no wonder he hates it—he’s terrible.

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