Page 131 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

Her eyes dropped to my mouth. Only for a second.

But that was enough.

I almost kissed her.

My hand hovered near hers in the snow. And for one long, electric second, the whole world narrowed to that one tiny sliver of space between us.

Then…

“Riley? Where’d you go?”

Lucy’s voice cracked through the air like a firework.

We jolted back as if we’d been caught stealing something. My heart was doing its best to punch through my ribs.

I stood up too fast, brushed snow off my jeans like it would erase the moment. Riley tucked her hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, and avoided looking at me.

“Over here!” I called out, my voice cracking like I was thirteen again. Real smooth.

Lucy came jogging around the corner with two mugs of cocoa and thatlook. The one sisters give when they knowexactlywhat almost happened but decide not to say it. Yet.

She didn’t have to. The knowing was written all over her face.

Riley muttered something about needing the bathroom and made a quick exit. I watched her go, chest aching with something I couldn’t quite name.

That was close. Too close.

We were going to have to tell Lucy soon.

Before she caught us.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Riley

I never thoughtChristmas Day could feel this way.

Not magical in the Hallmark-movie kind of way, though the snow outside was trying its best, but in the quiet, soul-deep kind of way.

The kind where your chest doesn’t ache when you open your eyes.

The kind where you’re not holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I woke up to the smell of cinnamon and coffee, and the sound of Lucy humming off-key in the kitchen.

She was wearing fleece pajama pants with dancing reindeer on them and a sweatshirt that saidMerryish, her hair piled into the kind of messy bun that defied the laws of gravity.

And I swear, for a second, it felt as if I’d stepped into someone else’s life. A better one. A warmer one.

The cabin wasn’t big, but it was cozy, the wood stove clicking softly as the fire inside crackled to life.

Lucy had gone a little wild with the decorations, stringing fairy lights around the windows and setting up a hilariously tiny tree we’d decorated with mismatched ornaments and one crocheted cactus.

“Morning, sleepyface,” she said as I shuffled into the kitchen, still wrapped in the throw blanket I’d pulled from the couch. “I made French toast. And coffee. And Christmas cookies.”

I grinned, blinking the sleep from my eyes. “You’re aggressively festive this morning.”

“Damn right I am,” she said, handing me a mug with a snowman on it. “It’s Christmas. We’re in a cabin in the woods. There are cookies. Life is good.”

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