Page 63 of The Crush of Christmas Past
The sight tugs at my heart.
Stupid, foolish love.
Twenty-One
Theo
IslaandIdon’tspeak as we navigate our way back to the heart of the party. I don’t need mind-reading powers to know her concern for Asher mirrors mine.
When we reach my family, Mom steps in immediately, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze.
“He’ll be okay.” The conviction in her voice helps to settle me. “The boys took him home.”
“Good. He shouldn’t be alone.”
Unlike me, my brother needs people.
Her gaze shifts to Isla, an apologetic smile tugging at her lips. “Ash told me everything.” She lets out a remorseful exhale. “It’s all my fault. I pushed too hard for his healing insteadof giving him space to grieve his relationship.” Reaching out, she cups Isla’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” Isla places her palm over Mom’s hand. “I didn’t—”
“No one needs to apologize for anything,” Willow cuts in, waving her fingers dismissively. “Isla and Ash are still best friends. Sienna’s not marrying some criminal creep. Happy endings all around!”
Mom’s features soften. “You’re right. It really did work out for the best.” When she spots a group of friends waving her over, she gives Isla’s face a parting love tap and heads off to join them.
Willow stays put, her focus lasering in on Isla. “You know you don’t need to marry my brother to be my sister, right?”
Isla’s eyes widen, snapping to me. “What?”
Willow jabs an elbow into my ribs. “Tell her, Theo.”
It’s my turn to say: “What?”
“Tell Isla she’ll always be our sister.”
Sister? That’s the last fucking thing I want her to be.
I fold my arms across my chest and continue to hold Isla’s gaze. “I’d rather not.”
Willow’s mouth dips into a frown. “You’re being a dick.” She swivels toward Isla, not missing a beat. “Why is he being a dick?”
“It’s fine,” Isla says quickly. “The feeling is mutual. I don’t love the idea of being his sister, either.”
Willow squints at us. I know that look—it’s her puzzle-solving, true-crime-podcast-listening expression. “Wait.” She drags out the word, her voice climbing with excitement. “Did I stumble onto a nugget of sexual tension here? Isla! Do I still stand a chance at snagging you as my sister-in-law?”
The “No!” that rushes out of Isla’s mouth is fartoo quick. So damn final.
No.
No jokes. No deflections. Just a clean, sharp hit to my sternum.
What the hell did I expect?
That’s the definition ofno strings.
“No,” she repeats. It’s a slammed door, leaving zero room for confusion.
Or hope.
