Page 114 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“I thought I was dreaming.”
Sara’s perched beside me on the couch in yet another pair ofChristmas pajamas, this set with a reindeer print, including Rudolf with a big red nose. On the coffee table next to my laptop is a plate of frosted cookies she must’ve brought from home—gingerbread, sugar, snickerdoodle—all covered in plastic wrap.
“Nope. Not dreaming.” She reaches out to stroke my messy bedhead. “But if you really want to sleep more …”
“I don’t,” I blurt, lurching forward to gather her into my arms. She smells like fresh shampoo and clean laundry. I never want to let her go again. Eventually, though, Sara detaches herself from my barnacle grip, leaning back just far enough to gift me with the best smile of my life.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.” I grin back at her. “When did you get here?”
“Just now.”
“Did you knock?”
“I let myself in.”
“And you put the Christmas station on Pandora?”
“I did.”
“What time is it?”
“You’re sure full of questions this morning.” Her mouth twitches. “But for the record, it’s almost one o’clock.”
“Seriously?” I do a quick calculation, but my brain’s still sleep-drunk. “That means I’ve been out for—like—a lot of hours.”
“I tried calling you late last night,” she says, “and again first thing this morning, but you didn’t answer. Either time.”
I glance at my phone stuck between my laptop and the plate of cookies. “I must’ve been pretty dead to the world not to hear.”
“Well. You’ve had a busy week.” Her shoulders pitch up. “But I did get your text last night that you were over here, watchingHome Alone.”
“Oh, there were multiple viewings.” I roll my neck around to stretch out the stiffness. “Kevin McAllister and I rocked around the Christmas tree more than once. He’squite the prankster.”
“He sure is.” Sara lets out a chuckle, eyes sparkling at me. “Anyway, I would’ve been here sooner, but I had a celebratory breakfast with my mom and dad, then raced here as fast as possible.”
“You raced here?” I screw my face up in a mock scolding. “Thatdoesn’t sound safe.”
Sara’s mouth angles sideways. “Your honor, I’d like to rephrase. What Imeantto say is, the drive back to Abieville was executed slowly and safely.”
Your honor. Right.
“So, did your dad give you the job, then?” My body tenses waiting for the answer. “Is that the reason for the celebratory breakfast?”
Sara glances at our tree, twinkling by the window. On the other side of the glass, a marshmallow world sits bathed in white. “The breakfast was about Christmas,” she says. “And my birthday. Plus the best night of fundraising the Hathaway Gala’s ever had.”
“That’s amazing!” I nod, genuinely happy for her. “And really great for Children’s Village.”
“It is,” she agrees. “Also … Ididget the job at Hathaway Cooke.”
I meet her gaze and my pulse picks up. This new position means I’ll either be moving to the city, or spending a whole lot of time apart from her now. “Congratulations, Sara.” I muster up a slow smile. “You deserve this.”
“I’d like to rephrase.” She shakes her head. “What I meant to say is, thepartnerswill be extending me an official offer tomorrow, but my dad let the news slip.”
“That’s still huge,” I say, reaching for her hand. “You’ve been working toward this goal for as long as I’ve known you.”
She quirks a brow. “Longer.”
