Page 39 of Rebel Without a Claus
Rehearsals for the town Christmas pageant are going as well as you'd expect when you're directing a cast of children on a sugar high and adults who all think they could do a better job. Aunt May has already threatened to walk off set three times. The only reason I haven’t done the same is because Eve’s here.
And that’s the problem.
Because Eve is playing it real cool tonight in front of the town. We’ve barely spoken two words to each other all night. Granted, we both agreed to staying aloof in front of the prying eyes of Holly Ridge’s biggest gossip train. But she is playing it cool with so much more ease than me.
Like… is she even playing? Orhasshe cooled?
I can see it in the way she keeps her voice light in the one time she asked me to pass her the phillips head screwdriver, like we didn’t spend last night tangled up in each other in my bed. Like we didn’t kiss like we meant it. Like I didn’t carry her across my cottage with her face buried in my neck.
Maybe sheisn’tpretending to be cool. Maybe for her, it was a one-time thing. A snowstorm mistake.
So when Tom Mitchell steps a little too close to her, brushing snowflakes from her coat shoulder and smiling like he’s auditioning for the lead in her love story, something in me snaps.
Mine.
It’s primitive. Idiotic. A caveman instinct I’ve buried for a decade. But it’s clawing its way to the surface like it’s got something to prove.
I stalk across the square without thinking.
When Eve sees me coming, her smile falters. "Luke?—"
Tom straightens up, eyebrows raised. "Hey, man. Didn’t see you there."
I don’t respond. I step between them, barely brushing Tom’s shoulder, and look down at her.
Her eyes go wide as she gapes up at me. And somewhere in the background, I hear a gasp.
"What are you doing?" she whispers.
“Proving a point,” I mutter. Although as nice as it is to put my arm around her, I really wish my lips were on hers. But I know we’re not ready for that yet. For the whole town to see us kissing. Or maybe justI’mnot ready for that yet.
“Proving a point by what? Marking me? Slinging your arm around me?”
"And shutting you up." I smirk. "You were talking too much."
Her eyes flash. "I was talking to Tom."
My eyes cut to where he’s wisely backed away to the refreshment table, blending into the crowd like a seasoned soldier evading artillery fire. "Exactly."
She punches me in the arm. Not hard, but enough to make me laugh.
I should feel bad. I don’t.
Eve, on the other hand, looks like she’s reconsidering every life choice that led her to this exact snowy square. She spins away from me, storming toward the stage steps. I follow her, of course. Like an idiot.
"Eve, wait?—"
She rounds on me the second we’re out of the main crowd. "You don’t get to play knight-in-flannel-armor just because another human talks to me."
"Not just any human.Tom,” I say with another snarling glance at him.
“So what?”
“Tom’s a dog.”
Cringle gives a little disapproving yip at my derogatory term.
Eve on the other hand, simply rolls her eyes. “You were jealous."
