Page 6 of Rebel Without a Claus
Eve and I both snap our gazes upward. Sure enough, there’s a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly over our heads.
I take a step back. “Nope.”
Eve steps back too. “Hard pass.”
Mrs. Garcia shakes her head, tsking at us like we’re misbehaving children. “Seven years of bad Christmas luck if you don’t share at least a quick smooch.”
“Bad Christmas luck?” I snort. “That’s not a real thing.”
Eve, however, looks oddly panicked. She glances at me, then at Mrs. Garcia. Then back at me. “Is that really the myth?”
Mrs. Garcia nods sagely. “Oh yes. The worst kind of Christmas luck.”
Eve swallows hard, then looks at me. “I can’t afford to risk that.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious? Just because some stupid Christmas traditio?—”
“Quick peck,” she blurts. “Super fast. No big deal.”
As we stare at each other, the air shifts. I can hear the whir of the bean grinder, the hiss of the milk frother, and the sound of Cringle’s tail thumping against the side of the counter. Eve’s lips press together, pink and nervous, and for one insane second, I consider bolting out of here and leaving my coffee behind.
Instead, I sigh. “Fine.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean down as she rises up on her toes. And just like that, our lips brush together, meeting in a soft, gentle touch, barely lasting a second but still sending a jolt of electricity through my body. She tastes of warm, sugary sweetness like hot cocoa with a hint of peppermint.
And then, just as quickly as it started… it’s over. We step back immediately.
But somehow also in that one second everything is different.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixes with her faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon, like she’s a walking Christmas cookie.
“Well,” Eve says, voice a little too bright. “That was… festive.”
“Festive?” I grunt. I’m not exactly sure why I’m insulted, but I am.
Before I can get another word in, Mrs. Garcia cuts me off, beaming. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I grumble something unintelligible and down the rest of my coffee in one gulp. Eve, meanwhile, has the nerve towinkat me.
And just like that, I know exactly what kind of Christmas trouble I’m in for the next two weeks.
And apparently, it’s thefestivekind of trouble.
CHAPTER 3
Luke
Christmas cheer is a disease. A highly contagious, utterly incurable plague that spreads through Holly Ridge every December like clockwork. And this year, the outbreak is worse than usual because Eve is back in town, single-handedly increasing the town’s holiday spirit levels to dangerous, nauseating heights.
Somehow, in the last twenty-four hours, she has beeneverywhere. She’s helping the mayor’s team hang wreaths at town hall, tying ribbons in the library, and tossing around Christmas spirit like it’s confetti. And unfortunately, she’s also taking over the decorations at her parent’s inn… which means I can’t avoid her anymore.
Which brings me to now—standing in the freezing cold, loading my truck with four more Christmas trees, several yards of garland and holly from my farm, ready to deliver it to The North Star Lodge. I thought I was meeting with her parents, handling this like a normal, no-nonsense business transaction. Instead, I get to deal with Eve herself.
Fan-grinching-tastic.
I pull up to the lodge, cut the engine, and take a deep breath.Just drop off the delivery. Don’t engage. Don’t let her get under your skin.
The second I step out of the truck, the door to the lodge swings open, and there she is—Eve in all her festive, red-scarf-wearing glory.
