Page 20 of The Bright Side of Christmas
She waves a hand at me and walks to my front door to retrieve her jacket.
“I don’t think he’s a serial killernow. My current theory is that his dad is Santa Claus, and he doesn't want to take over thefamily business, so he’s hiding away. It would explain why he hates Christmas, after all.”
I blink at her, fighting the laugh that would just encourage her. “You’ve really put some thought into this, haven’t you?”
She gives me aduhkind of face.
“Of course I have. I’ve been asking around, trying to see if anyone knows anything about him. It seems the only people he’s talked to are Jeanie, and I’m convinced she signed an ironclad NDA when she sold the house, and Colton, who is as tight-lipped as can be.” Hallie rolls her eyes at the idea of her older brother not giving her gossip, though he has spent all of the years he’s owned his bar doing just that. He says that being a bartender comes with an honor code he refuses to break. Of course, that means Hallie does everything in her power to try and get him to break said honor code constantly.
Even though she acts like Jeanie is a gossip, the real source of all the town’s knowledge is Hallie.
“Maybe no one knowing anything means he wants some privacy.” I reach for the pan with the unbaked dough, grab it, and move toward the oven.
“Come on,” she says, grabbing the pan from my hands and putting it to the side. “The ovens are empty—we’ll put this batch in when we get back after our successful recovery mission.”
I stare at her, knowing from a lifetime of being friends that once Hallie gets an idea, there’s no talking her out of it.
“What if he’s home?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“He was getting into his car when I got here two hours ago, and his car still isn’t out front. The coast is totally clear.”
I twist my lips, trying to think of a way to dissuade her, but also, a small part of me likes the idea. I can’t seem to fight back a smile at the thought of Adam coming home and finding the nutcracker missing. Will he come to my door and ask about it? Steal something else?
“Do you still have the key to the back door that the Demauros gave you?” Hallie asks, and I nod.
“I don’t know if it will work, though.”
“No better time to try, right? You try the back door, and I’ll go up front and pretend I’m ringing his doorbell, keep an eye out, and you sneak in the back.”
“Why do I have to sneak in?”
“Because it’s your nutcracker, and I’m a much better lookout.”
She’s not wrong. Between messing with my brothers and Hallie’s, we’re well-versed in sneaking around to get what we want. Over the years, we’ve learned that I often get distracted by something or someone and forget that I’m supposed to be creating a diversion if needed.
I stare at her, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to talk her out of this, then sigh. “Fine. You call me, and I’ll keep my phone on me. Start yelling if he pulls up, and I’ll slip out.”
She gives me a triumphant look, and I move toward the front of the house to slip on my shoes while Hallie follows, then leaves out the door. Once she’s outside, she calls me, and I answer but don’t speak. Instead, I reach for my keys and head out the back door.
I get into Adam’s house easily, the spare key Mr. and Mrs. Demauro gave me when I house-sat for her still working. My heart is pounding as I look around the once-familiar space, noting how empty it is. Everything seems to be painted white and clean. While Mrs. Demauro has lots of colorful art and photos, Adam has left his walls bare.
I fight the urge to look around more, wanting to find out what I can about my mysterious neighbor, but I know we might not have much time, and I need to move quickly. Stepping through the kitchen and into the living room, I spot my nutcracker in the front window, then begin making my way there.
Before I can reach it, though, I’m up against the wall, a body pressed against my front and brown eyes looking down at me.
NINE
When my back hits the wall, I yelp, my phone falling to the ground with a clatter. Panic surges through me before it melts into something different altogether as my brain processes that Adam Porter is hovering over me, one hand on the wall beside my head, the other resting on my hip after gripping me there to corner me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks after a moment. My eyes are locked on his, and stupidly, I note that they’re not brown, like I initially thought, but the prettiest greenish-hazel color, and the lashes are long and dark. Why do men always seem to have the longest, darkest eyelashes, while women are left to resort to gluing little things onto their eyelids or caking on layers of mascara to get anything close?
“Wren.” My name rumbles through me, making my mind return to the task at hand.
“Hey, Adam. Funny seeing you here.”
That was the best I could do?
But when a smirk forms on his lips, any regrets of not having a better response melt away. “In my own house?”
