Page 60 of Her Holiday Arrangement
She didn’t move away.
For a long moment, they sat like that, close enough to feel the shape of each other’s breathing, close enough that the air between them seemed to thicken. Riley turned slightly toward her, the angle of her face open, waiting.
Elizabeth’s eyes dropped to her mouth. A mistake.
She could feel herself leaning in before she’d decided to. Riley mirrored her movement, tentative, like a question Elizabeth wasn’t ready to answer. Their knees brushed. The faintest trace of her perfume, warm, almost spiced, drifted toward Elizabeth, tangling with the scent of cocoa. She was close enough now to see the flecks of gold in Riley’s irises, the way her lips parted, the sharp catch of her breath.
And then,
A knock at the door.
Elizabeth froze.
“Liz?” Her cousin’s voice, pitched with dramatic urgency. “Sorry, I need you. Family thing.”
Elizabeth shut her eyes for half a second before answering, “Give me a moment.”
Riley leaned back first, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Elizabeth stood, setting her cocoa down with deliberate care, smoothing her sweater as though that could erase the last thirty seconds.
When she turned back, Riley had drawn her blanket up again, her gaze fixed on the fire. Elizabeth hesitated. The right thing, the easy thing, would be to leave without saying anything, to let the moment dissipate like steam. But something in the way Riley’s shoulders curled in on themselves stopped her.
She crossed the small space between them and bent, pressing her lips to Riley’s forehead. Just a brief touch, but more dangerous than she intended. The kind of touch you don’t give someone unless you mean it. Unless you’re willing to mean it.
Riley’s eyes flicked up at her, startled but not pulling away.
Elizabeth straightened, retreating toward the door before she could think better of it. She told herself the warmth lingering on her mouth was just from the fire. She told herself it was better this way, no mess, no promises she couldn’t keep.
But as she stepped into the hallway, the truth pressed in against her ribs:
She didn’t want to keep her distance anymore.
Not entirely.
The library was hushed, its tall windows fogged faintly from the warmth inside against the December chill. Snow drifted past the glass, each flake catching the glow of the lamplight in the corner. The storm outside muted the world; here, the quiet felt sacred.
The Christmas tree in the corner of this room was smaller, no less beautiful but much less formal. This tree was wrapped inlush garland and adorned with small, almost sentimental, glass ornaments that Riley had admired when she first saw them.
Elizabeth lingered near the doorway, watching Riley curled into the corner of the sofa. Her shoes were off, her legs tucked beneath her, the hem of her dress brushing the cushions. She looked comfortable here, more comfortable than Elizabeth felt in her own family’s estate.
The toy drive still clung to Elizabeth’s mind, a brightness she hadn’t expected. For once, she hadn’t been performing. Riley had seen her laughing with the children, carrying boxes, even ducking into the kitchen to sneak gingerbread with one of the volunteers. And Riley had smiled at her the whole time, not like she was the Hale heir who needed to hold herself together, but just… her.
Elizabeth had wanted to keep that smile, so instead of retreating after dinner, she’d brought a bottle of wine into the library. It was an excuse, flimsy and transparent, but she carried it anyway.
Riley looked up when she stepped inside. Her face softened in that way Elizabeth wasn’t used to from anyone, let alone Riley. “Thought you vanished for the night,” she said lightly.
Elizabeth crossed the room and set the wine on the table. “I nearly did.”
Riley tilted her head. “But you didn’t.”
“No,” Elizabeth admitted, sitting beside her. Their shoulders brushed, the contact sparking something in her chest she refused to name. “I didn’t.”
Silence settled, easy and warm, filled only by the faint hiss of the fire. Elizabeth let herself lean back, breathing in the quiet. Riley’s gaze was on her, she could feel it even without looking.
And then she saw it. Above Riley’s head, tied to the lintel of the bay window: a small sprig of mistletoe, half-forgotten amid the decorations.
Her heart stuttered.
Riley followed her glance upward, then laughed softly. “Oh no.”
