Page 27 of Jingle Bell Flock
HARRISON
I was sittingin Dockside Café with my laptop open, the notification bell chiming every few seconds. My index finger cramped from clicking “like” for the past hour. I glanced at my phone as it buzzed with another text—Charlie Emerson’s girls, Maggie and Lilah, sending a thumbs-up emoji and a screenshot showing our hashtag trending locally. There’d been a thousand shares since breakfast. What they’d managed to achieve in only a handful of days to promote the upcoming “Trees, Cheese, and Holiday Cheer” event was mind-boggling.
Initially, all Jemma wanted was to drive locals back to the farm to buy their trees instead of heading to the cheaper big-box store out by the highway. But since those kids had worked their magic, the farm was absolutely swamped. Thanks to a TikTok video of Jeremy and me chasing my goats that’d gone insanely viral, folks were driving down from Maine or up from Rhode Island to visit Mistletoe Bay and check out Winterberry Farm.
All of that in and of itself was extraordinary, but for me, personally, the biggest surprise of all was how the photos Jeremy had taken of me turned out. Yes, I’d gone out of my way to look good for them, but the results were … something else.
I’d stared at those photos for longer than I cared to admit when Jeremy first sent them over. Not that I was shocked by how good I looked—I knew what angles worked for me and how to present myself for a camera—but something else entirely had caught my attention.
I looked happy. Genuinely, unguardedly happy in a way I hadn’t been in … God, years? Since before I’d moved back to Mistletoe Bay, certainly.
Maybe even longer.
And Jeremy had captured it. Had seen things in me I hadn’t even known were there to see.
During the photoshoot, he told me he’d gotten into photography because he wanted to see the world from a different perspective. But what he’d managed to accomplish with those photos was giving me a different point of view.
Jeremy had always been able to see through my bullshit. Even when we were kids, even when I was trying my hardest to be what everyone expected, he’d seen me. The real me.
Apparently, that hadn’t changed.
I shook my head and closed out of Instagram before I spent another twenty minutes staring at my own face like some kind of narcissist. I had actual work to do, which was why I’d come to Dockside in the first place—Evie Alder made the best cup of coffee in town, and her sister Emmy was a whiz with pastries. That, and their WiFi was faster than mine.
“More coffee, Harrison?”
I glanced up to find Evie standing beside my table, coffee carafe in hand. She’d been shooting me curious looks all morning.
“Please,” I answered, pushing my mug toward her.
She refilled it, but lingered nearby, wiping down the already-clean table beside mine.
Yeah, definitely curious.
“Okay, I know this is me being nosy, but I have to ask. What’s the deal with you and Jeremy Price?”
Small towns, I swear.
“What about us?” I asked, feeling heat creep up my neck.
Evie smiled innocently, but her eyes sparkled. “My mom saw you two at Red Barn Repair Company yesterday, and couldn’t wait to tell me how cozy you two were.”
I held back a snort.
We’d gone to pick up extra supplies for the event on Saturday. Jeremy had stood close while I’d debated between two types of lightbulbs, his hand occasionally brushing my lower back. Nothing scandalous, but apparently enough to get noticed.
“We’re friends,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the complete truth.
The truth was much more complicated. We hadn’t defined what we were doing. We’d spent the last four days talking, texting, stealing hours together when we could. We’d had dinner at my place twice. He’d stayed over once. We’d laughed more than I’d expected, touched more than I’d ever allowed myself to hope for.
And yes, we’d fucked. Multiple times, in multiple positions, in nearly every room of my house, with an enthusiasm that suggested we were both trying to make up for lost time.
But the word “boyfriend” stuck in my throat every time I thought about saying it out loud. Partner? That felt too clinical. Lover? Too casual for what this was becoming.
So we hadn’t defined it and hadn’t had The Talk.
And honestly? I was terrified to push for one.
Because this thing between us felt too new, too fragile.
