Page 65 of Holiday Friend Zones
“Great,” she mutters.“No heat.No lights.No parents.Perfect welcome home.”
I step in behind her, the air so icy it fogs when I exhale.“When’s the last time your parents were here?”
“Three days ago, maybe?”She rubs her hands up and down her arms, shivering.“They didn’t say anything about the heat not working.”
I check the thermostat.Dead.“Pipes are probably frozen.You’ll be lucky if the place doesn’t burst overnight.”
Her eyes widen.“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”I gesture toward her breath puffing in the air.“You can’t stay here, Ava.It’s an icebox.”
She opens her mouth to argue and I can practically hear the stubbornI’ll be finegearing up, but I cut her off before she can dig in.“Come on,” I nudge her toward the door.“My place is warm.You can stay with me.”
She narrows her eyes at me, like I’m pulling one over on her.“Just like that?No gloating about how the big-city girl can’t hack it back home?”
I grin, because she knows me too well.“Oh, I’m absolutely going to gloat.Probably for the rest of your life.But I’m also not letting you freeze to death your first night back.”
Her sigh fogs in the cold, but she finally huffs, “Fine,” and stomps past me, muttering something about getting herself into this mess.
By the time we drive the two miles to the house I bought last year and haul her bag across the snowy path up to my front door, the tips of her ears are red, and she’s muttering curses under her breath.I nudge the door open with my shoulder, and warm air immediately spills out.The fire I started earlier crackles in the stone hearth, throwing orange light across the wood floors.
“You have a beautiful home, Liam, and you actually remembered to light a fire,” she says, peeling off her gloves.
“Thanks.I have my moments.”I hang my coat by the door and grin at her.“Want cocoa?Or are you too sophisticated now for powdered mix and mini marshmallows?”
Her eyes narrow, but her lips twitch.“I’ll never be too sophisticated for marshmallows.But if you put whipped cream and sprinkles on top, I’m walking back to Boston.”
“So demanding,” I chuckle, moving into the kitchen.
While I heat milk in a dented pot, I watch her from the corner of my eye.She drifts toward the fireplace, crouching down in front of it.Her fingers hover out toward the flames, and for just a second, she looks like the girl I used to know—the one who believed winter nights could fix everything if you had enough cocoa and a blanket fort.
When I set the mugs on the coffee table she joins me on the couch, curling up cross-legged with hers cradled between her hands.She takes a sip and lets out this little hum, low and pleased, and I nearly choke on mine.I’ve obviously been travelling too much if something like that makes my pulse race.
“So,” she says finally, glancing at me over the rim of her mug.“What’s the deal with this Mistletoe Match thing I heard about?”
I raise a brow.“Already sniffed out the town gossip?”
“It’s unavoidable,” she says dryly.“I got cornered on the train by Stephanie McAllister.She warned me her mom was going to try to recruit me before I even sat down on the train.”
“Figures,” I laugh, shaking my head.“It’s the same as always.Holiday games, couple sign-ups, prize money.Silly but harmless.”
“Are you going to enter?”
“I want to,” he shrugs.
“With who?”
“No one yet,” I admit.“I was holding out for a good partner.”
Her mouth curves when I raise my brows, but she shakes her head like she can’t believe me.“Unbelievable.Same old Liam Carter… turning life into a game.”
I lean back, let my arm drape over the couch behind her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her.“And you still hate playing.Which is a shame, because I think we’d make a pretty unbeatable team.”
“Us?”
“Yes, us.”
She shakes her head like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard before going quiet, staring into her mug, and for a beat I let myself imagine she’s not avoiding the idea—she’s considering it.
