Page 70 of Holiday Friend Zones
“Pretty,” he says softly.
“It’s the holly sprig,” I say, placing one last flourish on the plate.“Judges are suckers for a theme.”
We carry our platter up together.The judges—three pillars of town life who’ve probably eaten more holiday cookies than anyone alive—taste, consult, and nod.The older man with the bow tie points at me with his fork.“Balanced.Nostalgic, but surprising.Nice touch with the zest.”
Liam bows like we’re on Broadway.I glare at him and then ruin it by smiling.
When the results are announced, we take first.I don’t cheer, but only because my mouth is busy trying not to grin like an idiot.The scoreboard chalk squeaks as Mrs.McAllister updates the standings; our names are at the top with a festive star doodled beside them.
“Not that you care about points,” Liam says, sidling up to me as the room dissolves back into chatter.
“Obviously not,” I say, very dignified, while my heart tap-dances.
“Obviously,” he echoes, amused.
The event winds down.We box a few cookies for later (Liam insists on quality control while I pretend not to notice he chooses the ones with the most glaze) and head for the doors.The afternoon’s turned gold, light slanting low across packed snow.People spill out into the square, stringing popcorn on a long garland that will wrap the big spruce by the gazebo.
“Tree lighting’s at six,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder.“You in?”
I should say no.I should go back, read that book, fortify my boundaries, do literally anything else.Instead, I hear myself say,“Yeah, I’m in.”
He grins like he won something bigger than a cookie ribbon.“Good.I hear they added a new twist this year.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Mistletoe over the gazebo steps,” he says, mouth tilting.“Strategic placement I’d say.”
“Of course.”I aim for dry, but land somewhere near breathless.“Small-town subtlety at its finest.”
We step out into the crisp air.The door swings shut behind us, and I feel it—the faint tug, like the whole town’s conspiring.Like this momentum has teeth.
Liam falls into step beside me, our shoulders almost-but-not touching, the box of cookies warm between us like a secret.
Just a game, I tell myself.
The lie tastes like orange and sugar on my tongue.
ChapterSix
LIAM
The whole town turns out for the tree lighting.Kids dart between bundled-up legs with candy canes, teenagers cluster near the gazebo pretending not to care, and the air smells like cinnamon and cider.The square glows with strings of white lights, but the spruce at the center stands dark, waiting.
Ava’s beside me, her breath puffing in little clouds, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets.She looks like she’s trying not to smile…and failing.
“You’re enjoying this,” I murmur.
“I am not.”She tilts her chin up, defiant.
“You are.Admit it.You love a small-town Christmas.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a spark in them.“It’s tolerable.That’s all you’re getting.”
I laugh, and something in my chest loosens.It hits me then, sharp and undeniable—I’ve missed this.Missed her.Being here with her feels like slipping back into a rhythm I didn’t know I’d been missing until now.Not just the way she looks now, older and somehow softer, but the way it always felt so easy with her, like we spoke a language no one else understood.
My mind flickers back to summers when we were kids, sprawled out on the dock with our feet in the lake, daring each other to jump in first.She’d always win, jumping in first before I dove in after her.I remember the sound of her laughter echoing across the water, the way it wrapped around me and stayed long after the ripples settled.
That same girl is here now, in front of me, and it feels like coming home.
