Page 93 of Holiday Friend Zones
I want to tell her she has no idea what she does to me.That this—her, here, eating my chili, laughing in my kitchen—is all I’ve wanted since the day I walked away from the city.She comes sometimes, not nearly enough, and always with an excuse tucked into her pocket.A stack of invoices waiting at the shop.A friend she promised to call.A dozen reasons to leave before it gets too late, before it starts to feel like more.Every time she goes, I tell myself not to care.Every time, I fail.
Instead, I load the dishwasher.Because that’s safer.Safer than blurting out that I could live like this forever—her at my table, at my bed.Her voice spilling into these rooms I built with her in mind.
Once the bowls are rinsed and the counters are wiped down, she lingers near the couch, hesitant, as if she’s testing how much of me she’s allowed to take tonight.“Movies?”
I flip the remote in my hand, casual as I can manage.“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve seenIt’s a Wonderful Lifeagain.”
She groans, head tilting back.“Roman...”
“You love it.”
Her lips curve.“You love it.”
“Same thing,” I mutter, tossing the remote onto the cushion.
We end up under the same blanket without ever deciding it.The tree glows in the corner, soft light spilling across her face, making her look like she belongs here more than any ornament on those branches.Pine and cinnamon linger in the air, woven into the warmth of her shampoo, and when she curls against the cushion, I swear I feel her body tilt just slightly toward mine.Like gravity’s working in my favor, just this once.
Halfway through, she falls asleep.Her head tips onto my shoulder, her breath brushing my neck.I stare at the screen but see nothing.
The movie plays on, black-and-white shadows dancing across the room, but all I see is her—soft, warm, so close it’s torture.The glow of the tree makes her seem like she belongs here, like this house was always meant to hold her.Like all the rooms I built were waiting for her laughter, her silences, her stubbornness.
I remember her breath catching in front of the tree earlier, the almost that left me wrecked, and I know I’m standing on that same edge again.I’ve been standing here all night—when her fingers brushed mine on the ornament, when her laugh shook through my kitchen, when her blush made me forget how to breathe.Every time, I pull back.Every time, it costs me.
My chest is a riot—wanting to turn, to kiss her, to say it all.But I don’t.Because if I lose her, I'll lose every good thing I’ve ever had.
I don’t move.Not for the whole damn movie.Not even when the credits roll and my arm goes numb.
Because this—her warmth against me, the sound of her soft breathing, the glow of the tree washing over us—feels like the closest I’ll ever get to everything I’ve wanted.
And God help me, I’m not ready to let go.
ChapterSeven
WILLOW
Friendsgiving was … fine.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, as if I repeat it enough, it’ll sound true.In reality, it felt like balancing on glass—smiling until my face hurt, laughing at jokes that barely landed, pretending my chest wasn’t thrumming every time Roman brushed past me to top off someone’s drink.
Everyone else was loud and warm, carving turkey, trading stories, passing plates across the table.Roman fit right into it—grinning as he poured wine for Lila, clapping his hand on Jared’s shoulder like they were brothers.He laughed with his whole body, eyes crinkling, mouth tugged wide, and none of it was for me.Not once.
I tried to keep my focus on the cranberry sauce, on the chatter about Christmas plans, on anything but him.But every time I caught his voice across the room, it slid under my skin.Every time our eyes almost met, I looked away first, terrified of what I’d see—or worse, what I wouldn’t.
So I played along.Made small talk, passed rolls, stacked plates when dinner was done.All the while, I felt like an outsider at my own table, the one person in the room who couldn’t just relax into the comfort of food and friendship.Because the whole time, all I wanted was for him to sit next to me, for him to pour my glass of wine, for him to laugh like that with me.
And now Christmas is breathing down my neck, and I’ve done nothing but avoid the one thing I want most.
I’ve never had the best track record with relationships.Disasters, mostly.Men who ran when things got hard, men who thought ambition was a flaw, men who couldn’t be bothered to hold me when the world was falling apart.So no, I’m not exactly working with a surplus of confidence here.And since there’s no one in my life I can ask for sane, practical advice without inviting endless questions I’m not ready to answer, I do what I always do.
I research.
I gather every piece of dating advice the internet has to offer, sift through blog posts written by self-proclaimed “love experts,” Buzzfeed-style lists, and disturbingly detailed Reddit threads.Then I make my own list—Top Ten Flirting Tips Guaranteed to Make Him Notice You.
Simple.Methodical.Practically scientific.
And, as it turns out, utterly naïve
The rest of the week becomes a rinse-and-repeat cycle.Step one: try a tip.Step two: fail spectacularly.Step three: dust off my pride and prepare to try again.
