Page 8 of Holiday Ever After

I would have added the word smoldering.

“Yeah, I saw.”

Her eyes pop wide. “You did? How? When? What did you do? What did he do? Jesus, tell me before I combust—”

“Shhh!” I slap her on the shoulder and peek over at my dad, making sure she didn’t wake him with her outburst. “I saw him yesterday at the hardware store. Apparently, he’s been helping my dad.”

“And?”

“We ran into each other. Literally. I was going into the back at the same time he was coming out. The door knocked me over, and instead of falling ass-first to the floor, he caught me. Before I even realized it was him, I’d licked his whole body in my mind and basically wet my panties, fantasizing about being taken by such a beast. When our eyes finally met, reality hit me like a sledgehammer. I realized I was looking at my ex, who hates me, and I think I should hate him, but before I could tell him how superb he looked and felt, my mom interrupted, and I jumped away like he was a burning building and ran off.” I exhale, throwing my back against the couch.

Kelly Anne stares at me, her jaw dropped. I know. A lot to take in. “Wow.”

“Yep. But don’t worry. It’s already been established there’s still bad blood. He’s clearly still angry. And honestly, I’m not here to lick his wounds. I just want to get through Christmas and get home.”

“Aren’t you just the least bit curious where he’s been?”

“No.” I can’t even say it with a straight face. “Okay, fine, yes. A million questions are running through my mind. Where has he been all these years? Why is he a tank? Is he with someone? Why is he back home?” Jesus, Holly, take a breath. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to know the answers. Maybe we need to leave the past in the past.”

“Hmmm,” she hums, joining me against the couch.

Mom pops her head out of the kitchen. “Honey, the pies are done. Can you help me box them? They need to be taken over to the community center for the tree lighting ceremony tonight.”

Kelly Anne nudges me as we get up from the couch and go into the kitchen. She whispers, “Remember that one time your mom made us drive all the pies to the community center?”

I start to laugh. “How could I forget?”

“It was epic. Twenty pies slamming against the roof after we hit that pothole.”

“We were jamming out to Britney so loud, I missed the construction signs.”

Kelly Anne busts out laughing. “Legit spent days cleaning apple cobbler out of my hair.”

I saw my life flash before my eyes that day. Mom had been slaving for days making those pies and trusted us to get them there safely. While Kelly Anne ran my car through the car wash, trying to wash away the evidence, I went to the grocery store and spent three months’ worth of my allowance buying out their entire bakery.

“Mrs. Bergner, these all look delicious. Need any taste testers? Just in case?”

Mom sets the boxes down and pulls out a warm cherry pie. “If I remember right, you both love cherry.”

“Heck yeah!” Kelly Anne boasts, taking the fork Mom hands her. I take one as well, and without shame, we eat the entire damn thing while we box the remainder of the pies.

I groan as I box the last one. “Why did I eat all that?”

“Because it’s a sin not to eat a pie your mom makes.”

That’s not what my stomach’s saying right now. “All right, let’s get these in the car. I’ll drive them over—”

“Oh no, honey. You’re off the hook.”

“Why? I can take them.”

“It’s okay. I already have someone coming to deliver them.” On cue, the doorbell rings. We both turn and peer through the kitchen and the living room. The door opens, and Liam, looking like a goddamn winter model in a pair of jeans and a black shirt under his winter coat, walks in.

“Seriously, Mom?” Dammit, he looks good. Like sex on a stick, good. Better than mom’s cherry pie, good and that’s good.

“I know better than to let you two handle the pies.”

“Wait, what? You knew?”

“Of course I knew.” Mom sets her towel on the counter and goes to greet Liam as we trail behind. “Liam, thank you for helping me. You’re just too kind.”

“Not a problem,” Liam replies. I take a peek at him and instantly regret it. My knees wobble. He has yet to take his eyes off me, and I hate how exposed I feel under his gaze. He walks up right in front of me, lifts his hand, and gently brushes his thumb along the corner of my mouth. My chest tightens, restricting my breath.

“Always did have a sweet tooth,” he says, retracting his finger, a tiny smear of cherry filling coating his thumb.

---