Page 63 of Golden Hour

“Shiloh, I promise I’ll work on it,” Reid says. “You will be my official taste-tester.”

“Of course,” I say. “It was a great first try!”

“You’re too nice,” Reid says.

Jackson leans in, and my eyelashes flutter at his proximity. “Be brutal. Reid needs to hear the feedback.”

I stifle a laugh. Looking around the circle as they argue about root beer, my insides feel so warm, and it’s just not my cardigan. The Finches carry a shared wonderful childhood, and for this moment, I pretend like I belong. Like I am a Finch, not an Abbott. I love my family, but any person would be so lucky to be a part of the Finch family.

Cameron looks up and then down. He points to a spot three or so feet to my left.

“Shiloh, will you stand there?”

“Sure.” I take my spot like an actor in a rehearsal.

“And Jackson, stand next to Shiloh.”

Jackson is more skeptical than I am. His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

He does, and then Cameron smacks his hands together and points. Emily covers her mouth. Reid waves his hands and says, “I want no part of this.”

There, hanging next to the disco ball, is a bunch of green. Blood drains from my face. No.

Mistletoe.

Redness sprouts on Jackson’s cheeks. I wonder what it means. Is it good? Embarrassed? Is he about to murder his brother?

All could be possible.

“It’s tradition,” Emily says. “You have to kiss her.”

“That’s not real mistletoe. You tricked us.” Jackson’s protests sink my heart like the Titanic. He doesn’t want an excuse to kiss me.

“It’s okay, Jackson. It’s tradition.” I turn toward him, and Jackson’s lips quiver in silent protest. His wide eyes are startled, like he would rather kiss a rabid raccoon.

Will he go for the lips or a cheek? A platonic forehead kiss?

I try not to, but I’m hoping for a brush on the lips.

“Okay, fine,” he says as he centers himself directly in front of me. My eyelids stay open, since I’m not going to be the person who closes her eyes, expecting a fairy-tale kiss, just to get a kiss fit for a relative. He leans in, and I swallow so hard it must be audible.

His lips land on my cheekbone, and my eyelashes flutter. Our contact sends a jolt through my torso, through my limbs. His hands stay at his side and when he pulls back, his eyes flick back and forth, searching my eyes for an answer. I smile widely; my entire jaw must be visible.

Jackson chuckles under his breath to no one in particular. “That was awkward.”

“So awkward.” I went from the highest high, to the lowest low. Maybe I wished too hard to be a little sister to the Finches, and now that’s all he sees me as.

23

Jackson

My sister shows up at my door at noon on New Year’s Eve.

While the brewery is open, my parents tried to give the family today and tomorrow off for some semblance of work-life balance. We pay double-time so it’s not difficult to find employees who need extra cash. I didn’t spend my night wisely. I poured glass after glass of Scotch, chasing away my dread.

Every one of my family members has checked in on me, starting at nine this morning.

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