Page 70 of Christmas at Hart's Ridge

“Good.”

We looked at the stockings, the worn carpet, the ceiling. Anywhere but each other.

“Are you going to see Bethany tonight?” he asked, changing the subject. Thankfully.

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?” I checked my phone. No messages from her, and it was getting late.

“It’s Christmas Eve. I figured her parents would want her home with them,” Ethan said, shrugging. “Is she coming here?”

Christmas Eve. I groaned. Of course she was staying home with her parents. That’s what families did on Christmas Eve, wasn’t it? But dammit, I was counting on seeing her tonight. I hated how she left mad…with my goat.

“Crap,” I muttered.

Ethan glanced up from the fireplace mantle, where he was hanging the stockings on the ancient bronze reindeer hooks. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I didn’t want to put him in the middle of whatever this was with me and Bethany. Not more than he already was, anyway.

Ethan’s smirk was knowing. “Trouble in paradise?”

“We said some things,” I hedged.

Ethan laughed. “Yeah, I might have overheard her telling Goat what a dumbass you are when she was bedding him down for the night.”

Well, at least she returned him. I bet she gave him extra treats, too. I grunted in response.

“Bro. What did you do?” Ethan asked.

Like I was going to tell him. “We’re fine. Nothing that can’t be worked out tomorrow.” The thought of waiting that long to make sure she was okay, that she hadn’t had second thoughts about us, made me twitch. I should never have let her go off mad like that.

He cocked his head, studying me. “What if I told you that you don’t have to wait until tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

He grinned. “I know a way in.”

Chapter 27

Bethany

Theclompingsoundsonmy roof were definitely not Santa’s reindeer. Santa was fictional and so were flying reindeer.

Ethan, on the other hand, was very much real. He also knew that if he climbed the old maple tree on the south side of our house, he could walk across the porch roof to my window. We had discovered this soon after my eleventh birthday, when my parents instituted a “no boys in the bedroom” rule. There had been times when I spent the whole day at ballet class in Asheville and came home to find Ethan waiting for me.

Back then, I had kept the window unlocked for him. I doubted it was unlocked now.

I scrambled out of bed, ran to the window, and pushed it open. A large male body tumbled inside. A body that was somewhat broader and taller than I had expected. I squinted in the darkness.

Luke, not Ethan.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

“Are you mad at me?”

The question took me aback. Of course I wasn’tmadat him. How could I be mad at such a generous, self-less act of love for Ethan? It was beautiful.

It was also stupid and unnecessary. Hence my aggravation.

“No, I’m not mad.” I had a lot more to say about it, but that had to wait until tomorrow.

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