She scribbles it on the cup. I pay, thank her, and turn to go stand in the corner until I can leave before I can make a fool of myself. When they do call my name, I practically sprint to the counter to grab it and run out of the place like my ass is on fire.
Every step feels heavier. My pulse is in my ears, my throat tight. Outside, the sunlight suddenly feels harsh. By the time I hit the sidewalk, I’m muttering under my breath, “You idiot.”
This is what I get for hoping. For thinking maybe there was something under that kiss besides attraction and bad timing. For reading between lines that weren’t even there.
I take a long sip of my latte, scald my tongue, and huff out a bitter laugh. “Serves you right.”
Because if I needed a reminder, I just got it loud and clear.This is why you don’t kiss men you don’t know, especially when they’re your best friend’s brother.
CHAPTER 11
Cole
Iignore the raw guilt that’s been gnawing at my stomach since I saw Hailey’s expression at the coffee shop. I can’t get it out of my head.
“Yo, Cole!” Jake’s voice cuts through the clang of metal stands and the sharp whine of drills. “You want the Douglas firs along the north fence or by the gate?”
I tip my chin toward the fence. “Fence. They sell faster when parents can park close. Makes it easier to haul.”
He nods, and I grab a fresh tree from the trailer, hoisting it onto my shoulder. The trunk bites into my glove, sap sticking, pine needles scratching my jaw. I drop the tree onto the sawhorses and start trimming the base.
She probably hates me. Good. She should.
It’ll make it easier for her to forget about the elevator if she realizes now that I have no good intentions. Hopefully, she’s already moved on. Maybe she went out this weekend, met some guy her age who doesn’t come with a jaded heart and a decade of regret.
“Generator’s running. We’re live!” Travis yells, flipping the switch. The lights blink on across our booth. The smell of warmcocoa and spiced nuts has already made its way down to this end of the market.
I shove my gloves in my pockets and take a step back, scanning the crowd as it starts to grow. Parents with toddlers in puff coats. Teenagers holding hands. I pause for a second, realizing that for the first time in several years, seeing couples happy and in love at Christmas didn’t immediately trigger a negative, miserable reaction.
I’m about to ask myself why when I look over and do a double take. Just a few booths down, manning the hot cocoa station is Hailey. I stop, almost slipping on the snow. She has a bright-red scarf framing her face and big white puffy earmuffs.
She looks… happy. She’s laughing with the woman next to her and chatting with the customers. The tightness in my chest eases and I find myself smiling as I watch her. I knew she wouldn’t struggle to fit in or find friends; there’s no way you’re not magnetically drawn to her if you’re around her.
She tips her head back to laugh again, red scarf brushing her cheek, and I know I’m screwed. Because no amount of distance, guilt, or self-control is going to make me stop wanting her. Not now that I’ve really seen her.
I force myself to look away, to focus on the trees, the work, anything that doesn’t involve the thought or memory of her body against mine.
The saw hums low as I cut another trunk, sawdust dusting my gloves. I grab the pricing gun and tag another row of firs, trying to force myself into the rhythm of it. Tag, slide, staple. Repeat.
But the more I keep seeing her face, smiling at people, at me… It makes me realize I’m an asshole. Instead of being an adult about things, I made her feel like shit about it.
“Time to man the fuck up, Cole.” I say the phrase I’ve said to myself a hundred times since I turned my life around. It’sthe reminder I tell myself when I’m avoiding things instead of addressing them.
Snow flurries drift through the lights, catching in my jacket and the brim of my Santa hat, something Travis made the crew wear tonight “for holiday cheer.” The damn thing’s too tight and itchy, but I keep it on.
“Cole, you good on trees?” Jake calls from behind the trailer.
“Yeah,” I shout back, even though I’m not.
I’m a mess. I’m standing behind a stack of trees like some kind of lumberjack stalker, pretending to check twine tension while watching Hailey pour cocoa into paper cups. It’s pathetic, I know, but my eyes keep finding her anyway. The red scarf. The faint pink in her cheeks. The way she bites her bottom lip when she’s concentrating on not spilling cocoa.
For a second, she glances up. Our eyes almost meet across the crowd, and my stomach drops. I jerk my head down, suddenly fascinated by the bungee cord around a spruce.
Real fucking smooth, dude.
I keep my head down and stay busy or at least pretend to. But every few minutes, I catch myself stealing another glance. She’s laughing again, handing a cup to a kid in a blue coat who is smiling at whatever she’s saying to him.
She disappears from view for a few minutes, moving down the line of customers, and I tell myself that’s good. Space is good. I can sell some trees, finish out the night, and we can both just… be adults. Five minutes later she’s walking straight toward me with a damn cocoa in her hand.
