It is true. Somewhere along the way, I forgot how to have fun.
I glance down at my naked nails. I haven’t had a manicure in months. Apparently, I don’t know how to look the part either.
“Are you coming?” Mom’s already halfway out the front door.
“Sure,” I agree, rubbing at the center of my chest as my heart rate increases to a galloping speed.
Mom’s bouncing on her toes, excited to see Stacy and her family. No doubt Mom and Sandra have been giddy for weeks, knowing their children were all coming home for the holidays. Well, Stacy and me. Hudson is always around. If anything, I imagine his parents would prefer a break from his constant presence.
I slip into the boots Mom pulled out of the closet for me. I haven’t been home for Christmas in three years and forgot how cold winter in Ottawa is. Shivering, I slip outside behind Mom.
We carefully descend the stairs Dad recently shoveled. There’s already over six inches of snow on the ground from the last snowfall that conveniently rolled into the storm we’re getting tonight. Mom and I head down the icy path and cut across the front lawn, our boots crunching the snow, until we spill onto the Page family’s driveway.
“Misty! They’re here!” Sandra hollers, her smile wide, as she hugs her granddaughter, Kimberly.
Mom clasps my hand and waves it in the air. “I know! I’m so thrilled!”
Sandra laughs, Stacy shakes her head, and Joe pulls a suitcase from the trunk of their rental.
“Oof, Stace, what’d you pack?” he asks.
No one replies.
Instead, Stacy hugs me hello. “It’s good to see you, Piper.”
“You too. Merry Christmas. How was your flight?”
“Delayed twice,” Joe answers.
Stacy grins. “But we made it. There’s a storm coming in, so we were lucky.”
My dad, Bruce, comes out of the garage with a shovel in hand. “Hey! Glad you’re here. Most flights are being cancelled.” He walks closer, tossing salt down along the pathway. “Wait till you see the wine I’m bringing tonight,” Dad says to Sandra’s husband, Steve.
As the parents’ converse, Stacy moves toward the house, calling out for her son to walk slowly up the path. Out of nowhere, a snowball hits her square in the face.
“Shit!” Stacy hollers, her hand coming up to cover her cheek.
Joe snickers as the children crack up.
“Where are you, Uncle Hud?” Stacy’s son, Frankie, hollers.
Another snowball vaults from behind a tree, skimming Frankie’s shoulder. He dissolves into giggles, launching himself in the direction of the tree. Kimmy is close behind.
I groan. Hudson Page hasn’t grown up the way I hoped. He’s still the immature, pranking jokester. And frustrating. Like a pesky gnat I can’t permanently banish from my mind.
I glance at him and bite down on my tongue. He emerges from behind the trees to catch his nephew and swing him up into a hug.
Gah. I avert my gaze and pull in a deep breath.
As much as Hudson gets under my skin, he’s just as hot as I remember. He’s wearing a black beanie that does nothing but accentuate his cool blue-green eyes. His jawline is strong, covered in a two- or three-day beard, and that dimple in his chin, the one kids used to tease him about, is now straight-up sexy. He looks formidable. In control.
I work a swallow as my throat dries. Hudson glances at me and our eyes hold. Recognition flares in his irises as an easy, unaffected smile cuts across his face.
Shit. I wring my hands as I try to pull myself together.
For my entire childhood, Hudson was the boy next door. The one who brought over my homework when I was sick from school. The boy who taught me how to ride a bike and later, drive stick shift. I used to vet his dates with the same intensity that he scared off my fake crushes, since deep down, I always had eyes for him.
We spent summer nights sitting on his roof, talking. Winter mornings shivering in the front seat of his car and waiting for the snow to melt off the windshield. We were best friends.
