We were outside of town now, driving a winding country road, a skiff of snow painting the otherwise fading green landscape. “I’m sorry, what? You saw me kiss your mom?”
I licked dry lips, wondering how to have this conversation without bursting into tears. “Yes.”
We drove in silence for several minutes, my worst fears coming true. This conversation. Sam’s admission by silence. We were still heading away from town, though. Was it too far to walk back? Too cold? Did Mistletoe have Ubers?
Eventually, Sam pulled into an empty parking lot. A flat expanse of field lay before us, a large circle of string lights was the only thing to break up the short spikes of harvested corn that rolled to the horizon in all directions. It took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at, but I slowly realized the lights surrounded a manmade ice-skating rink.
There was a white outbuilding on the other side of it that housed restrooms and a concession stand, including a covered patio with spaced-out heat lamps and a brick fireplace complete with an already roaring fire.
It was rustic and charming and perfect.
A sign around the edge of the rink read “Sponsored by Holiday Brights.” I should have figured.
“What is this place?”
“Our newest venture. I thought you and I could take it for a test run.”
“You’re taking me ice skating?”
He reached into the backseat and pulled a big thermos to the front. “I have hot chocolate in case we get cold. And I broughtextra hats and gloves in case you didn’t have them with you. There’s another work coat back there too. They’re not pretty to look at, but they’re built tough. But if it’s too cold—”
I didn’t hear what else he said. My brain was in a five-alarm meltdown. This was the single most romantic gesture of my life. Yet somehow my mother was still here to ruin it.
Sam reached across the cab and pulled my limp hand into his. “Holly, I didn’t kiss your mom. I would never . . . I wouldneverhave done that to you. Not willingly.”
His words were enough to revive me from total shutdown. I looked over at him, hot tears threatening to fall.
“I saw you.”
“She did kiss me. That is true. I was standing there, waiting for you to come back from wherever Teagan dragged you off to. And fine, I was under the mistletoe, but I was trying to be, uh, cute. Or charming or whatever. I was definitely not inviting her to kiss me.” His hands tightened on mine. “Holly, please know that I would never have . . . She is literally the last person in the world I . . . oh hell, is that why you left?”
I dared to meet his eyes. They were full of horror and heartache. “I saw her kiss you and I just assumed . . . That’s my nightmare, Sam. My worst-case scenario. And it happened with you.”
“Not by choice. I promise you.” He leaned forward, earnest. “I know she’s your mother, Holly, but I would never willingly cross that line. Even if we were just friends.” He let out a nervous breath. “Even if we were complete strangers. I am not, nor have I ever been, into Celine Haden.” He dipped his head, his gaze searching mine. “But I have had a thing for her daughter for at least ten years.”
Racing thoughts and trembling feelings whirred through me, bumping into each other, running face-first into old memories,tripping over six years of heartbreak. Was he being honest? Had I run away all those years ago over a misunderstanding?
I chewed my bottom lip as I tried to process this upending revelation. I think I did believe Sam. It wasn’t anything I’d ever braved bringing up to my mom. Besides, I already knew I’d never get the truth out of her. Instead, she’d shrug coyly and say something like, “Oh, he wanted it, baby. They always do.” An unfortunate phrase I’d heard way too many times in my life.
Celine Haden was a trip. This was a truth universally known. And I’d grown up amid her raucous dating life and long history of weekend flings. There was a time when I was ten, when Linda Meyer had sat me down and asked me seriously if I felt safe in my own home. The string of men coming and going from my house had apparently been enough for her to wonder if I needed intervention.
I’d set her straight, of course. I felt safe. It was hard to feel danger when you were completely ignored, completely invisible to both your mother and whatever flavor of the week she brought home.
But Linda had offered her home up for any time I felt unsafe, unprotected, unsure. And from then on out, I ran over to Teagan’s any time the house felt weird. Or my mother’s boy toy happened to notice they weren’t alone—which happened more the older I got.
The night she kissed Sam had started out as a Christmas party for our old high school friends who’d all come back from college for our first winter break—one she’d encouraged Teagan and me to host. By the end of the night, I’d ended up in Teagan’s room in tears, just like so many nights before.
When I headed back to KU in the morning, I’d decided I’d never have another night displaced again. I’d never come back to that home that felt more like a seedy motel than a place whereI belonged. I’d never be put in a position to have to share a boy with my own mom ever again.
Sam slowly brought my hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over my knuckles. “I’m sorry for what happened, Holly. I was caught off guard in a way that stunned me. I didn’t move as quickly as I should have. And I should never have been standing there to begin with. You’re who I wanted then. And you’re who I want today.”
“You really mean that?”
He kissed a finger. Then another. Then another. “Yes.”
“Kissing my mom . . .” A singular tear slipped from the corner of my eye. “It wasn’t something I could get over. I didn’t only stay away from Mistletoe because of that. But . . . but I thought our kiss didn’t mean anything to you. I thought . . . I thought my mom and me meant the same sort of thing. And that wasn’t something I could . . .” I swallowed thickly, struggling to be as honest with him as he’d been with me. “I liked you a lot back then, Sam. More than I should have probably. And it hurt me.” I tried to pull my hands away, but he held tight, refusing to let me retreat. “It broke my heart.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have—”
