I’ve never been big on the holidays in general, but I’m not a Grinch about them either. In fact, it’s all too easy to picture holidays like this every year—an abundance of decorations, an oversized tree filled with meaningful ornaments, and a gaggle of kids begging to open presents early.
Yeah, I want that.
I want that with Hope.
“I like it,” I say, dropping my arm around Hope’s back and tugging her closer to me on her couch. She melts against me easily enough, as though she hadn’t turned me down only a week ago when I attempted to ask her out for the twenty-first time.
Gram drops his head in her lap and looks up at me with those big doe eyes as Hope strokes his head, as if to saycan we keep her, Dad?The poor sap has been in love with Hope as long as I have.
Dammit if all this doesn’t just feel right.
“You have to say that,” Hillary says with a dramatic eye roll and a yawn. She’s no doubt tired from not only traveling but tagging along with Hope and me all day. Thankfully Rose was able to spread the word so quickly no one blew our cover. “You’re theboyfriend.”
The fact that she uses air quotes for that last word irritates me.
I don’t fucking like it.
I don’t fucking likeher.
More than once, I’ve had to stop myself from saying something downright cruel to shut her up. Each time I’ve been tempted to put her in her place, I kiss Hope instead to keep something really harsh from leaving my lips. At the rate Hillary’s going with her passive aggressive insults, I’ll be making out with Hope for hours at a time.
Not mad about that.
“I love your Christmas decorations,” I say to Hope.
She shifts to look at me, those amber eyes sparkling with a mixture of hesitation and hope. “You do?”
“Of course I do.”
I cup her cheek and draw her in for another kiss, grateful for the opportunity to taste her lips so many times today after months of pining. It’s as though we’re making up for all the lost time, one sister-wielded insult at a time.
This kiss reminds me of the one I stole in the dress shop after Hillary made some snide comment about Hope’s weight and how she would look terrible in the dress Hillary chose for herself. And the kiss at theBook Cellarbecause her sister insulted not only her drink pallet, but her reading habits too.
Then I kissed her insideThe Sweet Tooth, right after I bought her the cherry muffin her sister told her would make it impossible to fit into a dress without Spanx for the party, rightbefore I told her—loud enough for Hillary to hear me—that she wouldn’t be in that dress long anyway.
Each time, Hope has met my lips with enthusiasm and that delicious hint of peppermint on her tongue. As though she’s delighted for any excuse to kiss me without strings attached. I hope that if I kiss her enough over these few days, that maybe she’ll finally let down her guard. Maybe she’ll see that I’m really all in and give us the chance we deserve.
Because Hope Goodwin is it for me.
“Okay, I’m heading to bed,” Hillary says, pushing up out of the recliner after another yawn. “You two need to get a room or…something. Hope, can you show me to my room?”
Hope rolls her eyes where only I can see and pushes up from the couch.
Just like Gram, I follow.
“Is it this room?” Hillary asks, reaching for a doorknob to the left of the hallway.
“No!” Hope darts between her sister and the door, a look of panic in those brown eyes her sister doesn’t seem to recognize. I remember her earlier fear of leaving her sister home alone, and the curiosity about that room starts to eat at me. Maybe, after a few more of those sultry kisses, I can convince her to show me what’s behind door number one.
“What is that room, Hope?” Hillary demands, suspicious of her sister’s reaction.
“It’s just storage. Your room’s over there. First door on the right.”
“Storage?”
“For all the Christmas decorations that didn’t make the cut,” Hope adds, grabbing one of Hillary’s giant suitcases and wheeling it to the guest room she indicated. I grab the other two and follow.
“Thisis my room?” Hillary asks, a slightly horrified expression on her face at the tiny space that doubles as an office. There’s a daybed with a nightstand against one wall and a computer desk on the other. “It’s so…small. Can’t I have your room? I’m only here for a few days. You don’t want your favorite sister to suffer, right?”
