The hours tick by, and I can’t seem to focus on anything. The house feels too quiet, too empty. Pete’s still at Cynthia’s today, giving me space to work, but instead, I’m pacing like a caged animal, my thoughts spinning out of control.
Last night wasn’t supposed to happen. And when it did happen, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But the thrill of owning her, of having her in my arms, the taste of her on my lips—it’s all burned into my memory, and no amount of denial can erase it. I want her. I’ve wanted her since the moment I saw her standing in her mom’s doorway, all sharp edges and guarded smiles. But wanting her and having her are two very different things.
She doesn’t belong in my world. Hell, I don’t even belong in my world. I’ve spent years trying to claw my way out, to build something for Pete that doesn’t end in blood and betrayal. And Sophia... she’s light. She’s life. She deserves more than what I can give her.
None of that stops me from texting her again.
By the time the afternoon sun begins to lower behind the mountain peaks, I’ve sent her three memes, a picture of Pete wearing a Santa hat he found in a box of decorations, and a sarcastic comment about my inability to untangle the lights she left behind. She’s responded to every message with something that makes me laugh or that quickens my pulse. In every case, her responses make me want to cross the street, scoop her up, and bring her back to my bed.
She’s under my skin, and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or the beginning of the end for me.
As the sun sets, the house takes on a different kind of stillness—one that feels heavier, more oppressive. I pour myself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as I stand by the window, staring out at the snow-covered yard. My phone buzzes again, and I glance at it, my heart doing that stupid thing where it skips a beat.
Sophia:“You’re lucky I’m not charging you for my emotional labor. These memes are awful.”
Me:“You love them. Admit it.”
Her response is a picture of her holding up a tangled mess of lights, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.
Sophia:“Come fix this, multitasker.”
The logical part of me knows I should say no. I should put my phone down, finish my drink, and let her untangle her own damn lights. But logic has never been my strong suit, especially not when it comes to her.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m grabbing my coat, my heart pounding against my ribs. I’m both excited and terrified.
When I walk up to her mom’s house, I notice the windows glow with warm light. It’s the kind of scene I’ve always admired from a distance, the kind of life I’ve convinced myself I’ll never have. But tonight, as I make my way to the door, I feel a flicker of something I can’t quite name—something that feels dangerously close to hope.
Sophia opens the door before I get near enough to knock. She’s piled up her hair on top of her head in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face. She’s wearing a sweater that’s too big for her, the sleeves pulled down over her hands, and she looks... happy. Relaxed. Like she belongs here, in this world of family and warmth and tangled Christmas lights.
“You came,” she says, her voice soft but laced with that teasing edge I’ve come to expect.
“You called,” I reply, stepping inside.
Her mom waves from the kitchen, “Hello, Ray.”
“Hi, Mrs. Masters.”
John, her dad, raises the bottle of beer he’s holding in a salute. “Want one, son?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“S’up!” her brother mutters and nods, in acknowledgment of my arrival, without lifting his eyes from the screen of his cellphone.
For a moment, I feel like I’m part of a normal household. But then Sophia grabs my hand, pulling me toward the back of the house to the living room, and the rest of the world fades away.
We spend the next hour untangling lights, her laughter ringing out every time I curse under my breath or get the strands twisted even worse. It’s ridiculous and messy and I wouldn’t trade a minute of it for anything else because it’s absolutely perfect. And when we finally finish, she flops onto the couch, grinning up at me like I’ve just conquered the world.
“See?” she says, holding up the now-perfect string of lights. “Teamwork.”
I shake my head, sinking down beside her. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet here you are.”
Her smile softens, and we just sit there, in silence, enjoying each other’s presence. The quiet in the room is broken only by the faint hum of the heater. I want to tell her everything I feel right now. I want to let her know how much she’s gotten under my skin, how much I hate the fact that I can’t give her the normal life that she deserves. Instead, I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers.
“We should stop texting each other,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I glance at the door leading to the front of the house. When I confirm her family is nowhere to be seen, I lean closer, pressing my lips to a sensitive spot on her neck, under her ear. “I hate that you’re right about this,” I mutter, my hot breath raising goosebumps on her skin.
