“Oh, because you know me so well now?”
“I know that you’re not the type to take off into the woods in the dark. Or put up with any bullshit from your ex.”
“It wasn’t dark.” She finished her icing work and gently set the knife back inside the tub.
“Twilight. Close enough in the winter.”
Charlotte sighed, then grabbed the pastry bag full of red icing and started to make a sugar scarf as the Forest Incident replayed in her mind. The song, the ridiculous tears she couldn’t seem to control, Brighton’s hands on her face, then—
“No,” she said out loud, her grip on the pastry bag a bit too tight. A blob of red puddled onto the snowman’s neck, like something out of a holiday horror movie.
Wes frowned. “Itwasdark. I was there.”
Charlotte shook her head, the wordkissteasing the edges of her mind. She couldn’t seem to vanquish those four tiny letters, the action, the memory of Brighton’s mouth and tongue and—
She squeezed her thighs together under the table, as though she could strangle any and all emotion or lust relating to Brighton Fairbrook.
And goddammit, she could. She’d been doing it for five years and had been just fine. No, better than fine—she’dthrived.
“We kissed,” she forced herself to say quietly. Speak it, take away its power. Simple as that.
Wes’s eyes widened. “You and Brighton?”
“No, me and Jack,” she said, waving a hand at her former conversation partner the next table over.
He laughed. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And what?”
He smirked. “And how was it?”
Incredible.
Another damned word she couldn’t seem to get any control over, ten letters popping into her brain like a randy jack-in-the-box, a gateway adjective that only led to others—mind-blowing,stunning,perfect.
“Speaking of, I think you should tell Sloane the truth,” she said.
Wes blinked. “Nice diversion.”
“Thanks, I’m an expert. So?”
He laughed, shook his head. “What about us? I distinctly saw Brighton eyeing us while we ate dinner. I should’ve put you in my lap, dropped grapes into your mouth.”
“There were no grapes,” Charlotte said, refusing to look over at Brighton again. “And besides, this charade is short-lived. Eventually, this will all end, and we’ll leave for Europe, and you’ll still be here sad and in love.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
Wes laughed. “How would I even tell her? At the open-mic event? Woo her with a Pablo Neruda poem?”
Charlotte smiled. “I mean…maybe?”
Wes’s own smile vanished. “I’m kidding. I’m not setting myself up for another heartbreak where Sloane is concerned.”
