I stand amid the wreckage, still reeling from the mistletoe kiss with Abby. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I forced myself to back away from her. Otherwise, we’d still be kissing.
As Abby corrals Powerfluff, her gaze flicks over to me. Each glance sends a jolt of electricity through my body. Having a crush on her was one thing, but spending non-work time with her tells me she’s perfect. My crush is turning into something more, and that should bother me more than it does.
I’m her boss, and that’s not good.
Okay, it’s bad. Bad with a capital B.
The last time this happened, I wasn’t even Bella’s boss and it turned into a disaster. Thankfully, Abby seems to be nothing like my ex-girlfriend.
“Well”—Rachel’s voice cuts through the din, dripping with sarcasm—“that was certainly festive.”
I turn to see her perched atop an armchair, Jake hovering nearby like a confused bodyguard.
“Come on, Rach.” Abby holds Powerfluff. The cat seems to be proud of herself, which I must respect. “It’s not Christmas without a little excitement.”
Rachel sniffs, clearly unimpressed. “Your idea of excitement is different from mine. Some of us prefer our holidays without property damage.”
Protectiveness surges. I have to say something. “They say animals are excellent judges of character. Maybe Powerfluff wanted to liven up things.”
The living room falls silent. Abby’s eyes widen. Clearly unused to being challenged, Rachel opens her mouth and then closes it like a fish.
Abby places Powerfluff on the stairs, and the cat runs to the second floor.
Mrs. Sinclair comes in with another pot of fresh coffee. “Anyone need a refill?”
That seems to be her way of breaking the tension, though I’m not sure it’s working as well this time.
Abby and I steal glances at each other. Ishouldfeel like I’m back in high school, but something has shifted between us. I can’t put a name on it nor am I certain how to navigate it. I just hope that whatever has happened is a positive step.
“Oh, Sis,” Rachel says in a tone that sounds fake. “You’re going to be my maid of honor.”
“The two of you will look pretty up at the altar,” Mrs. Sinclair says a beat later, suggesting to me this was planned somehow.
Abby freezes—a good thing or she might’ve dropped the tree topper she has in her hands. “No, thank you.”
Her words are staccato sharp, and a part of me worries if that topper is about to turn into a weapon. Not that I’d blame Abby.
Rachel pouts like she’s a child, not a grown adult. “You can’t say no.”
“You really can’t, Abby,” Mrs. Sinclair agrees.
Abby shrugs, but her lips are pressed tightly together. “I have…work commitments and other things.”
Rachel makes a face. “You don’t even know the wedding date yet.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Abby hands the tree topper to her dad. “I have responsibilities.”
“Oh, please.” Rachel rolls her eyes. “What’s more important than your only sister’s wedding to the love of her life?”
“Nothing is more important than your sister’s wedding,” Mrs. Sinclair adds.
Abby’s gaze bounces between the two women. Without a word, she dashes up the stairs, leaving her family stunned and watching her escape.
“So rude.” Rachel sighs. “I thought Abby would be honored I picked her.”
“It’s a nice gesture,” Jake says. “But don’t forget, she and I dated for more than two years. Knowing Abby, I doubt she’ll want to be a part of the wedding or even attend.”
Both Rachel and Mrs. Sinclair gasp, but I’m impressed Jake isn’t as stupid as he seems. Still, anyone who would pick the pampered brat older sister over Abby is lacking in the brain cell department.
