“Very weird,” she agrees, smiling back.
The Christmas tree lights blink in a slow rhythm, casting alternating patterns of light and shadow across her face. The ornaments we hung together—the silly hockey one she insisted on putting front and center, the handmade one Genna gave her years ago, the dog one that looks just like Jhett—they all seem to be watching us, witnesses to whatever is happening right now.
We fall silent, but it’s not the awkward silence from before. It’s something different. Something charged with possibilities. I’m struck by how right this feels. Being here with her, in this moment, on Christmas Eve.
Like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Without thinking, I reach up and brush a strand of hair from her face, my touch gentle. Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t pull away.
She’s watching me intently now, her lips slightly parted, her breath coming a little faster. I lean in slowly, my heart pounding against my ribs like a fist on a door. I give her plenty of time to pull away if she wants to.
But she doesn’t.
She stays perfectly still, her eyes never leaving mine.
My gaze drops to her lips—soft, light pink, the bottom one fuller than the top, a tiny freckle I’ve never noticed before just at the corner. The desire to taste her surges through me like electricity, cracking down my spine, pooling warm in my chest. My hands itch to pull her closer, to feel the softness of her sweater beneath my palms, to discover if her body fits against mine as perfectly as I think it might.
I want this—want her—with an intensity that almost scares me.
And yet, something stops me.
What if I’m reading this all wrong? What if that spark I feel between us is one-sided? What if I kiss her and she pulls away? What if I ruin everything—our friendship, her relationship with my sister, the easy comfort we’ve always had with each other?
The thoughts flood my mind in the blink of an eye. I’ve never hesitated with a woman before. Never questioned whether she wanted me as much as I wanted her. My confidence with women has always been my shield, my guarantee that I’ll never be the vulnerable one, never be the one who gets hurt.
But Cheyenne is different. She always has been.
With her, I can’t rely on practiced lines or my usual charm. She knows me too well for that. And that’s terrifying. Because it means she could reject the real me, not just the carefully constructed image I present to the world.
So instead of claiming her lips, I press a soft kiss to her forehead, my hand resting briefly on her shoulder. I linger there for a moment, breathing in the scent of her shampoo—something floral and familiar—committing this moment to memory.
Her hands come up to rest lightly on my waist, neither pulling me closer nor pushing me away. Just ... holding. Connecting.
Finally, reluctantly, I pull back. Her eyes are closed, her expression unreadable.
“See you tomorrow?” I ask quietly, my voice slightly husky.
She opens her eyes, and there’s something new there. Something warm and questioning and hopeful all at once.
“Yeah.” She nods. “Tomorrow.”
I stand up, breaking the spell that seems to have fallen over us, already missing her warmth beside me. Jhett raises his head, watching me with those soulful brown eyes as if judging my decision.
“Thanks for letting me drop by,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her again. “And for accepting the bracelet.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says, her fingers automatically going to the silver chain on her wrist. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.”
More silence stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, one step away from either flying or falling.
“I should probably get going,” I finally say. “Let you get some sleep before the Christmas chaos tomorrow.”
“Right, of course.” She nods, tucking that same strand of hair behind her ear again. “Drive safe, okay?”
Her concern warms something in my chest. “I will.”
We walk to the door together, close but not touching, the air between us charged.
