“Where did you get it?” she asks, her eyes still on the silverbracelet.
I hesitate, glancing at Dylan. It’s his gift to explain if he wants to.
“I got it for her,” he says, his voice casual. A little too casual. “Just an early Christmas present.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” his mother remarks, giving him an approving look before turning back to me. “It’s perfect for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, not sure if I’m thanking her or Dylan. Maybe both.
“Speaking of thoughtful gifts...” Mr. Williamston says, reaching for the bacon. “We saw that article about you two. Shopping for something a bit more permanent, were you?”
There’s a teasing note in his voice, but the question still hangs in the air, requiring a response.
I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. Everyone at the table is looking at us now with varying degrees of curiosity. Even Genna, who knows the truth, seems interested in how we’ll handle this.
“Dad,” Dylan groans, running a hand through his hair. “That was nothing but a stupid misunderstanding.”
“We were just walking around after getting hot chocolate,” I add quickly. “We weren’t actually shopping for ... for anything like that.”
Dylan shifts awkwardly. “Yeah. We were messing around. It wasn’t serious.” He hesitates, then quickly adds, “We’re just friends.”
The words land like a slap back to reality.
Just friends.
Right.
Of course we are.
Except ... that’s not at all what it felt like last night.
“Well, you two had a lot of people fooled,” Mrs. Williamston says, her eyes twinkling. “I got three calls from friends asking when the wedding was.”
Dylan laughs, and the sound cuts through me. “Sorry to disappoint.”
The words echo in my head as I force a smile. After last night, after the way he looked at me when he gave me the bracelet, I thought...
What did I think? That one gift meant that years of treating me like his sister’s best friend would change overnight?
I touch the bracelet on my wrist, feeling foolish now. It wasn’t a romantic gesture. It was an apology. For dragging me into his world, for the gossip, for the trouble.
Nothing more.
We’re just friends.
“Well, I think you two would make a lovely couple,” Mrs. Williamston comments, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Don’t you think, Greg?”
“Leave the kids alone, Macy,” Mr. Williamston says, but he’s smiling too. “Though I have to say, Chey, you’ve always been the only person who could keep this one in line.” He nods toward Dylan.
“That’s because she’s not afraid to call me on my crap,” Dylan says, and when I look up, he’s watching me. There’s something warm in his eyes, something that doesn’t match the dismissive words from moments ago.
I don’t know what to make of it.
“Someone has to,” I manage to say, trying to keep my tone light.
The conversation shifts to other topics—Genna’s new relationship with Paul, Mr. Williamston’s plans for the New Year, the upcoming hockey schedule. I participate enough to not seem rude, but my mind is elsewhere, trying to reconcile the Dylan who showed up at my door last night with the one sitting across from me now.
Every so often, I catch him looking at me, his expression thoughtful, almost yearning. But then someone will address him, and he’s back to being the Dylan everyone expects—confident, slightly cocky, always ready with a joke or a charming comment.
