Which one is the real Dylan? The one who looked at me so tenderly as he fastened the bracelet around my wrist? Or the one who just laughed off the idea of us being together?
“Earth to Cheyenne.” Genna nudges me. “Mom’s asking if you want more coffee.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, pushing my mug forward. “Yes, please.”
“You’re quiet this morning,” Mrs. Williamston observes as she refills my cup. “Everything okay?”
“Just tired,” I lie. “Stayed up too late wrapping presents.”
Something flickers across Dylan’s face—uncertainty, maybe. Or regret.
Before he can say anything, Mr. Williamston stands up, clapping his hands together. “Alright, who’s ready for presents?”
The moment breaks, and everyone starts clearing the table. I help carry dishes to the sink, moving on autopilot, my thoughts a jumbled mess. As we migrate to the living room, I feel Dylan behind me, close enough that I can smell his cologne.
“Hey,” he says softly, placing a hand on my arm to stop me. “You okay?”
I turn to face him, finding him closer than expected. “I’m fine. Why?”
“You seem...” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Different. Since last night.”
“Do I?” I challenge, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “I’m not the one acting different.”
His brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. We should go in. Your mom’s waiting.”
I move past him into the living room, taking a seat on the couch next to Genna, who gives me a questioning look that I pretend not to notice. Dylan follows a moment later, opting for a spot on the floor near the tree instead of beside me.
Mr. Williamston starts distributing gifts, and the room fills with the sounds of ripping paper and exclamations of delight.I go through the motions, smiling at the thoughtful presents from the Williamstons, thanking them sincerely. They’ve always treated me like part of the family, and their gifts reflect that—a beautiful scarf from Mrs. Williamston in exactly my style and a gift card to my favorite bookstore from Mr. Williamston.
Through it all, I’m acutely aware of Dylan. He’s quieter than usual, though he makes the appropriate noises of appreciation for his gifts. Every so often, I feel his eyes on me, but when I look up, he’s always focusing on something else.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Then again. And again.
I pull it out discreetly, expecting some holiday wishes from friends or maybe my mother calling from Europe. Instead, I see Garrett’s name, and my stomach drops.
Garrett:Merry Christmas, Chey. Missing you today.
And then:
Garrett:Remember last Christmas? I’ve been thinking about it all morning.
And finally:
Garrett:I made a mistake. Iwant you back.
I stare at the messages, feeling like I’ve been doused in cold water. Garrett wants me back? After everything he said when he ended things? After weeks of silence?
I glance up to find Dylan watching me. When our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away this time. There’s a question in his gaze, maybe even concern.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, trying to refocus on the gift exchange. But my mind is spinning. Garrett’s timing couldn’t be worse—or perhaps, from his perspective, better. Catch me when I’m confused, when I’m vulnerable.
Because I am confused. And vulnerable. The bracelet on my wrist feels heavier. A gift from a man who looks at me like I’m the only person in the room one moment, then dismisses any possibility of us being together the next. A man I’ve known for years but suddenly feel like I don’t know at all.
“Cheyenne?” Mrs. Williamston’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “This one’s for you, dear. From Dylan.”
She passes me a small, neatly wrapped package. Everyone’s watching now as I take it, my hands trembling slightly. He got meanothergift? But why?I glance at Dylan, who looks almost nervous as he waits for me to open it.
