I don’t bother pretending to browse. I already know why I’m here. My fingers trail over silk, lace, and satin until one catches my eye—a deep red trimmed in white. Simple but bold. Not me at all. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop looking at it.
My throat tightens as I wonder what the hell I’m doing. This isn’t me. But then I think of Clay—the way his eyes linger when he thinks I don’t notice—and my chest seizes. I can almost imagine the look on his face if he saw me in this.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I press the hanger to my chest, grab the matching silk robe, and take them both to the counter.
The clerk gives me a knowing smile. I mumble something about a gift and hand over my card so fast I almost drop it. My face burns as she slips the lingerie into a glossy bag with tissue paper.
That’s when I notice a jar of oversized candy canes on the counter, tied with little gold bows. Without really thinking, I grab one and add it to the pile. It feels silly, but somehow right. A small, playful touch to balance the nerves twisting in my stomach.
The cold hits the second I step outside, sharp enough to knock the breath out of me. The bag swings from my wrist as Ihurry down the sidewalk toward the car. I toss it onto the seat and grip the wheel, my palms slick, my chest tight.
What if Clay laughs? What if he shuts me down again and calls it a mistake? What if he says that with our families here, it can’t happen?
The fear cuts through before I can stop it. My pulse spikes, heat burning through the cold like a warning I can’t ignore.
Because I know the truth.
He can’t hide what I saw in his eyes last night or the way he looked at me tonight. That heat between us has been there for years, no matter how hard we’ve tried to fight it.
I’m done pretending. Done letting logic or guilt get in the way of what we both want.
I start the car, headlights cutting through the snow. The bag sits beside me, like it’s holding its breath right along with me. My hands still tremble with anticipation.
By the time I pull into the driveway, the house is dark and still. The tree glows faintly through the front window, the only light left on. I ease the door open and slip inside, the warmth and familiar scent of home wrapping around me as I lock up behind me.
Mom’s still up, sitting on the couch with a blanket over her legs and the TV turned low. She looks up when I come in, her eyes soft but tired.
“Were you able to find somewhere open to grab the milk?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, lifting the grocery bag a little. “Got the last one.”
She smiles, the kind that says she’s too tired to question anything else. Thankfully, not the small glossy bag hanging from my other hand. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Night, Mom.”
We both head down the hall, her door closing while I duck into my room. When I step in front of the dresser, mygaze catches on the mirror. I stare for a long moment, barely recognizing the girl looking back.
My heart’s beating too fast. Every part of me knows this is reckless, but I can’t shake the pull that’s been building between us. I’ve been trying to ignore the ache twisting low in my stomach since the second I saw him again.
I set my things down and start the bath, peeling off my sweater. I glance over at the glossy boutique bag sitting on the bed like a dare.
I take my time shaving, then rub oil into my skin until it feels soft. Every second drags until I feel like it’s safe to sneak up to his room.
By the time I’m done, the house is entirely still. I slip into the red lace, the fabric soft and daring against my skin. My hands shake as I smooth it down, breath catching in my chest.
The hallway is dark now, with the only light peering out from the crack under his door. My steps are quiet, my heartbeat rushing in my ears.
I stop outside his room, hand hovering halfway to the door. For a second, I almost turn around and race back to my room, but I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath and lift my hand to knock.
The door opens almost immediately, like he’s been waiting for me.
Clay’s broad shoulders fill the doorway. He’s barefoot with gray sweats hanging loose on his hips. His hair is mussed like he’s been raking his fingers through it. My eyes take in the hard planes of his chest, and for a second, my brain malfunctions.
His eyes sweep over me, pausing on the silk robe cinched around my waist, and stopping on the candy cane between my lips. I take my time with it, letting the tip drag along my tongue before I speak.
He steps back to let me enter, his jaw clenching. When the door shuts behind me, he finally speaks.
“What’s this, Sug?” His voice comes out quiet and playful. “Santa short on helpers this year?”
