“Why?” Reilly reached for the other box and opened it to find their ornaments from last year. Her mother had given them the blue and silver ones. As she stared at them now, she wasn’t sure that was the theme she wanted to go with this year.
“For starters, I was thinking battery-operated boyfriends might be higher on the list.”
She peered up at him and nodded slowly. “You might have a valid point there, Riggs.”
“I do, don’t I?”
“Speaking of battery-operated boyfriends,” she said as she put the lid back on the ornament box and grabbed the small box. “I think—” She laughed. “Oh, damn. Look at this.”
Tate strolled to the kitchen, returning with both mugs of hot chocolate. “What is it?”
Reilly lowered to her knees in front of the couch, pulling out envelopes and dropping them onto the coffee table, pausing only long enough to accept one of the cups. Each envelope had a year scrawled across the front in either her neat, curly handwriting or Tate’s chicken scratch.
“Are those…?” He moved around and sat on the couch to her left.
“Our hot chocolate wishes. Yeah.” Her grin widened as she recalled how they’d sat down every year to write down the one thing they hoped Santa would bring them. It had become a tradition involving massive amounts of hot chocolate and a lot of serious consideration. After all, making a wish was a big deal, right? It had to be perfect.
“Holy shit.” Tate grabbed one of the envelopes. “This one’s from when we were eleven.”
Reilly glanced at the envelope dated 2011 as she licked chocolate off the rim of her cup. “I wanted…” She licked the melted marshmallow off her lip. “Probably an iPhone, but I bet I got Monster High dolls that year.”
Her parents had worked extra hard to ensure she didn’t grow up too fast.
Tate opened the envelope. “Yep. iPhone. Both of us.”
She laughed. They’d been best friends since they were in first grade, and for as long as she could remember, they’d wanted the same things for Christmas and birthdays. Mostly. Tate hadn’t been on board with the idea of four-inch sparkly heels she’d been eyeing when they were in ninth grade, but he’d been all over the pink tutu she asked for when she was eight.
“What about this one?” Tate asked, flashing the envelope with 2016 written on it.
“No doubt, a truck,” she said.
Tate opened it and looked at the card, then laughed before turning it around so she could see it.
“A brand-new Silverado,” she read. “I didn’t get that, either. But I did have an iPhone by then.”
“And 2018?” Tate said, holding up the envelope.
Reilly frowned. “We would’ve been seniors in high school, so… I don’t know. Open it.”
Tate opened the flap and pulled out the card. He barked a laugh and turned it so she could read it.
Reilly’s cheeks warmed. “For Brady McCord to fall deeply in love with me.”
Yeah. She’d pretty much wanted that every year, but that was the first year she’d been brave enough to write it down.
“Here’s mine,” Tate said, showing her.
“For Donovan Jameson to look at me like a man, not a cute little kid. And kiss me.” Reilly scrunched up her nose and did the same thing she did when he first told her he had the hots for her brother. “Eww. Gross. Boy cooties.”
Tate laughed, but his eyes softened as he stared at the card. “A ridiculous wish, huh?”
“Not at all,” she said with enough conviction she almost believed it.
It wasn’t that Reilly didn’t think Tate was capable of catching Donovan’s eye because she knew he already had, even if he didn’t believe it. She’d seen her brother watching him when Donovan didn’t think anyone was around to notice. And why wouldn’t Donovan be interested in Tate? Tate was mega-cute. She’d always thought so. And back in the fifth grade, she’d thought of him in a slightly different way. The romantic kind of way. Right up until she learned that Tate didn’t like her like that. He didn’t likeanygirls like that.
Reilly grinned. She still remembered their conversation on her parents’ back porch. Reilly’d been upset because the rumor started that she liked Tate, but he didn’t like her back. It was then that her very best friend in the whole wide world shared the truth with her. And maybe with himself. He’d been so sweet about it, taking her hand and holding it while he admitted he liked boys, not girls.
It was safe to say she’d fallen in love with him a little more that day, but it was the purest of loves without the complexities of physical attraction to muddy the waters. Reilly had long ago accepted that she would never be what Tate needed in a life partner and vice versa. Needless to say, they’d been even closer since.
