How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

’Twas the minute before the date, and all through the house,

not a word was said, not a mention of her blouse.

An eerie calm settled in as she sat ready and waiting

for the man next door she’d never planned on fake dating.

It was one night, that was it, not a promise for more.

So why did butterflies stir with the knock at the door?

I adjust my jacket, nerves shooting through me as I wait for someone to answer the door.

It took me about half an hour to figure out what to wear, and not because I was nervous, but because I had Max chirping in my ear, attempting to be my stylist for the night, making me change over and over until he thought I was wearing something presentable enough…which happened to be the first fucking outfit I tried on.

He then went into overdrive about my hair.

About my deodorant and whether the scent clashed with my cologne—it doesn’t.

And if my jeans should be folded at the top of my brown boots—they are.

Before I left, he gave me a pep talk, told me not to fall in love, to remember the mission, and to look like a charming motherfucker while walking Storee around town. He topped off the pep talk by draping my sash over me and then sending me on my way with a smack on my ass, telling me to take one for the team.

His job while I’m gone? Practice making fruitcake.

Why do I have a feeling I’m pulling more weight than he is?

And sure, this is my fault—I put myself in this mess—but I didn’t think Storee would agree to a date. I was going to tease her and let her off the hook, gaining sympathy from Tanya but not putting myself in a situation like right now. Unfortunately for me, Storee was quick on her feet, challenging me to eat my own words.

In all honesty, I’d rather be tucked up inside my familiar house with a mug of warm cider. Not only am I preparing for this competition, but the days on the farm are longer because of the season. I’m still keeping up with all the reindeer shows, feedings, and stall cleanings, but my muscles are tired, and I’ve had to smile far too much while wearing this ridiculous sash.

My face isn’t used to smiling.

My personality isn’t used to being so cheery.

And my mindset isn’t used to having to fake date someone to get ahead in a competition.

The door opens—and wow. Storee looks beautiful despite the lack of a smile on her face when her eyes meet mine.

She’s wearing a winter hat, but her long red hair is curled underneath it and flowing around her shoulders. She’s dressed in a pair of jeans, long brown boots, and a jacket that doesn’t seem like it’s going to be warm enough for her, but thankfully for her—because I couldn’t care less—there will be heaters up and down the streets of Kringle for the night.

“Shit,” she says in greeting. “Taran, I need my sash.”

“Nice to see you too,” I say, sticking my hands in my pockets.

Taran walks up behind her and hands Storee her sash before glancing at me and then back at Storee. “Don’t kill each other, and remember what we talked about.”

“I know,” Storee says in an annoyed tone. “You remember what we talked about.” She gestures to the house. “Lights, Taran. More lights.”

I don’t mean to chuckle, but I can’t help it because yes, they need more lights. Way more lights.

“Glad you find my torture funny,” Storee says as she steps outside of the house. She’s about to shut the door when Cindy calls out.

“Storee, are you leaving?”

I see the annoyance drain from her face as her aunt approaches.

“I am,” Storee says in a loving tone. “Do you need anything?”

Cindy steps up to the entryway and looks past Storee to me. The smallest smile tugs on the corner of her lips. “Cole, you look very handsome.”

That’s Cindy for you; despite all the animosity brewing between our two houses, she can still find a way to bridge the gap and be kind like she always is.

“Thank you, Cindy.”

She then looks Storee up and down. “Did you pay my niece a compliment?”

I feel my nostrils flare before I glance over at Storee. “You look nice.” It’s painful to say, because even though I believe it, the last thing I want to do is make Storee think I have any sort of favorable feelings toward her.

Cindy elbows Storee in the side. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Storee looks my way. “Your jeans are clean.”

“Storee,” Cindy chastises.

“What? They are.” Storee points to my jeans. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” I say as I step aside, making room for her to join me.

“You know,” Cindy says as she grips her walker tightly, “there was a time when you two got along. Perhaps you could revisit those old feelings tonight.”

“No,” Taran says, stepping in. “They need to remain enemies, Aunt Cindy. This is a competition after all. We’ll not be blindsided by him.” She looks at Storee. “Keep your guard up.”

“No problem there,” Storee says.

Cindy sighs but doesn’t say anything else, so I head down the barely lit porch, Storee joining me. “Have a good night, Cindy.”

“You too, Cole. And if anything, at least try to be kind to my niece.”

“Sure,” I say, even though I don’t mean it.

When they shut the door, Storee and I head down the sidewalk toward town, silence falling between the two of us. Not surprised—what do we really have to say to each other?

Nothing of substance.

Nothing that would create the opening to a long, deep conversation.

Nothing that wouldn’t get us to start yapping at each other.

Pushing the competition to the side for a moment, I am sad that we’ve lost our way with each other, that we shared that one night ten years ago when I was hurt, and she was hurt, and we couldn’t quite see past our own heartache to glimpse each other. We did used to be friends. She was my once-a-year breath of fresh air who flew into Kringletown with sunshine and vigor. Yes, she’d complain about the cold, but that was par for the course—and I kind of liked it. She brought brightness and hope to my quiet soul. A friendship I loved. And yet, we’re enemies. But right now, I can’t imagine anything different.

So we continue to stay silent as we move down the sidewalk, straight to Krampus Court where the first store we walk by is Frank ‘n’ Scents on the right.

“So what’s the plan?” Storee finally says. “Because I don’t want to be wandering the streets with you with no plan in mind. We need people to see us, and then we can go home.”

“So romantic,” I say, causing her to look up at me.

“You’re the one who got us into this mess, so you’re the one who needs to come up with a plan.”

“You didn’t have to say yes to the date.”

“Fake date,” she says. “And I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t about to look like the asshole who is turning down the town’s golden boy.”

“Aww.” I press my hand to my chest. “You think of me as the golden boy?”

“Please, for the love of God, don’t test my patience tonight, Cole. I already can’t feel my legs.”

I glance down at her jeans and then back up at her. “Surprised you didn’t wear your snowsuit. It would have added an extra level of defense from me.”

“Defense?” she asks with a raised brow. “Are you planning on…disrobing me?”

“Jesus, no,” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, like…from being close to me…you know what, never mind.” We walk past the hardware store and then right to the place I want to be…Prancer’s Libations.

“A bar? Really? That’s where you’re taking me? Do you really need to be drunk for this?”

I stare down at her. “They’re serving mulled apple cider to go. It’s my favorite, and I thought it might be a good start to keep you warm so we can make it through the night, putting on this farce.”

“Oh,” she says, not a witty comeback in sight.

I open the door to Prancer’s Libations and let her go in first.

Thachary is at the bar, serving a few couples, while the rest of the room is full, visitors and townies milling about, enjoying the Christmas music and free appetizers being passed around.

Even though I’ve never taken part in Cupid Christmas, I have to admit it’s a good idea for anyone in a relationship. Gives the town the opportunity to focus on the older crowd, brings in more business, and creates a memorable moment for the loving couples.

And it gives me the opportunity to win the hearts of the judges.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

I walk up to the bar and nod at Thachary when we make eye contact. Storee sidles up next to me and rests her arm on the bar as she turns toward me.

“Wow, it’s packed,” she says just as another couple arrives and moves in next to Storee, causing her to step into my personal space.

“Getting cozy?” I ask her.

“No,” she says, her eyebrows turning down.

“Ah, you might not want to frown when looking up at me,” I say. “There are eyes everywhere, watching us.” I reach out and pick up a strand of her hair, twirling it with my finger. “Unless you want people to believe I’m the hopeless romantic with no shot at winning the heart of the out-of-towner? If that’s the case, by all means continue to frown because I’d love the sympathy.”

Smiling now, she says, “You realize how pathetic you are, right?”

“Pathetic…or incredibly intelligent?”

“Pathetic,” she replies just as Thachary comes up to us.

“Hey, funny seeing you two together,” he says as he wipes his hands on a bar towel.

I place my arm around Storee’s shoulders and bring her in close to my chest. “I took a chance and asked her out on a date. Somehow I got her to say yes.”

I can practically hear Storee’s internal eye roll.

Thachary looks between the two of us and smiles. “You know, I heard some rumblings about a possible romance between the two of you. Frank said he heard something from Tanya, but I didn’t believe it. Guess I was wrong. Happy for you two.”

“Thanks,” I say, “but it’s just one date, not sure where it will go after tonight.”

“Well, if I know anything about you, man, it’s that you don’t give up easily.” He smirks. “Mulled cider?”

“Two to go,” I say, squeezing Storee in close. “Going to take a walk down by the river.”

Thachary winks. “Smart choice, man. Frank told me they just finished the lights over there this morning in time for tonight.”

He grabs two to-go cups and then moves over toward a large kettle where they make the mulled cider and starts pouring us each a cup.

“Is the riverwalk where you’re going to bury my body?” Storee asks in an undertone.

“I thought about it,” I say. “But with it being lit up now, I couldn’t be discreet while I try to dispose of you.”

“Ah, so plan B is in action?”

“Yes, poisoning the mulled cider,” I say as Thachary tops our cups and brings them over to us.

“Put them on your tab?” he asks.

“Yup,” I say. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime, and good luck.” He winks and then offers to help another couple. I hand Storee her cup, but she just eyes it.

“For the love of God, I didn’t poison it.”

“Can never be too sure,” she says.

“Just take it.”

After some more careful eyeing, she finally takes the cup from me but doesn’t drink.

“You’re going to regret not drinking this,” I say as I take a sip. The warm, spiced cider runs over my tongue and then down my throat. When she still doesn’t take a sip, I switch cups with her. “There, now you know it’s not poisoned.”

“Do you expect me to drink from this after your lips were on the rim?”

“Do you really think I’m that disgusting?” I ask. When she doesn’t answer, I roll my eyes, set both cups on the bar, switch the lids, and then hand her back the “un-poisoned” cup. “There, happy?”

“We shall see. If I keel over, Taran knows it’s you.” She lifts the cup to her lips, blows, and then sips. I watch as her eyes light up before she glances down at her drink.

“Good, right? You can’t even lie. I can see it all over your face.”

She takes another sip and nods. “I’m not offering you the compliment because you don’t deserve it, but yes, this is very good.”

“Glad I could start our date off with a bang.”

Her expression falls flat. “Fake date.”

“Kind of salty for someone who should be feeling the Christmas spirit. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, you’re rather lively for someone who should be acting like the Grinch overlooking Whoville…don’t you think?”

“Maybe your presence has made my heart grow two sizes too big?” I say with a smirk.

“Or maybe it’s your ego that’s motivating you to act like a charming asshole.”

“Hmm, we might never know,” I say as I head toward the door of the bar. When I glance over my shoulder, I ask, “You coming?”

She huffs and then joins me. Before walking through the door, I turn to her and whisper, “Don’t look too excited—we don’t want people to think you’re actually having fun with me.”

“I’m not,” she deadpans.

“That’s because we haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”

Storee

A few things…

Cole Black is handsome.

Let’s just get that out in the open, okay? He’s a handsome man, there’s no debating it, there’s no denying it. If you put his face into some sort of facial recognition device that tells you whether he’s an attractive human or not, he’d get an exceedingly high score.

Secondly, he smells nice. It of course pains me to say such nice things about him, but it’s true. A stranger would sniff him and be pleased with the scent. That’s just how he presented himself tonight—unfortunately for me.

Thirdly, he’s a cocky asshole. Now, this I was not expecting. He walks around town like the nice guy that everyone loves and can’t get enough of because he’s the hometown boy that never left and is instead hanging lights for old ladies. But this side of Cole, the competitive side, will do anything, and I mean anything—including tossing his arm over my shoulders and walking down the streets with me secured to this side—to win.

And he seems to not even think twice about it either.

He’s comfortable.

In his element.

While I’m over here fumbling, trying to maintain a smile as we pass people in town, offering them a Merry Christmas and simultaneously sipping cider.

It’s a lot for a girl who came to Kringle to help take care of her great-aunt.

I didn’t sign up for this, and yet here I am, in the throes of fake passion with a man I can barely stand, in a town that likes to watch every little move you make.

“Merry Christmas,” Cole says to a couple sitting on a bench.

“Merry Christmas,” they call back.

“Season’s greetings,” I say with a nod.

“That sounded stiff to me,” he says as we make our way to Ornament Park.

“When you say, ‘Merry Christmas,’ it sounds like you have marbles in your mouth when you try to get out the words,” I reply.

“Really? And here I thought I was getting better at it.” He shifts, but keeps his arm firmly attached to my shoulders.

“You know, you don’t have to continue to hold me close to you. I’m not running away.”

“It’s all for show, but if you’d rather I hold your hand, that works too.”

“Uh…no,” I say.

“Then an arm drape it is.”

“How can you be so…casual about this?” I ask. “Aren’t you uncomfortable?”

“Yes, fake dating Satan’s mistress has caused me some distress, but I’m able to block out the anxiety and focus on what’s important—convincing the town that I’m the one who should be earning Christmas Kringle this season.” In a lower tone, he says, “And from the standings in points, looks like I’m headed in that direction.”

“Oh my God, you’re ahead by two points. Big deal.”

“Two more points than you,” he says.

“God, you’re irritating.” I try to shrug him off, but it doesn’t work as we head over to the bridge that’s lit up by what looks like thousands of twinkle lights. And those lights lead to an archway that has been erected over the riverwalk. If we were a real couple, I’d think this was the cutest, most romantic walk ever, with Christmas music in the background, snow on the ground and mountainside, and the creaking of water under the river’s half-frozen ice.

But since I’m with Cole, I find it mundane, lifeless, a boring attempt at trying to gain stardom in the town.

“You know you started all of this, right? If you hadn’t used your aunt as a pawn, or tried to sabotage my light display, we wouldn’t be here. But you had to take it to the next level. I’m just matching your energy.”

“By pretending to crush on me? Oh wait…” I smile. “I mean, resurrecting a crush from years ago.”

He scoffs. “You can’t believe everything Max says.”

“Probably not, but I believe this.” I look up at him as we cross the bridge. The lights from above highlight his sharp jawline that’s barely hidden under the guise of his beard. “Thinking back to when we were young, you always tagged along to the Myrrh-cantile with me. You just so happened to be outside when I was outside, so I believe there was a crush there. Question is, why didn’t you ever do anything about it?”

“Because I caught one whiff of you and said, nope, can’t suffer with that stench,” he quickly replies.

“Hence why you’re hanging all over me tonight,” I sarcastically reply.

“You know, I’m glad you brought that up, because it’s been a gallant effort on my part.”

“Are you ever serious?”

“Yes,” he says as we make our way under the glowing tunnel arching above us. “With you…no.”

“And why is that?”

“Not worth my time,” he says. Ouch.

I know that shouldn’t sting, but for some reason, it does. Being told you’re not worth someone’s time never is something you want to hear. But why? Am I not worth his time because of how I look? How I act? Who I am in general? Too many questions, too many thoughts.

“Aren’t you pleasant,” I finally say.

“Try to be,” he answers and then stops us, pausing under the archway.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting you enjoy the lights.”

“Why?” I ask suspiciously.

“Because you barely have any on your house—thought you might like to gather some ideas, get inspired.”

My nostrils flare as I step away from him. “Are you going to goad me this entire night?”

He drags his hand over his jaw. “I wasn’t thinking I was going to, but hell, I think you just bring it out of me. Can you not handle it? Do you want to ask each other questions, get to know each other better? Although that would fall in the lines of a real date, and I think we established this is fake.”

“This is very fake. Everything about this is fake. Trust me when I say never in a million years would going out with you be real.”

“Wow,” he says while taking a sip from his drink. “Can’t hear that enough.”

“Don’t you even dare act hurt. You’ve been throwing punches all night.”

“I don’t agree—”

“Merry Christmas!” The booming voice of Bob Krampus startles both of us.

“M-merry Christmas,” I say, turning toward Bob and Sylvia who are walking hand in hand—in their Mr. and Mrs. Claus outfits—toward us.

“Merry Christmas, Santa,” Cole says as he takes a step closer to me.

“What are you two doing walking down Lovers’ Lane?” Sylvia asks as she holds on to Bob’s arm.

“Lovers’ Lane?” I question.

“That’s what they call it on Cupid Christmas night,” Cole says and then turns to Bob and Sylvia. “Well, I sort of asked Storee out, and she said yes.” Cole reaches down and takes my hand in his.

The grip of his palm over mine, the feel of his callused hand against my skin…it’s…it’s…ugh, its annoyingly comforting. It feels right.

It feels like I should always be holding his hand.

And yet I need to block that out of my mind. This is not a feeling I want to explore.

“So I wanted to take her out for a nice evening, starting with cider from Prancer’s, then a walk along Lovers’ Lane, followed by a stroll through the stalls. Hoping to grab a bratwurst.”

Bob pats his stomach. “Got a brat myself, quite delicious tonight.”

“Oh, Santa, you’re missing the point, they’re…they’re dating,” Sylvia says with stars in her eyes.

“Just on a date,” I clarify, not wanting any more rumors to spread. “Just seeing how things go.”

Cole smirks down at me. “She’s still trying to figure out her feelings, whereas I know exactly what I want.” And then to my utter surprise, he lifts our connected hands and places a kiss on my knuckles.

The warm, soft press of his lips sends a chill right up my arm.

“Well, hopefully she can figure them out fast for the sake of your heart,” Bob says and then offers me a wink. “Have a nice night, you two.”

“Thank you,” Cole says.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say as they trail away. When they’re out of earshot, I say, “What the hell was that, Cole? Now they’re going to think I’m some sort of heartbreaking wench.”

“Who cares,” he says. “Not like you live here and need to save face.”

“I still visit.”

“Every decade,” he mutters and continues to walk down the lit-up archway.

“Uh, why do you sound so bitter about that?”

“I don’t,” he says as he turns around and walks backward while he continues to talk. “Just surprised you actually came back.”

“My great-aunt needed help, so of course I came back.”

“You know she was sad, right? Martha told me it was one of the reasons she started entering the Kringle competition, because she wanted to feel the Christmas spirit again. And a lot of it had to do with you and Taran not coming back to visit her.”

Guilt consumes me as I think about Aunt Cindy celebrating Christmas on her own. Then again, Cole could just be saying that to get under my skin. But he is right; we all stopped visiting. Taran was busy with school and internships, Mom and Dad had their timeshare that they had to visit during the holiday season, and I…well, after what happened the last time I was here, all that public humiliation, I didn’t really want to come back.

And I see how wrong that was.

“Did she actually say that to you, or are you fishing for things to make me upset?”

“As much as we don’t get along, I wouldn’t invent something just to make you upset. I would hope you would know that.”

I shrug. “I honestly wouldn’t be able to tell at this point. You’re different, Cole, and not in a good way.”

“Yeah, well…you’re different too,” he says and then continues toward the bridge that leads back to Ornament Park.

Cole

“There they are,” Tanya coos from where she’s seated with both Martha and Mae in Ornament Park on one of the many benches scattered across the Astroturf. “Oh, they look so adorable together, don’t they, ladies?”

“They do,” Martha says. “I approve of this coupling.”

“I don’t think they were looking for your approval,” Mae says. “But I second that opinion.”

“Thank you,” Storee says, surprising me as she cuddles into my chest. Given the cold exterior I faced only a few moments ago, this is a complete one-eighty.

Going with the farce, I throw my arm around her again. “Pretty happy over here.”

“I can see it all over your face,” Martha says. “Oh, our little Cole, finally finding someone. You’d better not break his heart, missy. We’re very protective of Cole, especially since he lost his parents.”

Fuck. Should have known someone was going to let the cat out of the bag.

And from the announcement, I feel Storee stiffen next to me.

I can see this going south for me very quickly, so to avoid any questions from Storee or more revelations from the hens, I take Storee’s hand in mine and say, “Well, we’re starving, so we’re going to hit up the stalls.”

“Oh, how fun. I heard the fresh gingerbread cart is there too,” Tanya says. “Would make a fine dessert.”

“Unless they have something else planned for dessert,” Martha says with a wink.

I muster up a laugh and wish them a good night. Storee does the same, and then we take off toward the stalls.

There was an empty field behind Chadwick’s Candy Shop, Poinsettia Pizza, and the Myrrh-cantile that was supposed to be turned into extra parking, but a few years ago the town assessed our parking arrangements and realized that we didn’t need more barren lots. Instead, they paved the space and added the candy cane swings that twirl about twenty feet in the air, along with vendor stalls. The only fresh food allowed is brats and gingerbread so that sales aren’t taken from the main strip of restaurants. Other than that, the stalls are full of crafts and handmade food items like jam.

“What was that back there?” Storee says as I release her hand and head toward the passage to the stalls between the Caroling Café and Poinsettia Pizza.

“A couple of old ladies gossiping,” I say.

“No, about your parents.”

“Nothing.”

She tugs on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “Cole, seriously, you lost your parents. Aunt Cindy mentioned this the other day, but I guess…I don’t know, I guess in all the Kringle chaos, I forgot. When did this happen?”

I push my hand through my hair. “We’re not talking about this.”

“But—”

“No buts,” I say, my voice growing terse. “We’re not friends, so don’t try to act like we are by asking about my parents.” I glance around. “Let’s just…let’s just get this night over with.”

Storee

Well, if there is one way to shut Cole down, it’s to ask about his parents.

So far, he’s been silent. No longer the cocky instigator he was under the archway or in Ornament Park. His taunting is long gone, and it’s as if he’s almost curled in on himself and forgotten what he’s supposed to be doing—acting like we’re on a charming date for the town.

“You good with one brat?” he asks.

“I can get my own dinner,” I say.

He turns to me. “Do you want a brat or not?”

Sensing the tone, I say, “Yes, please.”

He turns back around and orders us two brats and a bottle of water for each of us. Once he pays, he pulls me off to the side where we’re supposed to wait.

No longer does he hold my hand or drape his arm over my shoulders. Instead, he sticks his hands in his pockets and keeps a safe distance from me as he stares at the ground.

I don’t know how to handle this.

How to go about dealing with a closed-off Cole.

I can handle the grump.

I can tolerate the instigator.

But the morose, shut-down Cole…he’s on a whole other level.

I’m not sure how to go about the rest of this night because technically this is all for show, and right now we’re not showing off anything. We just look like two people who barely know each other. So I might as well offer to end this.

“If you want,” I say, breaking the silence between us, “once the brats come, we can go our separate ways.”

Shoulders scrunched, head turned down, his eyes find mine. “Not happening,” he replies.

“Not happening? So we’re just going to suffer through the rest of the night in silence? At least before it wasn’t awkward. We were just…fighting, holding hands—”

“You liked holding my hand, did you?” he asks, that sarcastic energy coming back in full force.

Gone is the man whose shoulders slumped—the cocky man from earlier has returned. It’s as if I snapped my fingers and he just reappeared. Talk about whiplash.

I grind my teeth together. “No, I didn’t. I found it repulsive.”

“Repulsive, huh?” He stands taller now. “Never heard that before.”

“Have you even dated before?” I ask.

He glances around. “Do you think a guy who has never dated before would come up with a date like the one you’re on? Mulled cider, a walk under the lights, brats…that screams of a guy who knows what he’s doing.”

“Ah yes, nothing screams date like a bratwurst in my mouth.”

His brow raises as a smirk tugs on the corner of his lip. “On the first date, even? Wow, Storee, wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“Ugh, be mature,” I say.

“You’re the one talking about wieners in your mouth on dates.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I did not say wiener.”

“Eh, you alluded to it.”

“I will have you know I’ve never…copulated on the first date.”

“Yeah, because you use words like copulated,” he shoots back.

“You know, I liked you better when you were silent and brooding. Now you’re just annoying me.”

“Good, now you know how I’ve felt all night then.”

And before I can respond, our order is called, and Cole walks over to the window where he grabs two brats and hands one to me.

I glance down at the bun-encased wiener doused in mustard. “Wow, this is girth-y.”

Cole brings his brat up to his mouth, and before he takes a bite, he says, “Eh, I’ve seen girthy-er.” Then he winks and takes a big bite.

Well, guess I know how the rest of this evening is going to go. Poor company with even poorer, sarcastic, insulting dialogue. Yay for me.

“I can pay for my own gingerbread,” I say to Cole as he takes out his wallet and pays for the gingerbread cookies I plan on bringing home for myself, despite telling Cole they’re for Aunt Cindy and Taran.

“And what kind of date would I be if I let my crush buy her own gingerbread?” he asks in that snarky tone that he’s really ramped up since the mention of his parents.

Deflect much?

I see right through him, and he probably knows I see right through him, hence why he’s especially annoying now. But despite it all, I have to admit this new part of town and the stalls are a great addition. The twirly swing is super cute, and the lights strung all around the perimeter offer just enough light to see what you’re doing but not too much to take away from the ambiance. It reminds me of a German Christmas market but on a much smaller scale, and if that’s what they were going for, they nailed it.

Once purchased, Cole hands me the bag and I reluctantly mutter a “thank you.”

“Anything for my girl,” he says as he drapes his arm over me again.

Yup, we’re back to that.

He’s had his arm around me for the entire stroll through the stalls, playfully showing me different handmade crafts, ornaments, and even a stall full of jam that apparently is in a rivalry with Atlas’s mom’s jam. I almost bought a jar out of spite but held off.

“Not your girl,” I say as we head toward the exit.

“Yeah, I’m getting the sense there won’t be a second date, not from the lack of me trying, though,” he says.

And God, I didn’t even think about a second date. Because the town will want to know. Martha, Mae…Fruitcake Festivus Tanya. Oh God, even Bob Krampus. They’re all going to want to know where this is going, how the date went—and what am I going to say?

I know what Cole will say. That it was the best night of his life and how he wishes I’d say yes to another date. Then he’ll say something along the lines of how I’m just not into him like he’s into me and once again garner sympathy.

“There will be a second date,” I say.

“Oh yeah?” he says, sounding intrigued. “And here I thought I wasn’t winning you over. Tell me all about this second date.”

“It will be one that we come up with on our own, not out in public so we don’t actually have to go on it.”

“Sounds romantic,” he says.

“But we’ll talk about it, get our stories straight. That way the town thinks we’re still seeing each other without people actually seeing us together.”

“Never knew dating you would feel so much like getting ghosted.”

We stop under an archway, and I turn toward him. “Please, Cole, as if you want to go through an evening like this again.”

“I don’t know.” He tugs on a strand of my hair, his ability to be affectionate mind-boggling to me. “I’ve had fun.”

“There is no way—”

“Oh, look at them,” a voice coos from the side.

Christ, are these women following us around?

Plastering on a smile, I look to the side where Martha and Mae are watching us, their hands clasped together in front of them, looking like they’re watching their very own Lovemark movie come to life right in front of their eyes. If only they knew the truth—this man would never be a hero in one of the movies I edit.

“You’re still out and about?” Cole asks in an annoyingly charming voice. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

They both chuckle and wave at him. “We were hoping to catch you two one more time, and it looks like we caught you in just the right place,” Mae says as she points to something above us.

Dread immediately fills me because there could only be one reason why they’d be pointing above us, looking like giddy little schoolgirls.

Together, we both direct our attention toward the sky, and sure enough, there it is, one of many mistletoe bundles I’ve avoided this entire evening. Unfortunately, this one went undetected.

“Well?” Martha says. “Aren’t you going to kiss? It’s tradition, after all.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

My words are cut short as Cole closes the distance between us. His brawny, overbearing stature moves in as his hand lifts between us and gently grips my chin with his forefinger and thumb.

Uh, excuse me, sir.

Is he serious right now?

Is he really going to do this?

My eyes meet his, and I can see nothing in them, not the slightest hint of humor, irritation…even nerves. He almost looks like he’s been planning this…this kiss…all night long.

Looking for a moment just like this as he lowers his head.

Oh my God, this is really happening.

He’s doing this.

My body buzzes.

My nerves ramp up.

And as his mouth moves in close to mine, a whisper away, I can feel my legs shake beneath me.

“Tell me no,” he whispers only for me to hear.

Tell him no?

I mean…I should.

I should push him away.

I should throw in the towel on this entire farce.

But I don’t say anything.

I don’t know why.

Maybe because I’m caught off guard that he’s actually going for it.

Maybe I’m thrown off by how…intimate this feels, despite the lack of intimacy between us.

Maybe, deep down, I want to see what it’s like to kiss him. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it when we were younger. That there weren’t some romantic thoughts about the boy next door.

But when I don’t stop him, he sees the green light and closes the last few inches between us, his soft lips playing against mine.

At first, it’s friendly, a light graze of our mouths. And when I think he’s going to leave it at that and pull away, he parts his lips and kisses me again.

It’s a subtle move, but one that causes my hand to fall to his chest for balance.

For my stomach to tie itself in knots.

And for my mind to beg for another.

But that’s it, nothing more, and he pulls away, both of our eyes slowly opening as we catch our breath.

Silence falls between us as he stares at me and I stare back at him.

Confusion laces both of our brows, while my lips feel like they’ve been stung yet worshipped all in the same moment.

“They’re so meant for each other,” Mae coos from the side.

“Shhh,” Martha says. “Let’s give them some space.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see them hurry away, but it doesn’t distract me as my eyes remain locked on Cole. Looking…searching for answers as to what that kiss was.

And he doesn’t seem to have any answers as he tugs on his neck.

“Uh…looks like they’re gone,” he finally says.

“Yeah, looks like it,” I reply.

“So, we should probably take off then.”

“Yup, we should,” I say, my body still buzzing, my mind reeling.

“And we can, uh, talk about that fake second date on the way back to our houses,” he says calmly, rationally.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Sounds like a plan?

What the heck just happened?

And why does a part of me want it to happen again?