Nina rolls her eyes. “We’re adults, Dylan. We can handle a short road trip without killing each other.” She cuts her gaze to me, and for a second, I swear I see a flicker of anticipation. “Right, Montgomery?”

  I flash her a grin. “Scout’s honor. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Dylan still looks skeptical, but he relents with a shrug. “Alright then. Guess that’s settled.” He points a warning finger at me. “But if there’s so much as a scratch on her when you get back…”

  If only he knew about all the marks I already left.

  “Relax, man,” I say, standing and gripping his shoulders from behind. “It’s not her you should worry about.” I give him a light squeeze. “And I can be the bigger person. Promise.” I throw in a little jab so as not to sound too eager.

  Nina flashes me a merciless grin. “You mean the bigger jerk?”

  “Come on, Nina, play nice,” I tease her. “It’s for a good cause.”

  Nina’s already grabbing her coat and keys. “Let’s get moving. I don’t want to risk that toy selling out.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets, slightly too eager to rile her up. “Then call the store and ask them to put it on hold.”

  “They’re not open yet, genius, but they will be by the time we get there.”

  At our bickering, Dylan drags a hand over his face. Just as we head out of the kitchen, I hear him mutter, “Let’s hope one of them doesn’t come back in a body bag.”

  A silent huff escapes me, amusement mixed with guilt that me killing his sister is the last thing he should worry about. Unless too many orgasms are a health concern.

  In the car, the silence stretches between me and Nina as I navigate the snow-dusted roads, the only sound the rhythmic thrum of the engine and the gentle crunch of the tires.

  Nina stares out the passenger window, her expression unreadable. I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, searching for the right words to break the ice.

  “Listen, about last night…” I begin, risking a glance in her direction. “The whole caveman act. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  Nina turns to face me, her expression guarded. “What did you mean when you said…” She pauses, worrying her bottom lip. “When you said no one else could kiss me?”

  My grip tightens on the wheel. “Just that, Thompson.” I keep my gaze fixed on the road ahead, but I can feel the weight of her stare. “I’ve no idea what this thing between us is, but while it lasts, I want you to be mine and mine only, and to be yours.”

  In my peripheral vision, I see her jaw drop. Slowly, hesitantly, she reaches out and places her hand over mine. “I feel the same. But what about Dylan?”

  I lace my fingers through hers, savoring the warmth of her skin. “When there’s something to tell him, we’ll tell him.” I sense her disappointment at my answer, so I stroke her palm with my thumb. “We don’t need to rush anything.”

  She nods, going back to staring out the window pensively. “Okay. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

  The rest of the drive passes in comfortable silence, our hands remaining intertwined on the armrest.

  As we enter New Haven, a newfound sense of freedom washes over me. Here, away from the watchful eyes of her family, I can finally express how I feel about her out in the open.

  We collect Zoe’s present from the mall, but it’s obvious neither of us is in a hurry to get back. Out of the toy store, I pull Nina close, capturing her lips in a searing kiss right there in the middle of the busy shopping center. She melts into me, her arms winding around my neck, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away.

  Hand in hand, we explore the mall, ducking into shops and cafes whenever the mood strikes. We take silly selfies in front of the winter wonderland in the center of the plaza. Nina’s laughter rings out like music and does funny things to me.

  We stop for lunch at a burger joint. As Nina reads the menu, I marvel at how much I know about her and yet, how little. I know what she’s going to order before she tells our server: one cheeseburger with double bacon, a large Diet Coke, and curly fries.

  “I’ll have a cheeseburger with extra bacon, a large Diet Coke, and fries.” She promptly echoes my thoughts.

  “Regular or curly?”

  “Curly, please.”

  Nailed it!

  I give the server my order, and as he scurries away, Nina’s phone chimes with a text. She replies then focuses her attention back on me. She’s about to talk when the phone pings again.

  Nina lets out a frustrated huff and winces apologetically. “Sorry,” she says, rummaging through her shopping bags and taking out Zoe’s present. “Agatha needs photographic evidence that we got the right starter chemist set, the one with the pink beakers.”

  She takes a picture and sends it to her cousin. “Sorry, my family can be intense.”

  “Your family is perfect,” I say, a little too vehemently.

  Nina blinks at me.

  “I wish I had a family like yours,” I explain. “My parents and I don’t have the best relationship.”

  “Why?” Her question is careful.

  Our food arrives, allowing me a moment to collect my thoughts before I reply. “I’m not sure they care much for me.”

  Nina picks up a curly fry and holds it in the air. “I’m sure that’s not true. I remember them coming to your graduation, they looked so proud. And your dad gave you the apartment in New York as a graduation present.”

  “My dad never misses an opportunity to network and my graduation was the perfect opportunity to catch up with his old Duke buddies.” I take a sip of Coke. “And as for the apartment, he likes to throw money at his guilt. My mom gets a new car every time he cheats on her. I got a penthouse for my shitty childhood. But it’s okay, it was a long time ago.”

  Nina reaches for my hand across the table, her expression thunderous. “It’s not okay.” I like that she doesn’t give me pity back. Only burning indignation. “Your parents suck, but it’s their loss, not yours.”

  And there it goes again, that overwhelming something expanding in my chest, growing, taking up all the space.

  “Then let’s not waste time talking about them.” I brush the topic aside, not ready to reveal the extent of the trauma my childhood is for me. Years of feeling rejected, unwanted, insignificant.

  Over the rest of lunch, we trade stories and barbs with the ease of a long-standing couple, learning more about each other than we have in years. I’ve known her forever, almost as long as I’ve known Dylan, but I realize now we’ve never really talked before. Not like today. I might’ve learned mundane things about her over the years like her food preferences, but so many parts of her remain a mystery. One I can’t wait to uncover.

  As the afternoon stretches on, we linger in New Haven under the pretense of last-minute Christmas shopping. But all too soon, the sun begins to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in vivid shades of orange and pink. I glance at my watch and sigh, realizing we can’t put off the inevitable any longer. “We should probably head back,” I say, the idea of having to restrain myself from touching her whenever I want almost unbearable.

  Nina nods, the light in her eyes dimming slightly. “I suppose you’re right.” She tucks a stray blonde lock behind her ear, and my fingers itch to trace the delicate shell of it—with the tip of my finger, with my mouth, with my teeth.

  We walk back to the car in silence, our joined hands swinging between us. The weight of the cloak-and-dagger act that awaits us at home hangs over our heads, but I refuse to let it dim the perfect day we’ve shared. And the covert flirting is not all bad, there’s an added thrill to it.

  As we pull out of the parking lot and onto the highway, I reach over and take Nina’s hand in mine once more. “Thank you for today,” I murmur, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.”

  She beams at me, and even in the fading light, it’s brighter than the sun. “Me neither. It was like we were in our own little world.”

  But with every mile that brings us closer to home, that world begins to shrink. The uninhibited laughter and casual touches that came so naturally in New Haven are replaced by the knowledge that we’ll soon have to slip back into our carefully crafted roles.

  I clear my throat, trying to shake off the unease that’s settled in my gut. “So, what’s the plan when we get back?”

  Nina sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, a habit I’ve come to recognize as a sign of nerves. “I guess we just act normal. Like nothing’s changed.”

  The words are a punch to the gut, even though I know she doesn’t mean them the way they sound. Because everything has changed, and there’s no going back now.

  I swallow hard and force a smile. “Right. Normal.” I give her hand a reassuring squeeze before reluctantly letting go as we turn onto the familiar street leading to her family’s house.

  As I put the car in park and kill the engine, I allow myself one last moment of weakness. I lean over and press a soft kiss to Nina’s lips, pouring every ounce of longing and affection into the gentle caress. “Until tonight,” I whisper against her mouth.

  She nods, her eyes shining with a mixture of desire and anticipation. “Until tonight.”

  And then we’re stepping out of the car and back into the real world, the magic of our day in New Haven fading. But as we walk up the path to the front door, our hands brushing with each step, I cling to the promise of what’s coming—the stolen moments and secret touches that will sustain me until I can hold her in my arms again. Just a few hours until it gets dark.

  23

  NINA

  A cherished Thompson siblings’ tradition on the night before Christmas is for Dylan and me to volunteer to serve hot chocolate at our parish church before the midnight mass. And this year is no different. Well, with the exception that Tristan has joined in.

  As we arrive just after ten, the church’s stained-glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors onto the pristine snow of the courtyard. I inhale deeply, taking in the scent of pine and wood-smoke that fills the crisp winter air.

  Inside the church, the warm glow of candlelight greets us, along with familiar faces from neighbors and friends. Mom and Dad stay behind to catch up with their buddies while Dylan, Tristan, and I deviate to the refectory where we’ll be working before mass.

  The dining hall is aglow with twinkling lights and festive garlands. We take positions behind a long table laden with steaming urns of hot chocolate. The air is thick with the sweet aroma of cocoa butter and the excited chatter of the congregation as they file in from the cold. I scoop the rich, velvety liquid into Santa-themed paper cups, enjoying the simple act of spreading the holiday cheer.

  Next to me, Tristan is doing the same, his dark hair falling over his brow as he bends to pour. As our first customers arrive, I marvel at the easy way he interacts with everyone who approaches. Gone is the aloof, sarcastic man I’ve known for years. In his place is someone warm and kind, whose laugh lines appear as he smiles.

  “Merry Christmas!” Tristan says brightly to an elderly woman bundled up in a puffy red coat. “One hot chocolate coming right up. Would you like marshmallows with that?”

  “Oh, yes, please!” she replies, her wrinkled face breaking into a delighted grin. “You’re such a dear. Bless you!”

  I watch as Tristan carefully drops a generous handful of mini marshmallows into her cup before handing it over. The woman clasps his hand between her own with a grateful pat.

  “Thank you, young man. It’s so nice to see a new face volunteering. You have such a good heart.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” Tristan ducks his head, almost bashfully, and busies himself preparing the next cup.

  As the old lady toddles off, Tristan glances my way and catches me staring. One dark eyebrow quirks up. “See something you like, Thompson?”

  My cheeks heat and I quickly busy myself with the hot chocolate. “Just surprised to see you acting like a decent human being for once, Montgomery,” I say more for Dylan’s benefit. My brother is distributing chocolates on my other side.

  “I’m full of surprises.” Tristan’s voice is low and teasing, sending little jolts of current through me.

  I risk another peek at him from under my lashes. That easy grin is still in place, but his eyes shine with something deeper, something that causes a flutter of excitement to dance under my skin.

  As the night progresses, I keep stealing glances at him. I’ve known Tristan for years, ever since he and Dylan became attached at the hip in college. But I’ve never seen this kinder, playful version of him. How he connects with every single one of his “customers,” from the tiniest toddler to the most loquacious elder, leaves me in awe. I try to puzzle out how he behaved the other years he’s been staying with us for the holidays, but I can’t seem to remember. In the past, I must’ve either kept my distance or my judgment must’ve been clouded by a mist of resentment.

  But now that I’m close and definitely not in hate with him anymore, I can take it all in.

  His patience never wavers, even as Mrs. Harrington launches into a lengthy tale about her prized petunias. I’ve always thought of Tristan as aloof, untouchable—the golden boy who could do no wrong in my brother’s eyes. But watching him tonight, I realize there’s so much more to him than meets the eye. The genuine warmth in his smile, the gentle way he listens to each person’s story… it’s a side of him I’ve never witnessed before.

  Needing a moment to collect myself, I turn to grab more marshmallows from the bag behind me. Swinging back toward the table, I’m startled to find old Mr. Larson standing right in front of me, his wrinkled face expectant.

  “Nina, my girl!” he says, his voice slightly too loud. “Pour me a cup of that delicious chocolate, would you? And don’t be stingy with the marshmallows!”

  “Of course, Mr. Larson,” I reply with a smile, quickly filling his mug. “There you go. Enjoy!”

  As I hand it over, my fingers brush his papery skin. Mr. Larson leans in conspiratorially.

  “I remember when you and your brother were just little things,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Told your parents then that you’d grow up to be a heartbreaker. And look at you now!”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that…” I deflect, intensely aware of Tristan listening in.

  “Don’t be modest, girl! Why, if I was sixty years younger…”

  From his station, Tristan makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh. I elbow him surreptitiously.

  Thankfully, Mr. Larson gets distracted by the pastor and wanders off to find a seat. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. When I glance at Tristan, he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Not. One. Word,” I warn him through clenched teeth.

  He mimes zipping his lips, eyes dancing with mirth. I scowl but can’t stop the twitching at my mouth. Something about Tristan’s playful teasing—so different from our previous scathing retorts—feels almost too intimate. It sparks a little explosion of fireworks in my belly that I’m not ready to examine too closely.

  Turning back to my task, I try to ignore the hyperawareness of his solid presence at my side and the phantom tingle of his gaze on my face. And yet, as I sneak him another glance, taking in the firm line of his jaw and the graceful way he moves, I feel that fluttering warmth in my stomach again.

  The evening progresses in a whirlwind of laughter and cheers. Despite my best efforts to focus on my task, I find my gaze continually drawn to Tristan. At one point, I’m so distracted admiring the way his broad shoulders fill out his fitted blue sweater that my grip on the cup I’m filling falters and suddenly there’s a waterfall of hot chocolate splashing across the floor. In my attempt to avoid the hot spill, I knock over a metal tray that clatters as it hits the linoleum.

  “Shoot!” I exclaim, hurrying to set the ladle back into the urn before I make an even bigger mess.

  Tristan is on his knees in an instant, grabbing a bunch of paper towels to mop up the puddle.

  I get caught up watching him.

  “Keep looking.” He tilts his head, one eyebrow raised. “And I might start thinking you’ve spilled on purpose just to see me clean.” He flashes me a playful grin as he wipes the linoleum. His words make me realize I’m staring at him sort of adoringly. “If you wanted a show, you could’ve just asked.”

  I join him in crouching on the floor, pretending to be focused on sopping up the hot chocolate with a wad of paper towels.

  “Oh, so now I can just ask for whatever I want from you, Montgomery?” I counter in a whisper, not wanting my words to carry to where Dylan is working nearby. I aim for a tone of jest, but there’s an undercurrent of daring beneath my question.

  From his position on the floor, Tristan looks straight at me, his blue eyes gleaming with a mock-serious light. “Yeah, Thompson, you’ve got me on my knees and begging, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  An overwhelming wave of heat rushes through me at his words, rendering me momentarily speechless. I open my mouth, but no clever retort comes out.

  Get it together, Nina! Don’t let him fluster you like this. You’re giving it up too easily.

  But with Tristan looking at me like that, his midnight hair tousled and the magnetic pull of his eyes locked on mine, I’m finding it extremely difficult to think straight…

  After the chocolate incident, Tristan goes back to his station and I resume my serving, trying to actually concentrate on what I’m doing instead of ogling him. I succeed, mostly, at least until a tug on my sleeve from behind pulls me from my thoughts. I look down to find a naughty-faced boy, no more than six, peering up at me with mischievous eyes. “Can I have extra marshmallows, please?” he asks, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. The boy has already helped himself to a cup full of them that he’s now clutching to his chest.

  Before I can respond, Tristan swoops in, scooping the boy up and onto his shoulders in one fluid motion. “Extra marshmallows, you say? I think we need an official marshmallow inspector for that!”