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What? That’s our story? That he’s had a thing for me for fifteen years?
My jaw nearly hits the little snowmen embroidered into the tablecloth. That is not at all how I thought he’d answer that question.
But my mom, on the other hand, well, she looks like she’s about to swoon out of her freaking chair.
“Oh my goodness,” she says through a sigh and then smacks her lips together, shaking her head slightly. “I just… That is…” She meets my eyes, and I swear to God, it looks like she’s about to cry again. “Ava, honey, this has to be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I am so happy for you two.”
I glance at Luke, and he’s just sitting there, arm still comfortably resting on the back of my chair, a smile etched on his face.
My pits are sweating like someone shoved a geyser inside my sweater, and my cheeks feel ready to burst into flames.
How on earth is he being so cool about all this?
Seriously. Is he internally freaking out like me?
Or is that just me? Am I the only one who feels like I’m one more relationship question away from being triggered into a panic attack?
“Rose, honey, mind helping me with the cocoa?” my dad asks, and thankfully, my mom hops up to assist, giving me a much-needed break from the interrogation.
“What in the hell was that?” I whisper toward Luke and tap him on the stomach with my elbow.
“What was what?” he questions back with a half shrug. “I was just answering her question.”
“That was not at all how I expected you to answer.”
“What? You don’t like the idea of me secretly pining over you for the last fifteen years?” he asks and flashes a little smirk in my direction.
Instantly, as if it’s right on cue, my heart starts to pound wildly in my chest.
“It’s not that. It’s just…” I pause, completely unsure of what I’m even trying to say. “I just didn’t expect you to say that, is all,” I mutter and fidget my fingers across the tablecloth, my index finger tracing each tiny snowman as I try to figure out what in the hell is happening inside my head right now.
Maybe him saying that freaked you out because it reminds you of someone…someone you know really fucking well…someone who refuses to admit to herself how she really feels about her best friend…
Oh, holy geez. That’s crazy with a capital and bold-faced C.
I need some air.
“Be right back,” I say to Luke and hop out of my chair. “Just running to the bathroom real quick.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes attempt to search mine, but I quickly look away from him and rush toward the bathroom in the entry hallway.
The instant I’m inside, I shut and lock the door and just stand there, hands resting on the sink and staring at my reflection in the mirror. My heart continues to pound like a kickdrum inside my chest as I try to slow my near-hyperventilating breaths.
What in the hell is happening? Am I actually having a panic attack right now?
Uh no, honey. More like, you just opened Pandora’s box of emotions, and it is freaking you the fuck out.
Holy hell.
I sigh and splash a little cool water on my overheated cheeks.
“Just calm down and get it together,” I whisper to myself. “It’s going to be fine.”
Several slow inhales and exhales later, I feel relaxed enough to step back out into the kitchen. But when I get there, I notice Luke is no longer sitting at the table.
“Where’s Luke?”
“He took your suitcases and cocoa mugs upstairs to your room,” my mom answers, and a tickled grin kisses her mouth. “After your dad handed him the itinerary, Luke said you guys might need a nap before diving into the first night of Christmas festivities.”
The normalcy of that statement catches me off guard, but also, it makes me feel oddly at peace.
“Oh boy.” I laugh. “I kind of, sort of, purposely didn’t show him the itinerary before we left New York.”
“That was probably smart.” My mom’s grin grows. “Oh, and before I forget. There are fresh towels and washcloths in your bathroom, but let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Out of the kitchen and up the stairs, I make my way toward my old bedroom at the end of the second-floor hallway, and when I open the door, I find Luke lying on my bed with the itinerary clutched in his hands.
“How’s it going?” I ask and gently shut the door behind myself.
“Did you see what your dad has planned?” he asks, eyes wide. “Ice-skating, caroling, cookie-baking contest…? Every day is jam-fucking-packed, Ava.”
“Well, the big Guy really loves Christmas.” I giggle and slip off my boots, setting them beside Luke’s sneakers and our suitcases.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I honestly didn’t know there were this many Christmas-themed activities to do.”
