From the doorway came a sudden gust of cold and a burst of laughter. More guests arrived. Mrs. Hutton took the wine bottle offered to her like it was holy, bow and all.
Then there was Josh.
He came down the stairs just as the new guests filed in. His friends followed behind, faces vaguely familiar from high school, like blurry photos I couldn’t quite refocus. He greeted them with a smile—that smile, the one that reached his eyes and hadknocked the breath out of me once upon a time and apparently still did.
He wore a navy sweater that made his shoulders look broader. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just stepped out of the shower. And then …
He saw me. His eyes locked on to mine with that quiet, intense gaze I hated how well I knew.
The noise faded. Not in some romantic, fairy-tale way, but in that surreal, almost-cinematic pause that happened just before the floor gave out beneath you.
He kept walking. Closer.
I wanted to run. Not out of fear. But because I didn’t trust myself not to say something, everything.
He passed by his friend with the shaggy hair and the girl in the red clip, and he didn’t look away. Didn’t even try to be subtle.
I couldn’t stop looking either.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Brielle.” Josh’s voice was warm, yet there was something stilted about it, as if he was carefully measuring the space between us, like he was waiting for permission to move closer.
His eyes flicked between me and Gina, who was still fumbling with her hair bow, trying to keep it from flopping into her face every other step. The words lingered in the air between us, heavy with the quiet understanding that something had shifted—something unspoken yet entirely palpable.
His smile was genuine. It had always been, but his eyes … they were different tonight. Searching. Thinking.
Neither of us was doing well with all this, were we?
My breath hitched, catching in my throat. The memory of that moment—the near brush of lips, the pull toward him that had felt so undeniable—was still fresh. I wasn’t sure whether it was a mistake, a momentary lapse, or something deeper I couldn’t ignore any longer.
“Good to see you again,” I managed, my voice a little too thin, a little too quiet.
Gina, ever the interrupter, chimed in before I could let the silence stretch any further, “You literally just saw her at breakfast, you weirdo.” She waved a dismissive hand, then shifted her attention to something else across the room. “Brenden’s here already. How did you miss him? You should go talk.”
She practically shoved me toward the direction of the party. “Gosh, it’s like you’re still clueless, even after all the dozen dates. You need to feed the person who likes you with your presence.”
I could hear her in the background, but the mention of Brenden was enough to pull my attention entirely. My throat tightened as I caught sight of him across the room, standing there with a smile that was both familiar and foreign. He looked the same, but different in a way that made me ache.
“Your last date was with Brenden, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Hutton’s voice came from behind me, snapping me out of my haze.
Before I could even attempt to respond, Gina cut in with her signature dramatic flair. “They were practically perfect for each other,” she said, her hands fluttering as if she were arranging us like dolls. “Forgive me for going with a classic romantic comedy trope. And he’s smiling at you now.” Gina gave me a nudge toward Brenden’s direction. “Smile back!”
I could feel my lips stretch into a smile, but it felt like it was painted on, dry and brittle, like my red lipstick. The kind of smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
Behind me, I could hear Mrs. Hutton’s voice, light but filled with an almost-sharp curiosity. “Oh.”
I glanced over my shoulder, catching her looking at me with a peculiar expression, one that said more than words ever could. It wasn’t just a casual remark; it was something deeper, like shehad noticed something in the air that I hadn’t even recognized yet.
“Whyoh, Mom?” Gina asked, oblivious to the underlying tension in her mother’s tone as she waved her hand at me, trying to distract me with some new tidbit of holiday gossip.
But Mrs. Hutton’s gaze never left me, sharp and attentive.
Her lips were slightly pursed, as though she was seeing something play out in front of her—a drama she hadn’t expected to unfold.
Her eyes flicked quickly to Josh, who had just crossed the room, away from us, laughing at something with his friends, his carefree demeanor a stark contrast to the slow intensity building between me and Brenden.
I swallowed hard, trying to hold on to some semblance of control.
Mrs. Hutton cleared her throat softly, and in an instant, she was the image of politeness again, the facade of the perfect hostess slipping back into place.
