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So I did the only thing I could: reached for humour before I ruined it all and flirted harder.

J: Oh, Mia. Please tell me it’s not on your lower back… Or I might have to save you as “tramp stamp”

Thump, thump, thump.

I shouldn’t be holding my breath like this, especially not twenty feet away from the reason why pursuing her was a horrendous idea. But there was no arguing with my pulse, and even less arguing with my dick.

M: Ha-ha. No, it’s not that ridiculous.

No further questions, your honour.

I cupped my jaw to smother the stupid smile tugging at my traitorous mouth. I could almost see her blush. My thumbs swiped over the screen, slow and deliberate this time.

J: Pity, it would’ve made my day.

though it’s much improved already, thanks xx

As soon as I sent it, my grip on the phone tightened with the violent urge to toss it in the bin and set it on fire.

Two kisses???

Buy a sign that says “I like you” and stick it to your forehead, why don’t you? Idiot.

A sharp inhale that sliced my throat on the way in and a few quick blinks later, I stared at the cutting board without seeing it.

The sudden urge to pack it in and squash whatever I’d managed to stoke gripped me by the throat.

J: Gotta go, potatoes are screaming my name. Impatiently so.

I shoved my phone in my pocket, since I clearly couldn’t be trusted with it. My eyes still couldn’t quite make out the shape of the cutting board, not with my mind stuck on a loop like that.

I like her?

Shit.

SHIT.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and allowed myself a deep sigh everyone would associate with having to do chores—and not with the inconvenient truth I’d been fighting against with all I had.

I’d meant to leave it at that. Potentially change my number or move to another country. But somewhere around nestling ladyfingers on a decadent layer of mascarpone cream—right after texting Michele to thank him for his wife’s recipe—the soothing backdrop of carols was drowned by my parents arguing. So I cracked and reached for her again.

J: Are you the type to help out in the kitchen?

Or… would you just sit there and look pretty?

Aaaand I’d complimented her.

Someone take this phone away from me.

Before I do something worse, like calling her…

Chapter nineteen

Mia

The sound of the last carollers heading to our neighbours faded as dad shut the door, clapped his hands together and announced it was present-opening time, pink-faced and wearing the ridiculous sweater mom had picked for him.

The eggnog bottle, now half-full, watched over us from the kitchen table as we barrelled towards the Christmas tree in the corner. The fire crackled merrily, and a sliver of wood smoke spilled into the air as wrapping paper tore off.