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11
Sydney
The Ugly Sweater Party turned out to be a lot more fun than I’d expected. Jackson and Harper were sweet and funny and conversation flowed. I even managed to get past my sweater hang-up, thanks to the punch.
The evening was just wrapping up sans catastrophe when Mrs. Randall, Mrs. Milton, and a few of the other neighborhood women somehow cornered Harper and me in the kitchen. Talk turned from holiday plans to weddings and babies surprisingly quickly, before we could escape.
“Harper, you and Jackson have been dating for almost a year now, right?” Mrs. Randall asked, her eyebrows raised as she leaned in for the gossip.
“Yes, almost,” Harper said, twisting her hair in her fingers and blushing.
“Well, that’s wonderful,” Mrs. Milton chimed in, smiling at her.
“Have you two gone ring shopping yet?” the neighbor with the vivid red hair asked, winking.
Harper shifted from foot to foot, her back against the counter in the corner of the kitchen. No possible exit.
“Uh, not yet. We’re taking it slow.”
“Very wise,” Mrs. Milton said, squeezing Harper’s arm.
“What about you two?” the redhead swiveled to face me, her severe penciled-in brows furrowing.
“Uh, Nick and I haven’t really been dating that long,” I stammered, my face flaming.
“Pish-posh. I met my Sammy and we were married within three months, had our first baby within the year. You kids these days take everything so slow, like you have all the time in the world. Let me tell you, you don’t. If you find someone you click with—like me and my Sammy—go for it! You’ve all the time in the world to work out the kinks, but not as much time to have babies.”
Harper and I both stood there, shocked, not knowing exactly what to say.
I swallowed hard, then helped myself to another serving of punch. “Great punch, I love it. Can I get the recipe?”
“Sure thing,” Mrs. Randall piped up, crossing the kitchen and opening a drawer for a notepad and pen. As she scrawled out the recipe, Harper mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to me. The other ladies swirled around, helping clean the kitchen. Harper and I made nice for a few more minutes, clearing empty glasses and plates, then scooted out of the kitchen ASAP.
“Ohmygod,” Harper whispered, clutching my arm. “Awkward.”
“Beyond,” I agreed, half-giggling, half-sighing. “If I had a dollar for every time some well-meaning person asked me when I was getting married, I’d be rich.”
Harper chuckled. “Same. Thanks for changing the subject for me. And I need a copy of that recipe!”
“Where were you two?” Nick asked, eyeing our linked arms.
“Being accosted in the kitchen for our lack of wedding rings,” Harper joked, wrapping her arm around Jackson and snuggling into his woolly maroon sweater.
He leaned down, kissing the top of her head. “Sorry about that, babe. The ladies here are always digging for dirt.”
“And apparently love a good wedding; even better, a baby,” I joked, snickering at Nick.
“What? You don’t like babies,” he asked, reaching for my hand and pulling me in close.
“Sure I do. I love them for photo ops. Having one at the moment—no, thank you. I’m a little busy with my career. Not sure how I’d squeeze that in.”
“Kiss, kiss!” From across the room came the loud clink of a spoon on a glass and there was Mr. McGregor, in all his enthusiastic mistletoe fervor, staring straight at me and Nick.
Shit. I thought I’d escaped this.
With aplomb, Nick obliged Mr. McGregor, taking my face in his hands and laying a passionate kiss on my lips. My face on fire, the only sound I could hear was the pounding of my heart.
After what felt like hours, applause broke out in the crowd and I pulled away ever so slightly. I murmured against Nick’s lips, “I’m going to hurt you.”
He grinned down at me. “Promise?” Then winked.
This guy. So cute, so funny, so freaking perfect.
And also, so off-limits.
What the hell was I going to do? I’d managed to get my tinsel tangled back up with Nick—and now I didn’t want to let him go.
FML.
