“Something like that.” Mitch’s jaw tightens. “He dated Hannah for a few months in high school. Before me.”
Ah. So Blake’s not just any old family friend. He’s part of the complicated web of history that brought us here.
“Is he always that charming?”
Mitch snorts. “Blake’s a good guy. Just likes to stir the pot sometimes.”
“Mmm.” I take a sip of my cocoa, which has finally cooled to a reasonable temperature. “Well, your family’s still debating tree selection, so we have time to kill.”
“Want to walk around? Get some air?”
“Sure.”
We wander away from his family’s tree summit, strolling between the rows of evergreens. The snow crunches under ourfeet, and our breath creates small clouds in the cold air. With every step, I become more aware of his hand in mine, the way we’ve naturally fallen into sync.
“So,” I say, needing to break the comfortable silence before I start reading too much into it. “Blake seemed... interested in our relationship status.”
“Blake’s always been curious about other people’s business.”
“Is that why you looked like you wanted to punch him?”
Mitch stops walking and turns to face me. “I didn’t want to punch him.”
“No?”
“No. I wanted to kiss you.”
The words hang in the cold air between us, loaded with possibilities I’m not sure either of us is ready for. My heart does something complicated against my ribs.
“For the performance?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He takes a step closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I can see the flecks of blue in all that stormy gray.
“Yeah,” he says, but his voice has gone rough around the edges. “For the performance.”
Except the way he’s looking at me doesn’t feel like performance. It feels like possibility. Like danger. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and seriously considering jumping.
“Mitchell! Clare!” Karen’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade. “We’ve made a decision!”
Mitch steps back, but his hand stays in mine. “Duty calls.”
“Right. Duty.”
As we walk back toward his family, I try to convince myself that the disappointment curling in my chest is just because the moment was interrupted, not because I actually wanted him to kiss me.
But I’m a terrible liar, especially to myself.
The tree they’ve chosen is beautiful—full and perfectly shaped, with branches that seem designed for ornaments and memories. Tom is already wielding a saw with the efficiency of someone who’s done this dozens of times, while the kids dance around him with excitement.
“What do you think, Clare?” Maddie asks. “Good choice?”
“It’s perfect,” I say, and mean it.
“Just like you,” Mitch murmurs, close enough to my ear that his breath sends shivers down my spine.
I elbow him gently. “Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”
“Just staying in character.”