Page 12 of Held-

Our fingers brush as she passes it to me, and I ignore the little jolt that runs up my arm. Her phone case is cracked at the corner, and the screen protector is bubbled along one edge. I open her contacts, aware of her watching me intently.

“I'm putting my number in,” I explain, typing quickly. I hand her phone back, careful not to let our fingers touch again. “Text me the list of what you need.”

Her father clears his throat loudly behind us.

“We should go,” I tell her, taking a step back. “Before someone puts boobs on the Virgin Mary and tries to blame us for it.”

She laughs. “That's not actually a bad idea. It might distract everyone from penis baby Jesus.”

“If you're looking for more ways to scandalize the town, I've got plenty of suggestions.” I back toward the door, my brothers already filing out ahead of me.

“I bet you do.” Her smile is different now—softer around the edges.

I give her a nod, not trusting myself to say anything else. If I linger too long, I might do something stupid like offer to help herwith the whole damn toy drive distribution. Or worse, ask her out for coffee and watch her try to let me down gently.

“Thank you,” she calls after me. “Really.”

I raise my hand in acknowledgment without looking back. Some things are better left in the rearview mirror, and the look on her face when she smiles is definitely one of them.

Outside, the December air hits me like a wake-up call. My brothers are already mounting up, engines rumbling to life one by one. I swing my leg over my own bike, feeling the familiar vibration as I turn the key.

“We good to go?” Domino asks, pulling up alongside me.

“Yeah,” I say, adjusting my gloves. “We're done here.”

“You sure about that?”

The hell if I know.

CECE

I've always hatedthe Brewed Awakening café, with its cutesy chalkboard signs and overpriced pastries, but they're the only place in San Salona that makes coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Which is precisely what my father needs after staying up all night rewriting his sermon about ‘moral fortitude in the face of sinful influences.’

The bell jingles cheerfully as I push through the door, the warm scent of espresso and cinnamon wrapping around me like a hug. I'm halfway to the counter when I spot him—the mayor, Ethan’s dad, standing with his back to me, surrounded by hisusual entourage ofyes-men. His voice carries through the small café like he's using a megaphone.

“It's an absolute disgrace,” he's saying, hands gesturing wildly. “First that...that pornographic display in the nativity scene, and now Thomas is allowing some motorcycle gang to donate to the church toy drive? Has he completely lost control of his congregation?”

I freeze, my hand still reaching for my wallet. Every head in the café swivels toward me like some creepy synchronized movement in a horror film. Even the barista stops mid-pour, her expression going wide with surprise.

The mayor turns, his gaze narrowing when he spots me standing there like a deer in headlights. For a second, I think he might have the decency to look embarrassed at being caught gossiping about my father. Instead, his lips curl into that same smug smile Ethan inherited.

“Well, speak of the devil,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Heat crawls up my neck as every stare in the café pins me in place. I’ve spent my whole life in this fishbowl, but it never gets easier being the main attraction.

“You know,” Mayor Kincaid continues, setting his coffee cup down with deliberate slowness, “I was just saying to the gentlemen here that perhaps it’s time for the church board to have a serious conversation with your father.”

“About what, exactly?”

“About his...judgment lately.” The mayor’s look sharpens with malice. “First allowing that obscene display on church property, and now welcoming criminals to donate to a church function? Perhaps it’s time for him to consider retirement if he’s going to allow such things to happen on his watch.”

The café has gone completely silent. Even the espresso machine seems to be holding its breath.

“Those 'criminals' saved our toy drive.”

“Saved it? My dear girl, the church may have just helped them launder goods so you can wipe that smug look off your face.”

“That's rich coming from the family who pulled donations from a children's charity just to spite me.” I step closer, letting the righteous anger that’s been building since I saw those empty tables drive me forward. “Do you know how many families were counting on those toys? Or do you just not care?”