Page 36 of Held-

“Oh my,” she murmurs.

I look up, and my heart does something complicated in my chest when I spot Brayden striding through the crowd. He isn’t trying to blend in—not that he could even if he tried. His cut is impossible to miss, a sharp presence in a sea of holiday cheer, and people practically leap aside as he makes a direct path toward the hot chocolate booth.

For me.

“Two hot chocolates,” he says, his voice a steady rumble that somehow cuts through the Christmas music blaring from the nearby speakers. His gaze never shifts, and heat rises up my neck that has nothing to do with the steaming beverage I’m serving.

“Sure,” I manage, grateful that my tone doesn’t betray the riot in my chest. I fill two cups, my hands steadier than they have any right to be. “Marshmallows?”

“Definitely.” The corner of his mouth quirks into that almost-smile that makes my stomach flip. “The more the better.”

I pile marshmallows into his cups, acutely aware of Mrs. Henderson practically vibrating with gossip potential beside me. When I hand the drinks over, our fingers brush, and I swear I feel it all the way to my toes.

“Thanks, princess.” The words are soft, meant only for me, and the nickname sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the December chill.

“You're welcome.” I try for casual, but the words come out breathier than intended. “I didn't think this was your scene.”

“It's not, but hey, life would be boring if you didn’t try something new from time to time,” he shrugs.

It’s not lost on me that he ordered two cups. “Did you come here with Jillian?”

“Nope,” he smirks.

A pit forms in my stomach. He ordered two cups, but if his aunt’s not here, who is the second cup for? I'm about to ask who the other hot chocolate is for when he lifts one cup in a small toast.

“This one's for me,” he says, taking a sip and leaving a tiny marshmallow mustache on his upper lip that makes him look surprisingly boyish. “And this one's for you. Figured you could use a break.”

“I can't just leave,” I whisper, though every cell in my body is screaming at me to do exactly that. “I'm supposed to be helping.”

“Mrs. Henderson won't mind,” he says confidently, loud enough for her to hear. “Will you, ma'am?”

Mrs. Henderson, who's been pretending not to eavesdrop, nearly jumps out of her sensible shoes at being addressed directly by a man in a motorcycle cut. “I...well...”

“See? She's fine with it.” He holds the second cup out to me, challenging me to take it.

I hesitate for just a second before untying the volunteer apron. “I'll be back in a bit,” I tell Mrs. Henderson, as I duck under the counter and join Brayden on the other side.

“No, you won't,” he murmurs as he hands me the hot chocolate, his fingers brushing mine deliberately this time.

The warmth of the cup is nothing compared to the heat that flares in my chest at his touch. I take a sip to hide how my hands are shaking. The rich chocolate warmth slides down my throat, grounding me in this moment. With him.

“You planned this,” I accuse, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips.

“Guilty.” He takes another sip, his gaze never leaving mine. “Heard it was your favorite Christmas thing.”

“Jillian told you,” I realize, feeling a rush of fondness for his meddling aunt.

“She might’ve mentioned it.” He steps closer, his body shielding me from the curious stares around us. “She also mentioned you never miss it. Even had mono one year and still dragged yourself here.”

“I can’t believe she remembers that.” I laugh, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to ease despite the crowded square and all the people watching. “I was sixteen and miserable, but I wasn’t going to miss seeing that tree light up.”

“Why is it so important to you?”

I take another sip, considering. “My mom loved Christmas. After she died, this was the one tradition my dad kept alive, exactly the way she did it. It’s like…for these few minutes every year, she’s still here.”

Something shifts in Brayden’s expression—a subtle softening that makes my heart flutter. “That’s?—”

“Well, well. If it isn’t my ex-wife.”