Page 47

Caleb

The kitchen smells like vanilla and dish soap and something cinnamon-sugar that’s probably still cooling on a tray somewhere.

I’m elbow-deep in soapy water, rinsing plates while my mom dries with one of those holiday tea towels she breaks out the second December hits.

“Thanks for helping, sweetie,” she says, bumping my hip gently with hers. “You’re the only one who remembers where the damn colander goes.”

I grin. “Because I’m your favorite.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she says, but she’s smiling. I’m right though…I am her favorite.

We work in comfortable silence for a few beats, water sloshing, silverware clinking.

Then she asks, “So… how’s school?”

“Busy. But good. My stats professor’s a troll and our new strength coach thinks pain is a personality trait, but I’m surviving.”

She nods, already half-listening. “And hockey?”

“Solid. We’ve got a good shot at playoffs if we don’t implode.”

“Good.” She dries another plate. “And Rilee?”

I fumble a spoon.

It clatters into the sink with a splash.

Mom glances at me, amused. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say too fast, grabbing the spoon like it betrayed me. “She’s great. Smart. Funny. She’s, uh… been good for me.”

My mom gives me a knowing look. “Good I’m glad you’re happy. And that girl’s sharp. You can tell she’s going places.”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling faintly. “She’s… kind of amazing.”

It’s easy to talk about Rilee.

It’s not as easy to think about where she is right now.

Because I noticed.

Of course I noticed.

One minute, we’re all happy and full of pie and pretending not to be aroused at the dinner table, and the next?

She’s gone.

So are Grayson and Hunter.

And the part of my brain that’s been trained to stay breezy and unbothered is… not exactly quiet.

I know how this works. We agreed. We’re in this together.

Still.

There’s this low hum of tension in the back of my skull—the kind I usually get before a big game or a bad hit.

It’s not jealousy, exactly.

It’s… the ache of missing her when she’s still technically under the same roof.

“Caleb,” Mom says, nudging me out of my head. “You okay?”

I blink. “Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.”

She hands me the last plate and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Don’t think too hard, kiddo. Just enjoy the holidays.”

I nod.

And I try.

But as I dry my hands and look toward the hallway, I can’t help but wonder—

What are they doing?

And why does it already feel like I’m missing something I don’t want to miss?

Because the truth is, I’m in love with her. It’s not even a question anymore. Rilee’s it for me—the whole damn sky.

I’ve had more hookups than I care to admit these past four years, girls whose names I couldn’t remember if you paid me.

But none of them mattered. None of them stuck .

And now? It’s like the universe finally shut up because she walked in.

My brave, brilliant, overworked girl who studies until her hands cramp and still finds the time to laugh like she means it.

Who sucks cock like she’s starving for it and kisses like she’s memorizing your soul.

I’d burn the whole world down for her. Focus, dude.

My mom’s asking about pie crusts or something. Later. I’ll deal with it later.

The kitchen’s quiet except for the soft hum of the microwave reheating milk and the clink of a spoon in a mug.

Dad and Hunter are camped out in the den watching the game.

Sierra left to meet friends, thank God. And I’m just here for a late-night fix of cocoa and whatever marshmallows haven’t been obliterated by Grayson’s “experimental layering.”

When I step into the kitchen, I see her.

Rilee’s in one of my old hoodies, hair loose, toes peeking out from under the hem of her leggings. She’s stirring a mug of hot chocolate and humming something off-key under her breath.

My heart kicks. Hard.

“Hey,” I say softly.

She looks up and smiles. “Hey yourself.”

I cross the room, take the spoon from her hand, and set it aside. My hands find her waist, and I tug her in.

The kiss is soft at first—just lips brushing, slow and familiar.

“I like your parents,” she murmurs against my mouth. “Your mom’s a Christmas machine.”

I chuckle. “She’s been like that since I was little. She used to label the lights on the tree by wattage.”

She laughs, and it lands somewhere under my ribs.

Then she kisses me again. This time, deeper.

Hungry.

I back her gently against the counter, her hands sliding into my hair, tugging just a little. Enough to make me groan.

A new warmth enters the room behind us.

Grayson.

He doesn’t say anything. He just comes up behind Rilee, brushes her hair from her shoulder, and presses a kiss to the back of her neck.

Her breath catches.

My hand’s on her waist.

Grayson’s mouth trails down her throat.

And her hand?

Her hand moves to the front of Gray’s sweats, rubbing slow, sure strokes that make his jaw lock and his breathing go ragged.

“Fuck,” he mutters, pressing harder into her.

I claim her mouth again, one hand sliding beneath the hem of her hoodie, fingers tracing bare skin while Grayson palms her hip from behind.

It’s chaos. It’s perfect.

Until—

“Oh!”

My mom’s voice is sharp and shocked.

We all freeze.

She’s in the doorway, eyes wide as dinner plates, holding a tin of peppermint bark.

No one moves.

Grayson steps back like he’s been shot.

Rilee covers her face with both hands.

I stare at my mom, still caged around the girl I’m wildly in love with, and say the only thing I can think of.

“…want some cocoa?”

She blinks once. Then pivots. “Nope. Not seeing that. Didn’t see anything .”

And walks straight back out.