Page 47

“Green light,” she says, so I drag my attention back up to the road and turn us into the bustling plaza of the famous Gingerbread Mansion event hosted at the Mistlemore Palace—otherwise known as this elegant town’s crowning jewel.

Whistling low, I ease us through the packed parking lot beneath thousands of Christmas lights. “Fancy.” Everything’s pristine. Shining. Limned in glitter and class.

And my girl, who grew up in a manor of her own, is vibrating like she’s never seen anything so beautiful. The second I park, her seat belt is off. A cold blast of winter air hits me when she opens her door and leaps from the truck. Her squeal pierces the bright night as she goes flying up the asphalt, toward August, who is fleeing her own vehicular prison to meet her friend in the middle of the road.

They collide in a hug as though they’ve not seen each other for a decade.

Which is relatable.

I, too, feel as though a minute apart from my Dece equates to ten years.

Tucking my hands in my pockets, I conserve warmth as I shuffle my way toward my sister and her husband. “Not a spy today?” I mumble as I come up beside Alister.

“Assassin, and no. August’s letting me be my plain old self tonight.”

“How benevolent of her,” I mutter, and the man who wore a blond wig for over a month in order to con my little sister into falling for him laughs. I scan the first and only guy I’ve ever met who has matched my sister’s nonsense head-on, then I grumble, “You think they’re excited or something?”

“I think this whole thing was a conspiracy, considering I wasn’t involved in it until August was letting me know who’d be paying for it.” Warmth settles in his smile regardless.

I suck my teeth. “That’s rough. Can’t believe she only loves you for your money.”

Dryly, Alister glances my way and tenderly says, “We are ever still playing a game of enemies and lovers.”

Yeah, they sure are. Like a pair of nutcases. But. To each their own.

“Dece,” I say, voice perfectly level and regular amid the sound of Christmas music wafting from the regal building before us. The rumble of other vehicles locating parking spots melds into the noise alongside the chatter of other people marching their way toward the entrance.

Nevertheless, December hears me.

Tuned in to my frequency regardless, she immediately whirls, and her little fuzzy dress does a thing.

I swallow, hard.

“Yes, Wynn-Wynn?” she chirps, hand-in-hand with August while Christmas light scatters across her dimples.

I nestle into my scarf to subdue the heat scaling up my chest to my cheeks. “Save a few minutes here and there for me, ’kay?”

August sticks her tongue out. “She was my friend first.”

“I think it’s cute that he’s jealous,” December says, offering me her free hand, which is all cozy and mitted up in a glove that matches her whole ensemble.

“Jealousy isn’t cute in real life,” my lousy sister informs my future wife. “It’s a sign of insecurity and a lack of trust.”

I clasp December’s hand, muttering, “He’s insecure, don’t know what for.” I narrow my eyes. “Oh, right. Because his sister is trying to steal the love of his life.”

August snaps, “You are not referencing One Direction songs at me.”

“What? Is there a problem with that?” I drawl. “Don’t tell me you still have a crush on the blond?”

“You leave Niall out of this.”

I tut. “What an era.”

“I do remember the posters,” December muses.

Alister cuts in, “Is it my turn to be insecure?”

December giggles. “Don’t worry. The band broke up, and August would never settle for someone who struggles with commitment.”