A Festive Feud: A Holiday Romantic Comedy(32)

“Yeah, I just wanted to go over a few things for the party. I’m feeling anxious about it.”

I honestly haven’t even thought about the party for most of the day. I was having so much fun with Jackson that the only thing I could focus on was him. Even now that reality has crept back in, my to-do list feels not quite as important. And that makes me feel like all of my carefully crafted boxes are beginning to crumble little by little. Having things organized and everything going according to plan is the way I keep control of a situation, and right now, I’m beginning to feel that control slipping away. I’m just not ready to admit that out loud to even myself, let alone Jackson.





13





emma





The most wonderful time of the year





I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but I miss Jackson.

I miss his smile, our constant bickering, and the way that he plays with my hair as I fall asleep. I miss how much fun I have when I’m with him. I just miss… him.

It’s something I never anticipated happening. Lately, I feel like I say that all the time.

It’s barely been twenty-four hours since we returned home from the city, back to real life, since we left behind the bubble we found ourselves in while away from Strawberry Hollow.

We’re back to where he can’t just grab my hand as we walk on the street because the entire town would see. God, I can’t even tell my best friend, Katie, about this because I don’t know what “this” even is.

We got stuck together planning this party, then had incredible sex that led to even more incredible sex.

But the two days we spent together felt like more than just sex.

It feels like he’s slowly sneaking inside my heart, and I’m scared to think about what that could actually mean.

In the twenty-four hours since we got home, he’s crossed my mind more times than I want to count, definitely more times than I want to admit.

We’ve checked a lot off our list, and while there are plenty of things still for us to do to prepare for the party, it’s now mostly things we can each handle on our own.

Groaning, I drop my head back on the couch, clutching the wineglass in my hand a little tighter, praying the red merlot inside doesn’t splash onto the floor. It’s not my first glass of the night because I just spent the weekend locked away with the sexiest man in town and his wicked tongue, with a body straight from the heavens. A man whom I might actually be starting to have real feelings for, but, oh wait, our families have been feuding for decades, and we were basically born hating each other.

Everything’s just great over here.

My phone buzzes on the armchair of the couch, and I pick it up as I take another hefty swig of my merlot.

Mother: How is the party planning going? Your father is not taking it well, but that was to be expected. I’m trying to do damage control, but you know how he is when it comes to the Pearce family. He’s planning on anchoring the decorations in the ground because of last year’s debacle.

Yes, well, at least someone in our family still dislikes the Pearce family because I, for one, think I actually might be falling for one, and I already know that the outcome is going to be a disaster.

Me: It’s going well. Everything should go off without a hitch.

As soon as I press Send, the doorbell rings, and I sigh wearily.

Probably carolers, if I had to guess. Obviously, not my parents since my mom is currently texting me, and she rarely steps foot in my house. So, I’m not sure who else would be stopping by this late.

I set my phone down on the end table and walk to the front door, opening it with one hand while holding my wine in the other.

I was absolutely not prepared for who I’d find on the other side, my eyes widening in surprise.

“Jackson?”

He grins. “Hey, Snowflake.”

I don’t even bother correcting him because I’m too busy checking him out. He’s wearing a black hoodie with a pair of dark gray sweatpants.

Ugh, he’s exactly the reason that gray sweatpants are the equivalent of porn for women. I can practically see the outline of his dick just staring at me. I need more wine.

“Let me get in the door first, woman. Jeez, I can feel you undressing me with those eyes,” he teases.

“I’m sorry! I just couldn’t contain myself,” I respond, rolling my eyes but stifling a giggle. “You and that ego. But okay, fine, I was admiring your gray sweatpants era.”

Only then do I realize he’s got his hands full of stuff, and immediately, my hosting persona kicks in.

Way to leave him out on the doorstep in the cold, Emma.

“Crap, come in, come in, sorry!” I squeak, opening the door wider with my foot.

Jackson steps inside and glances around the entryway into the living room, his jaw agape. “Emma Worthington, you’ve been holding back on me.”

Well, maybe a little…

I shrug, turning toward my living room, which is the epitome of cozy. Growing up, our house was beautiful. Grand staircase, marble floors, expensive art throughout the house. Beautiful, but… kind of cold. There were never any photos on the wall except, of course, the family portrait that hung in the dining room. No personal touches.

I always knew I wanted my home to be the opposite, less curated and more warm, so I may have gone just a tad bit… overboard?