A Festive Feud: A Holiday Romantic Comedy(50)
My heart has never felt so full, so complete.
And I know that no matter what the future holds for us, Jackson Pearce will always be my Christmas wish.
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chapter one
Quinn
"Quinn, that dress is so lovely on you. It really accentuates your curves. You know, you are such a beautiful girl, and if you only lost a few…" Aunt Polly leans in and whispers, not so quietly, on the other side of her hand, "pounds, you would be so breathtaking.”
‘Tis the damn season.
“Thanks, Aunt Polly, I'm just going to um…get another drink. It was really nice talking to you and catching up. I hope you enjoy the party!" I hold up the almost empty glass flute and offer the best smile I can manage after being insulted directly to my face with her backhanded ‘compliment.’
I thought the bright red, festive AF, empire-waist dress made of vintage satin did wonders for my body, but, as always, I'm only the ‘pretty’ fat girl. The ‘you have such a lovely face,’ but ‘you would be so much prettier if only you were a little thinner’ girl. Bringing the glass of champagne to my red-stained lips that match my dress, I down the last of the fizzling liquid and place the empty glass onto a waiter's tray as he passes by me.
While I sometimes miss home, the sleepy, snowy small town that I grew up in, the moment I return, I remember exactly what it was that made me leave Strawberry Hollow in the first place. The small-town gossip, everyone knows everyone kind of town.
Instead of subjecting myself to another ‘kind’ assault from my family, I grab my faux fur coat, slide it on then head straight for another glass of champagne. The table near the back door is full of glasses, so I swipe two with one hand, giggling to myself when the glass clinks together loudly, and tiptoe toward the patio and make my escape.
Fresh air and copious amount so of champagne are the only way I'm going to make it through this godforsaken Christmas party. The only way I’m going to survive being stuck with my family for the next week and all of their bothersome Christmas festivities is to drink whatever and whenever it’s available.
I hate the holidays.
Actually, I loathe them.
Like more than anything.
Call me a Scrooge. The Grinch. The girl who hates Christmas.
The fact that I'm even at this stupid party to begin with is only due to the fact that my mother majorly guilt-tripped me into coming home for Christmas this year.
I was perfectly fine hunkering down for another New York winter, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls, and avoiding my family, phone, and email at all costs. The perfect vacation from work. One that I so desperately needed.
But instead, here I am. Enduring an entire seven days with my parents and brother because my mother is on a crusade to bring us all back together for the holidays. Oh, what fun it is…not.
Ho-freaking-Ho. Merry my ass.
Thankfully, my Apple Watch shows that it's after eight, which means I can potentially sneak away soon, in a few hours, if I'm lucky. Hopefully, the copious amount of champagne I've consumed so far will make the next hour or two a tad more bearable.
I push open the French doors, letting them fall shut behind me, and step out onto the patio. It's lightly snowing, and cold as a witch’s tit out here. But I’m alone, and the silence is a welcome reprieve after the last hour of small talk with extended family members that I can barely remember.
Shaking my head, I set the glasses down on the table. The outdoor dining table and sectional are surrounded by overhead heaters, as well as a massive fire pit in the middle, but that does nothing to stop the bitter cold from creeping in through my coat. Goosebumps erupt on my skin, and I rub my hands together to try and fight off the chill.
It’s better than in there, I tell myself.
"Why are you standing out in the freezing cold...in that?" From behind me, a deep, gravelly voice interrupts my solitude.
He drags the last word out, laced with arrogance and bravado.
Without turning around, I know exactly who that voice belongs to. The same voice that sends a different kind of shiver down my spine, one that has absolutely nothing to do with the cold.
Parker Grant.
Charming playboy, handsome doctor, and the most sought-after bachelor in our hometown.
And...my brother Owen’s best friend.
The same guy I've had a crush on since I was a preteen, when he was a gangly, tall teenager only a few years older than me. The guy I doodled in all of my notebooks, my first name with his last, covered in hearts. The first real crush I ever had, and the first one to subsequently break my heart, without him ever knowing.
Years later, and even now, all he has to do is speak and my thighs clench together in unrequited anticipation.
Not that I am still pining away for him. I let go of that silly teenage crush long ago. When I realized that I would never be the kind of girl he was looking for. I was simply his best friend’s kid sister who tagged along and annoyed them, any chance I got.
I glance back over my shoulder and see Parker leaning against the pillar in a black sports coat and a tie covered in candy canes around his neck. So sinfully delicious, even with that ridiculous tie that I allow myself a few short seconds to drink him in before I turn back toward the dark tree line and take another hefty sip of champagne, draining half the glass.