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?
With Christmas decorations.
My tree is massive, taking up the whole far corner of my living room. It’s decorated in traditional red and green with pops of gold and white throughout, with a vintage red Christmas train wrapped around its base and a custom-made star at the top. The fireplace mantel is covered with a fir garland, mismatched hand-knitted stockings, and tons of nutcrackers I’ve collected over the years. My windows are all covered with twinkle lights, my couch is covered in festive reindeer pillows, and my entry table displays my beloved Christmas village, complete with little villager figurines that I’ve collected throughout the years. It’s truly my most prized possession.
And that’s just my living room.
Almost every single surface of my house has some type of decoration on it, and I love it. It feels like home. My safe place to land.
“Yes, well, you never asked,” I retort, hiding my smile behind the rim of my wineglass as I take a sip. “So, are we having surprise visits now?”
We walk to the kitchen. He sets down the six-pack of beer and the paper bag and shrugs, “Guess I kind of missed you insulting me.”
“Guess I kind of missed insulting you.”
His eyes dance with amusement. “Well, good thing I’m here, then. Figured I’d come by and make you watch a Christmas movie with me. Unless you’ve got some other important plans?”
I glance down at my attire, a pair of old sweatpants with little Rudolphs on them and an old baggy T-shirt from high school. My hair is practically a rat’s nest, and I have zero makeup on.
“Oh, I was just heading out for drinks. Can’t you tell by this outfit?” I laugh. “I look like I just crawled out of bed.”
“You look sexy in anything,” he says, stepping closer and taking the wineglass out of my hand, then carefully setting it onto the island beside us. “And I fucking missed you, Emma.”
My heart pounds in my chest as I nod. “I missed you too.”
Jackson slides his hands along my jaw, cradling it as he lowers his lips to mine, kissing me as if he hasn’t seen me in days when it’s only been twenty-four hours.
Part of me wants to tell him that we should stop, that we should quit while we still can, that this was just a weekend fling. But an even bigger part of me knows that it would be pointless because my heart is already involved.
He pulls back slightly, ghosting his thumb along my jaw as he stares into my eyes. It feels… overwhelming and amazing to have a man look at you the way that Jackson is looking at me right now. But also terrifying because I have no idea what the future holds for us.
Our families have hated each other since before we were born, and I just don’t think it’s possible for them to even be civil, let alone get along.
“So, movies?” I say, clearing my throat. “Do I get to pick?”
“Yep.”
Jackson grabs a beer, and I refill my wine before we walk back to the living room and take a seat on the plush couch.
“Okay, what about Elf?” he says, grabbing the remote and pulling me toward him until I’m partially on top of him, tucked against his side.
He does it naturally, without hesitation, and it makes my heart race.
Being with Jackson feels… like something that I should’ve always done.
It feels right.
“A classic, for sure,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
A second later, Elf appears on the screen, and I burrow into Jackson’s side, and we spend the next few hours watching a few of the classics I never got to see growing up.
It’s late, well after 2:00 a.m., if I had to guess, when Jackson stretches beneath me, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. I dozed off sometime during the third movie, and now I’m entirely too comfortable to move.