6. Cassidy

6

Cassidy

Mylo eventually leaves his spot on the couch to help with the doorways. I attack the stairs. We both keep ourselves as busy as we possibly can.

After wrapping the stair rail with tinsel and doing the very same with lights, I plug them in and take a step back to appreciate my work. I can’t wait to see how everything looks once the sun is down.

Growing up, as a kid, I always felt like I was living in a dream when it came to my surroundings. This place always looked like a wonderland through the holidays. I missed this. I missed it a lot.

Before I get too lost in remembering the old days, I make my way back to the last worn tote and pick out my next decorations to hang. Untying a bag, I pause when I realize inside is a bunch of artificial mistletoe.

Dad always insisted on hanging some up at every doorway. As if he needed an excuse to kiss my mother, he always made her giggle by plucking her up before kissing her senseless. I can’t remember how many times I gagged and covered my eyes as a kid.

Those two are why I always had high expectations when it came to love. Couldn’t settle with someone who didn’t love me as much as those two loved each other. Maybe that’s why all my past relationships didn’t work out. I haven’t clicked with anyone, not in the sense that feels just… right.

Everyone I’ve been with just feels boring. Basic, even. I’m waiting for some kind of spark. Fireworks . Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself. I’d be lucky to find a man who can make me feel that way.

Shaking off this feeling, I pull out one of the bundles. With a few hooks already in place from previous decorations throughout the year, I head over toward the nearest doorway. Clutching the plastic leaves, I stare at the hook. It’s high up and my height isn’t cutting it.

Instead of going to find where the stepstool is, I step on my toes and try to reach the hook. Stretching, the tips of fingertips brush the hook. So close, I’m one hop away from hanging it. Just as I’m ready to jump, there’s a shift.

“Let me help.” Without warning, Mylo’s body appears out of thin air. Suddenly he’s right in front of me, those broad shoulders blocking out most of the light behind him. When did he get there?

My breath catches in my throat as he plucks the artificial mistletoe from my trembling fingers. I don’t think he looks away from my eyes as he lifts it toward the hook.

A lump the size of my fist forms in my throat as he latches it onto the doorway with ease. As his arms drop to his sides, he doesn’t move. Neither of us do. It’s like we’re both frozen in place.

We shouldn’t be standing here together. My parents are in the kitchen. Heck, I can hear my mother giggling. All it would take is ten steps for her to catch the two of us staring at each other.

Ever since I returned to this place, that’s all we’ve managed to get done. This tension growing tighter and tighter, fed by unspoken words has done nothing but make me want to scream and admit all my feelings I’ve been crushing down for years.

The tree could use a few more bulbs if I’m looking for an excuse to leave, and I haven’t cleaned up the loose silver tinsel strands that have slipped off the branches despite all my attempts to make them flow down the tree.

With so much to do, why am I stuck here? Stuck looking at Mylo while wishing there was a purpose behind giving me help.

“Thank you.” My appreciation comes out softer than the crackling logs in the fireplace. Not trusting my tongue, I don’t dare try to say it louder despite getting much of a response out of the older man.

He’s too busy staring at me. Not just my eyes, but my flushed cheeks, the freckles that scatter across my nose, and my lips. I lick them without thinking. His brows furrow.

The silence between us feels like a lifetime. Finally, he opens his mouth.

“Your family has always been so strict about traditions, you know?” His words come out slowly, almost like he’s testing the waters. “To be caught under one of these and do nothing about it feels nothing shy of a crime.”

The corner of his mouth is raised in an attempt at a smile, almost like he’s presenting a joke. This is not a joke.

I have two options. I can laugh this off and brush him aside so I can finish these decorations so I can enjoy a hot bath while regretting missing out on an opportunity of a lifetime. Or, I can wrap my fingers around the opportunity and see how far I can go, possibly fulfilling a fantasy of mine.

One option causes a little bit of heartache. The other risks making everything uncomfortable if I’m reading the signs all wrong.

All my life, I’ve jumped at opportunities because of my eagerness. Normally, they always bite me back with signs of failure showing straight from the beginning. My excitement always makes me blind.

This time isn’t going to be any different. Despite the flashing warnings telling how bad of an idea this is, I’m jumping head first. Even if it’s some joke, or something written off as a misunderstanding of some sort, I don’t care.

Breathing in slowly, my fingers curl at my sides. My poor heart is working overtime, thumping heavily against my ribcage.

“I can’t start breaking traditions now, can I?” My mouth twitches into a small smile, the hints of nerves slipping through. “I think a quick one counts.”

A kiss on the forehead, the cheek, or the nose could work. I’m not going to be picky. I’ll take whatever I can get. Anything to feel those warm lips brush against my skin, and that beard of his tickles my skin.

Chewing on my lips, he tilts his head. He has to know how handsome he is, how hauntingly attractive I find him. That’s why he teases me by doing nothing but standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. He’s warm enough to make the fire jealous.

“A quick one?” Repeating my words, he cocks a brow. Geez, is he going to make me spell it out? Does he enjoy making me squirm?

With the threat of a heart attack on the horizon, I nod. “Or a long one, I guess. Whatever works. Depends where it’s at.” I shrug one shoulder, hoping it covers my nerves. My eyes fall as I look to the ground.

I don’t want to point out that my parents might not enjoy seeing us fulfill this tradition. Mylo isn’t stupid, but he doesn’t laugh this off like he should. Doesn’t tell me that he’s just kidding, either.

Doesn’t point out the glaring fact that he shouldn’t kiss a woman half his age.

Instead, he gives me what I want. He catches my chin with those callused fingers and tilts my face so I can look at the amusement resting on his face. That haunting smile is the last thing I see before he kisses me.

Not like one would to his best friend’s daughter. No, he kisses me like a man lost in the desert with the desperation of consuming a single drop of water. This is no peck, either. He’s taking the long option without any further discussion.

As his tongue slides past my lips, I can feel the need radiating off him. The way his hands cradle my cheeks, the tenderness and caution behind his touch. He makes me feel like a glass doll, one that can easily break if not careful enough.

This isn’t some attempt at humoring a joke. No, this man is throwing gasoline on a fire and we’re both burning hotter the longer we stay connected.

All because of some plastic fake plant missing a few white orbs.

There’s a sizzle, a popping happening in my brain as my thoughts explode. Fireworks .

His fingers slide from my cheeks, moving lower. Cradling my jaw, he tilts my head back to taste me deeper. Soon, I feel those thick fingers around my throat. He’s holding me in place, making sure not even the lightest brush of air in the room will steal me away. His teeth graze my lower lip and the heat pooling around in my stomach seeps lower.

One kiss turns to two and I’m surprised I can count. At the moment, my brain feels like complete mush. I can’t even think, can’t make a proper thought.

However, there is one thing I know for sure. I want more.

There’s the sound of his name being called, my mother beckoning his assistance with getting the countless amount of cookies out of the stove to avoid burning them. I guess my father can only provide my mother with so much help.

He pulls away, releasing his hold on me. The grip around my heart feels even tighter as he takes in my flushed state for only a passing second. Leaving me with the quick and tantalizing swipe of his tongue against his lips, he turns and makes his way to the kitchen. Left speechless and trembling, there’s the sound of his laugh at my father’s curse when I hear a pan hit the counter.

He’s okay. I am not.

The world feels like it’s spun its way off its axis and my first step away from the archway is unbalanced. I grip the wall in an attempt to rebalance myself.

My stomach is clenching, my toes are curling. I don’t even want to acknowledge the heat crawling up my legs, manifesting between my thighs.

This is wrong. It has to be.

If that’s the case, why do I want to do it again?