Chapter 23

23

NINA

A cherished Thompson siblings’ tradition on the night before Christmas is for Dylan and me to volunteer to serve hot chocolate at our parish church before the midnight mass. And this year is no different. Well, with the exception that Tristan has joined in.

As we arrive just after ten, the church’s stained-glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors onto the pristine snow of the courtyard. I inhale deeply, taking in the scent of pine and wood-smoke that fills the crisp winter air.

Inside the church, the warm glow of candlelight greets us, along with familiar faces from neighbors and friends. Mom and Dad stay behind to catch up with their buddies while Dylan, Tristan, and I deviate to the refectory where we’ll be working before mass.

The dining hall is aglow with twinkling lights and festive garlands. We take positions behind a long table laden with steaming urns of hot chocolate. The air is thick with the sweet aroma of cocoa butter and the excited chatter of the congregation as they file in from the cold. I scoop the rich, velvety liquid into Santa-themed paper cups, enjoying the simple act of spreading the holiday cheer.

Next to me, Tristan is doing the same, his dark hair falling over his brow as he bends to pour. As our first customers arrive, I marvel at the easy way he interacts with everyone who approaches. Gone is the aloof, sarcastic man I’ve known for years. In his place is someone warm and kind, whose laugh lines appear as he smiles.

“Merry Christmas!” Tristan says brightly to an elderly woman bundled up in a puffy red coat. “One hot chocolate coming right up. Would you like marshmallows with that?”

“Oh, yes, please!” she replies, her wrinkled face breaking into a delighted grin. “You’re such a dear. Bless you!”

I watch as Tristan carefully drops a generous handful of mini marshmallows into her cup before handing it over. The woman clasps his hand between her own with a grateful pat.

“Thank you, young man. It’s so nice to see a new face volunteering. You have such a good heart.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Tristan ducks his head, almost bashfully, and busies himself preparing the next cup.

As the old lady toddles off, Tristan glances my way and catches me staring. One dark eyebrow quirks up. “See something you like, Thompson?”

My cheeks heat and I quickly busy myself with the hot chocolate. “Just surprised to see you acting like a decent human being for once, Montgomery,” I say more for Dylan’s benefit. My brother is distributing chocolates on my other side.

“I’m full of surprises.” Tristan’s voice is low and teasing, sending little jolts of current through me.

I risk another peek at him from under my lashes. That easy grin is still in place, but his eyes shine with something deeper, something that causes a flutter of excitement to dance under my skin.

As the night progresses, I keep stealing glances at him. I’ve known Tristan for years, ever since he and Dylan became attached at the hip in college. But I’ve never seen this kinder, playful version of him. How he connects with every single one of his “customers,” from the tiniest toddler to the most loquacious elder, leaves me in awe. I try to puzzle out how he behaved the other years he’s been staying with us for the holidays, but I can’t seem to remember. In the past, I must’ve either kept my distance or my judgment must’ve been clouded by a mist of resentment.

But now that I’m close and definitely not in hate with him anymore, I can take it all in.

His patience never wavers, even as Mrs. Harrington launches into a lengthy tale about her prized petunias. I’ve always thought of Tristan as aloof, untouchable—the golden boy who could do no wrong in my brother’s eyes. But watching him tonight, I realize there’s so much more to him than meets the eye. The genuine warmth in his smile, the gentle way he listens to each person’s story… it’s a side of him I’ve never witnessed before.

Needing a moment to collect myself, I turn to grab more marshmallows from the bag behind me. Swinging back toward the table, I’m startled to find old Mr. Larson standing right in front of me, his wrinkled face expectant.

“Nina, my girl!” he says, his voice slightly too loud. “Pour me a cup of that delicious chocolate, would you? And don’t be stingy with the marshmallows!”

“Of course, Mr. Larson,” I reply with a smile, quickly filling his mug. “There you go. Enjoy!”

As I hand it over, my fingers brush his papery skin. Mr. Larson leans in conspiratorially.

“I remember when you and your brother were just little things,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Told your parents then that you’d grow up to be a heartbreaker. And look at you now!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” I deflect, intensely aware of Tristan listening in.

“Don’t be modest, girl! Why, if I was sixty years younger…”

From his station, Tristan makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh. I elbow him surreptitiously.

Thankfully, Mr. Larson gets distracted by the pastor and wanders off to find a seat. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. When I glance at Tristan, he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Not. One. Word,” I warn him through clenched teeth.

He mimes zipping his lips, eyes dancing with mirth. I scowl but can’t stop the twitching at my mouth. Something about Tristan’s playful teasing—so different from our previous scathing retorts—feels almost too intimate. It sparks a little explosion of fireworks in my belly that I’m not ready to examine too closely.

Turning back to my task, I try to ignore the hyperawareness of his solid presence at my side and the phantom tingle of his gaze on my face. And yet, as I sneak him another glance, taking in the firm line of his jaw and the graceful way he moves, I feel that fluttering warmth in my stomach again.

The evening progresses in a whirlwind of laughter and cheers. Despite my best efforts to focus on my task, I find my gaze continually drawn to Tristan. At one point, I’m so distracted admiring the way his broad shoulders fill out his fitted blue sweater that my grip on the cup I’m filling falters and suddenly there’s a waterfall of hot chocolate splashing across the floor. In my attempt to avoid the hot spill, I knock over a metal tray that clatters as it hits the linoleum.

“Shoot!” I exclaim, hurrying to set the ladle back into the urn before I make an even bigger mess.

Tristan is on his knees in an instant, grabbing a bunch of paper towels to mop up the puddle.

I get caught up watching him.

“Keep looking.” He tilts his head, one eyebrow raised. “And I might start thinking you’ve spilled on purpose just to see me clean.” He flashes me a playful grin as he wipes the linoleum. His words make me realize I’m staring at him sort of adoringly. “If you wanted a show, you could’ve just asked.”

I join him in crouching on the floor, pretending to be focused on sopping up the hot chocolate with a wad of paper towels.

“Oh, so now I can just ask for whatever I want from you, Montgomery?” I counter in a whisper, not wanting my words to carry to where Dylan is working nearby. I aim for a tone of jest, but there’s an undercurrent of daring beneath my question.

From his position on the floor, Tristan looks straight at me, his blue eyes gleaming with a mock-serious light. “Yeah, Thompson, you’ve got me on my knees and begging, in case you haven’t noticed.”

An overwhelming wave of heat rushes through me at his words, rendering me momentarily speechless. I open my mouth, but no clever retort comes out.

Get it together, Nina! Don’t let him fluster you like this. You’re giving it up too easily.

But with Tristan looking at me like that, his midnight hair tousled and the magnetic pull of his eyes locked on mine, I’m finding it extremely difficult to think straight…

After the chocolate incident, Tristan goes back to his station and I resume my serving, trying to actually concentrate on what I’m doing instead of ogling him. I succeed, mostly, at least until a tug on my sleeve from behind pulls me from my thoughts. I look down to find a naughty-faced boy, no more than six, peering up at me with mischievous eyes. “Can I have extra marshmallows, please?” he asks, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. The boy has already helped himself to a cup full of them that he’s now clutching to his chest.

Before I can respond, Tristan swoops in, scooping the boy up and onto his shoulders in one fluid motion. “Extra marshmallows, you say? I think we need an official marshmallow inspector for that!”

The child’s delighted giggles fill the air as Tristan parades him around, making a show of inspecting each cup of chocolate with exaggerated seriousness. My heart swells at the sight. Watching Tristan interact with the boy, so carefree and genuinely happy, I feel something even bigger shift inside me, exposing a truth I’ve been denying for the last two days.

I’m falling for Tristan Montgomery. Hard .

The realization hits me like a freight train, stealing a breath from my lungs. I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white as a wave of panic crashes over me.

I can’t fall for Tristan. I can’t. Not when I have no idea what his intentions are.

But as Tristan catches my eye over the sea of people, his gaze soft and filled with an emotion I don’t dare to try to puzzle, I know it’s already too late. I’m already halfway in love with him, and there’s no going back.

Now, I can only hope that he feels the same way—and that by falling in bed with him, I haven’t just set myself up for the biggest heartbreak of my life. Overwhelmed by these thoughts, I look away.

I fixate on the hot brown liquid before me, steering it as if its ripples could hold answers. The silver ladle clinks against the urn as my mind wanders to the car ride earlier with Tristan. His words replay in my head like a broken record, each phrase more confusing than the last.

That whispered, “I want you to be mine,” but that he followed with, “I don’t know what this thing is between us.”

I frown as I dollop a generous serving of hot chocolate, nearly missing the cup. What did he mean by that? It made my heart soar and then plummet as he added, “When there’s something to tell Dylan, we will.”

Does that mean there’s nothing to tell now? And what did he mean exactly by something ? Because apparently, sex isn’t something. Did he mean feelings? Are there no feelings on his side as of now?

I grip the ladle tighter, frustration bubbling up inside me. I feel like I’m trying to solve a riddle, but the clues keep contradicting each other.

The drive home from the church is a blur. My mind keeps replaying Tristan’s words from earlier in the car during our day trip. But it’s like a Rubik’s cube. Each time I think I’ve figured out a side, a square moves on another and I have to start over.

As I escape to my room, my emotions are a vortex of anticipation and nerves. I pace the floor, my eyes darting to the clock every few minutes. It’s past one, and the silence from Tristan’s end grows increasingly louder.

I expected him to come to my room at the first opportunity, but as the minutes tick by, my doubts grow. Should I go to his room instead? Are we playing cat and mouse? Is he making me wait on purpose? Is this another one of his games?

Just as I’m about to prowl in the hall, my phone lights up with a message from Tristan.

Prince Charming

Dylan’s keeping me up. I’ll come to you as soon as I can. Wait for me

Tension melts from my shoulders, while I shake my head that I still haven’t changed Tristan’s contact name back to his proper appellative. Who are you, Tristan? Prince Charming or a Prince of Darkness?