Lovefaking For The Holidays

Mara took a careful sip of cocoa. It was too hot. Her tongue burned, which was useful. Pain gave her face something to do besides betray her.

“No,” she said.

Tessa’s eyebrows climbed. “No, he isn’t coming, or no, you’re not answering?”

“No, he isn’t coming.”

“Pity.” Cal glanced toward the square’s arched entrance. “He was seen at the train station this morning.”

Mara’s fingers tightened around the cup.

The brass quartet stumbled into “Winter Wonderland.” A child shrieked with delight near the ornament stall. The mayor climbed onto the little wooden platform beneath the tree, tapping the microphone until it squealed.

“He’s in town?” Mara asked, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near hostage negotiation.

“Apparently,” Owen said. “Though you’d know that if you’d answered any of our messages.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?” Nina asked.

“Not answering messages.”

Tessa laughed, but her gaze remained sharp. “You two haven’t spoken since last winter, have you?”

Mara looked at the dark windows of the shops bordering the square. Last winter, Jonah had stood beneath those same windows with snow caught in his hair and a suitcase at his feet. He had asked her to come with him to Boston. She had asked him to stay. Neither of them had been willing to say the humiliating thing beneath the argument: Please choose me.

He had left before midnight.

“No,” Mara said.

A cheer rose near the platform. The mayor lifted one hand, and the crowd leaned toward him.

“Briar Glen,” he announced, “we have one special surprise before the tree lighting!”

Mara’s stomach dropped.

Tessa’s smile sharpened. “Oh.”

“No,” Mara said again, this time to the universe.

The mayor gestured grandly toward the far side of the square. “After a year apart, our favorite holiday sweethearts are finally home together!”

Every head turned.

Jonah stepped out from behind the cider tent.

He had not changed in any of the ways that mattered. Dark hair, wind-tossed at the edges. Broad shoulders beneath a charcoal coat. That same unhurried walk, as if the world had never once managed to make him late for anything important.

He saw Mara.

For one suspended second, neither of them moved.

Then Jonah’s gaze dropped to the cocoa stain spreading across her glove. His mouth twitched.

Of course. Of all the things he could have noticed, he noticed the mess.

The crowd began to clap.

Mara heard Tessa whisper, “You didn’t tell us.”

“I didn’t know,” Mara whispered back.

Jonah crossed the square, the applause following him like an escort. When he stopped in front of Mara, the cold seemed to gather between them, bright and exact.

“Hi,” he said.

The word was absurdly familiar. It belonged to kitchens at midnight, to stolen fries in his car, to the morning after their first kiss when neither of them had known where to put their hands.

Mara lifted her chin. “Hi.”

His eyes flicked over her face. “You look surprised.”

“I’m deciding whether to blame you or the mayor.”

“Blame the mayor. I’ve been here for six hours and only caused two minor disasters.”

“Only two?”

“One involved a ladder.”

The applause faded into expectant murmuring. Tessa was practically vibrating beside them.

Jonah glanced toward the platform, then back at Mara. “What did he say?”

“That we’re favorite holiday sweethearts.”

“Were we?”

“Not according to the breakup.”

Something changed in his expression - not much, just a quieting around the mouth. The old Jonah would have reached for her hand. This Jonah kept both hands in his coat pockets.

The mayor beamed into the microphone. “Come on up, you two! Give Briar Glen the reunion it’s been waiting for!”

Mara’s pulse stumbled.

“No,” she said under her breath.

Jonah leaned closer. His coat carried the clean scent of cedar and cold air. “If you run, they’ll know.”

“If I stay, they’ll know.”

“Not necessarily.”

She looked at him. “You have a plan?”

“I have a face people trust.”

“Your face once convinced me that moving in together after three months was sensible.”

“It was sensible.”

“You owned one fork.”

“We were young.”

“We were twenty-nine.”

“Emotionally young.”

Despite herself, a laugh caught in her throat. It vanished when the mayor called their names again.

Jonah offered his arm.

Mara stared at it.

The gesture was old-fashioned and irritatingly effective. His sleeve brushed her knuckles when he held it out, a small invitation, not a demand. He waited.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” she said.

“It’s a walk to the platform.”

“And after that?”

“We smile. We stand near each other. We survive the lighting.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m enjoying watching you threaten a town official with your eyes.”

She should have refused. She should have stepped away and let Briar Glen discover that their beloved reunion was a clerical error with excellent cheekbones.

Instead, the crowd shifted around them, closing every exit with wool coats, paper cups, and delighted faces.

Mara slid her hand through his arm.

His body went still beneath her fingers.

Not warmly still. Not with the easy adjustment of a man welcoming her back. More like a door locking.

The realization stung more than it should have.

“Relax,” she murmured. “I’m not proposing.”

“Good.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I sound cautious.”

“You always did mistake caution for wisdom.”

“And you always mistook impulse for honesty.”

They reached the platform.

The mayor clasped his hands. “There they are! Come closer, you two. The whole town wants a picture.”

Mara’s smile held. Her fingers did not. They curled into Jonah’s sleeve, feeling the firm warmth of his arm through the fabric.

The mayor stepped down and raised his phone. “Now, Jonah, put your arm around her.”

Jonah’s gaze dropped to Mara.

There it was - that pause. That maddening sliver of consideration he offered her now, as if she were a stranger whose boundaries required careful reading.

Mara hated how much she needed it.

She gave the smallest nod.

His arm came around her waist.

Heat pressed through her coat. His hand settled at her side, not possessive, not intimate. Precisely where a man might place it for a photograph of a woman he had not touched in a year.

The crowd made a collective sound of approval.

Mara smiled harder.

“Closer,” the mayor called.

Jonah’s hand tightened by a fraction. “Do you want closer?”

The question slid under her skin.

“No,” she whispered.

“Then we don’t.”

The mayor frowned. “You used to be inseparable!”

“We’ve matured,” Mara said brightly.

Jonah’s mouth almost moved.

The camera flashed.

Then another.

Tessa shouted, “Kiss her!”

The square erupted.

Mara’s face went hot. “Absolutely not.”

Jonah turned his head toward her. He was close enough now that she could see the tiny white scar beside his eyebrow, the one he’d gotten opening a wine bottle with a screwdriver because he had refused to admit he needed help.

“Do you want me to?” he asked.

The crowd chanted their names.

Mara looked at his mouth and remembered how easily it had once made promises. She remembered the night he left: his hand against the doorframe, his voice rough with exhaustion, the space between them full of everything neither had said.

“No,” she said.

His arm left her waist immediately.

The loss of it was ridiculous. It was also unmistakable.

The mayor cleared his throat, disappointed but professional. “Well! A warm embrace, then?”

Mara turned to Jonah before he could step away. The town was watching. Tessa was watching. Somewhere, a child was chanting, “Hug! Hug! Hug!”

She put both hands on Jonah’s chest.

Under her palms, his breath caught.

That was the first honest thing he had given her all evening.

Mara leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. He stayed rigid for one beat, then brought his arms around her shoulders. His chin brushed her hair. His coat was cold at the surface and warm beneath, and the familiar shape of him made her body remember before her mind could object.

The crowd cheered.

Jonah’s hand spread between her shoulder blades.

“Smile,” he murmured near her ear.

“I am smiling.”

“You’re grinding your teeth.”

“You’re lucky I’m not biting.”

His breath touched her temple. “That would be a memorable reconciliation.”

She pulled back first.

The mayor’s phone flashed again. The tree lights burst on overhead, thousands of white bulbs turning the square into a glittering lie.

Tessa grabbed Mara’s arm the moment they stepped off the platform. “You’re back together.”

“We are not.”

Jonah answered at the same time. “We’re figuring it out.”

Mara swung toward him.

He looked as surprised as she felt.

Tessa’s eyes filled with instant, ruthless joy. “Figuring it out?”

“Publicly,” Mara said.

Jonah’s gaze held hers. “Apparently.”

Nina clasped her hands. “You have to come to the house tonight. Everyone’s there. We’re doing the old holiday dinner tomorrow, and this is the best news Briar Glen has had since the bakery started selling bourbon pie.”

“I can’t,” Mara said.

“You can,” Tessa replied. “You’re staying at the inn, right?”

Mara’s silence answered for her.

Jonah looked down at her. “You didn’t tell them?”

“There was no them to tell.”

The words came out sharper than intended. His face changed again, the caution giving way to something guarded.

Tessa, mercifully oblivious, hooked her arm through Mara’s. “Perfect. Jonah can drive you.”

“I have a car.”

“It’s buried behind the library because you parked during the parade setup,” Jonah said.

Mara stared. “You saw that?”

“I saw the ticket.”

“You got me a ticket?”

“I paid it.”

The answer knocked the next one out of her.

For a moment, the square seemed too bright. The tree lights reflected in his eyes, turning them almost gold.

“You didn’t have to,” she said.

“I know.”

That was worse.

Tessa was already telling Nina about the dinner menu. Cal had begun taking bets on whether Mara and Jonah would make it through dessert without fighting.

Mara lowered her voice. “You cannot tell them this is real.”

“I’m not planning to.”

“Because you don’t want them disappointed?”

“Because I don’t want either of us trapped.”

She studied him. “Then why did you say we’re figuring it out?”

“Because you looked like you wanted to disappear.”

“I did want to disappear.”

“I noticed.”

The old instinct rose - to accuse him of noticing too late, of seeing her only when she was already halfway gone. She swallowed it. The square pressed around them, festive and loud, but beneath the carols she could hear the quiet thing they had carried all year.

“You don’t get to rescue me from a misunderstanding you helped create,” she said.

“I know.”

“You don’t get to touch me for photographs and then act like this is some generous favor.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t touch you for the photograph.”

“Then why?”

He looked past her toward the glowing tree.

When he spoke, his voice had lost its banter. “Because you asked me to.”

The honesty of it left her unsteady.

Jonah drew a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket. “If we’re doing this, there are rules.”

Mara took it. “You made a contract?”

“Boundaries.”

“It says ‘no kissing.’”

“Important.”

“‘No sleeping in the same room.’”

“Also important.”

“‘No discussing the breakup after nine p.m.’”

“That one is for my survival.”

She looked up. “You came prepared to fake date me?”

“I came prepared to keep my family from staging an intervention and Tessa from locking us in a room until we confessed our feelings.”

“I would never.”

Tessa called from several feet away, “I absolutely would!”

Mara looked back at the list. Beneath the rules, Jonah had written one final line.

No pretending when we’re alone.

Her throat tightened.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means we don’t have to perform for each other.”

The tree lights shimmered above them. Her fingers pressed into the paper until it creased.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I drive you to the inn, we tell everyone the mayor misread the situation, and tomorrow gets awkward in a completely different way.”

“And if I say yes?”

His eyes met hers.

“Then I take you to dinner. I stand beside you when people ask questions. I let them think we’re trying again.”

Mara should have felt relieved. Instead, she felt the dangerous pull of being chosen in public, even if the choice was theater.

“Will you be convincing?” she asked.

Jonah glanced at the distance between them. “Not yet.”

The answer was so blunt it almost made her laugh.

“Charming.”

“Honest.”

“That’s new.”

“It’s not new.” His gaze dropped to her mouth and lifted again. “It’s just less useful.”

The crowd began to move toward the cider tent, carrying the holiday with them. Tessa waved impatiently. Jonah held out his hand.

Not his arm this time.

His hand.

Mara stared at it, then at the list of rules.

“No chemistry,” she said.

“None.”

“No kissing.”

“Definitely none.”

“No pretending when we’re alone.”

His expression softened by a fraction. “That one matters.”

She placed her hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and careful, and the contact sent no spark through her. No rush. No impossible return of the past.

Only the awareness of his thumb resting against her knuckle.

Only the knowledge that he was watching her feel nothing.

“Fine,” Mara said. “We’ll pretend we’re back together for the holidays.”

Jonah nodded, as if she had agreed to a business arrangement.

Then he lifted their joined hands and called to the waiting crowd, “Mara and I will see everyone at dinner tomorrow.”

A cheer went up.

Mara smiled at the town, at the lights, at the lie now wearing her name.

Jonah’s hand tightened around hers.

Not chemistry.

Not yet.

But when he looked at her, he looked less like a man pretending and more like a man wondering how long they could keep pretending before one of them broke the rules.

End of chapter one. 39 more chapters and about 99,990 words in the full book.