Page 112 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“So, you’re not bothered that it’s named after a parasitic plant?” I smirked.

He snorted. “No, still not a fan of that, but, well…” He stepped back and started pacing in the snow, rubbing his jaw.

I pinched my lips to keep from laughing.

Sam had always been the confident, steady one of our group—even more so than Jo. When stuff hit the fan, Sam was the voice of reason.

Calm. Collected.

So, excuse me if watching him unravel a bit while trying to tell me something made me a bit giddy.

Relieved, even.

Because maybe, maybe all of this wasn’t just in my head.

He finally stopped moving, and blurted, “I don’t want you to date James.”

My breath caught in my throat, but somehow, I managed a small “Why?”

“Because…” He closed the space between us, taking my hands again. “Because I want to date you. You’re it for me, Gianna. You always have been.”

His beautiful words made me feel lighter than air, and I wondered if I’d be up there dancing with the snowflakes if he didn’t hold on to me, if he hadn’t been my anchor.

Sam had always been that for me.

James was like that burst of excitement you felt when you decided to wander off the trail for a bit, not knowing where you were going or how far you should go before you turned back.

But Sam was my true north.

The steady point of a needle, the guiding light in a star-cluttered sky that I could always count on to bring me home.

The same realization that had bloomed in my heart when we’d nearly kissed in the den at my house, when he had leaned in close during bingo, and countless other times, spread throughout my chest, leaving me dizzy with anticipation.

I smiled and lifted a gloved hand to his cheek. “Sam,” I whispered and lifted my chin ever so slightly, waiting.

An invitation.

My invitation.

Please, please accept it.

And he did.

Sam smiled a second before his lips finally, finally brushed against mine. Sparks sped through every nerve of my body, wrapping me in a delicious, numbing warmth while the snow continued to fall around us, quietly shushing our racing hearts.

This was what I always imagined a kiss should feel like—charged, intoxicating, giddy, but comfortable. Familiar.

Like we had been doing this all our lives.

His fingertips pressed tighter around my back, and my hands trailed up his chest before looping around his jacket collar, settling in his snow-dampened hair at the nape of his neck. I opened my mouth slightly and sighed as the kiss deepened.

Sam tasted of vanilla and anise and peppermint and…

Tears.

Tears?

I pulled back and blinked in confusion, my heart jumping into my throat when I saw the damp streaks on his face. “Sam?”