Current Day

My jaw ticks as my sister, Cara, waltzes into the kitchen, singing that Godforsaken song, “Walking on Sunshine.” If she’s not singing it, she’s humming it. All. The. Damn. Time. Today is extra grating since she’s oblivious of the bear ready to pounce. I pour myself a cup of coffee and channel the good vibes, like catching the high heat when the batter swings through for strike three.

“Hey, big brother.” She grabs a mug and flanks my side. I turn and lean against the countertop.

“You came in pretty late last night.” I take a sip and study her reaction. She rolls her eyes—typical gesture whenever I drill her about her whereabouts—and ironically, the childish behavior relaxes me. At least she doesn’t seem hungover.

“Please, don’t start. I’m almost nineteen years old.” She grabs her mug and moseys over to the table. “I’m old enough to stay out late.”

“Believe me, I’m aware. You better not have been with some guy.” It may be shitty of me to say, but Cara’s naive, and there are a lot of assholes out there. I should know. I am one.

“Oh my God, I was with friends.” She huffs and plops into the seat. “I may not live on campus, but I have met some people, you know.”

“I don’t like you running around that late. Mom trusts me to look after you when you’re here.” I don’t stop my grunt. She can call me overprotective all she wants, but I still don’t like her out at all hours of the night. Not on my watch.

“You’re one to talk.” Her forehead scrunches into those question mark lines. She jerks her head backward and then scans the entire living space as if looking for something.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Did your hookup leave already? Usually, Bambi or Barbie comes bubbling in here by now.”

“I’ve never hooked up with anyone by those names.” I don’t think. I push off the counter and pull out a chair directly in front of her.

“Oh, I bet at least one of those girls had that name.”

She may be right. Most of the time, I don’t know their names or remember them after they leave. Something I never cared about until now that I’m staring at my objectively attractive younger sister. I certainly wouldn’t want a prick taking advantage of her. My hand tightens around the mug at the thought.

“I didn’t hook up with anyone last night.” Or for the past three weeks, for that matter. Not from a lack of trying. Ever since a certain blonde-headed girl slammed back into my life, I can’t follow through with the score. It’s like Mia’s memory cockblocks me. And it’s only a memory. I’ve only seen her once since the photo shoot, but I’ve thought about her fiery blue eyes glaring back at me every single day. She’s spunkier than I remember. We always had good banter between us, but she was more innocent back then.

“No wonder you’re grouchy. What’s the matter, big brother? Losing your touch?”

“Hardly.” I push off the counter and join her at the table. “When are you heading home?”

Her gaze drops, and she takes a long sip before answering. “As soon as I get ready.”

“Make sure you let Mom know.”

She tosses me a look, but my bases need to be covered. Otherwise, Mom will worry, and the last thing we want is a worried mother.

We finish our coffee, and I head to the living room with her tagging behind me.

“It’s four weeks before Christmas; don’t you think you should get your tree?”

I glance at the empty space that would otherwise be occupied by the Christmas tradition and grunt. “Jax was the decorator. Since he’s practically living in New York, I wasn’t going to mess with it.”

Her gasp fills the air, and I turn a surprised glance toward her.

“What?” I ask.

“We’re Catholic. It’s a requirement to have one.”

“I somehow missed that in religion class.”

Her eyes narrow at my flat tone. “You’re ridiculous. You have to get one.”

“Why? It’s not like I have anything to decorate it with. Jax took care of all that. And he’s moved most of his stuff to his house.

“Seriously. It’s like I don’t even know you. Ever since Jax left, this apartment is nothing but depressing. You’re in dire need of holiday cheer around here.”

“And you think a Christmas tree will do the trick?”

“Of course. What screams merriment more than a tree?” When I don’t answer, she flicks her hand at me and walks away. “I’m getting ready and then taking off.”

“It’s just a tree.”

“You’re being a Grinch,” she hollers behind her.

“Text Mom that you’re going home.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

The door clicks shut, and I turn back to the empty corner where the tree stands every year. Jax spends most of his time in New York, and I hate to admit, without him, the space is a little depressing. A Grinch, though? I’m not all “Bah! Humbug!” about Christmas. I glance toward Cara’s door and then back to the corner’s vacant hardwood floor.

Well, damn. Looks like I’m getting a tree.

Two hours later, I pull up to Smith Brothers’ Tree Farm. Vehicles are parked everywhere, but I somehow manage to find a spot. Serves me right for listening to Cara.

I hop to the ground, and about twenty yards away, a baled Christmas tree sways in the hands of some female. All I see is an off-white parka holding on to a tree. I chuckle under my breath and pace the distance to help. When I approach her backside, I freeze from the sight of the royal blue vehicle parked to the side. The very car that is tinier than the Douglas Fir currently threatening to take the woman down.

Mia?