Best Friends Don't Kiss

“You have my word,” he responds without hesitation. “And Avie?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Don’t forget to check the itinerary email.”

I smile. Talking to my dad always makes me feel better. “I won’t, Dad.”

We end the call shortly after that, and I get back to work on making Billy Bob beautiful.

First, lights.

Then, garland.

Then, ornaments.

Luke helps with all of the above and then heads to the kitchen to do something.

I sprinkle a little tinsel and put the star on top, plug in the lights, and stand back to take in the glorious view.

“He’s perfect.” I grin.

“Not too shabby,” Luke comments and holds out a white mug toward me.

“What’s this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

My eyes go wide in surprise. “When did you make hot chocolate?”

“When you started to get a little wild with the tinsel,” he responds through a chuckle. “I feared I was going to end up a casualty.”

I giggle at that, but when I go to take a sip, I pause. Not only did Luke make hot chocolate, he made hot chocolate and dressed it all up with some serious holiday pizzaz.

“You added marshmallows? And whipped cream? And a freaking candy cane?” I glance between him and the mug. “Oh my God, you’re not the grinch! You’re a little closet Christmas lover!”

“No, Ace, you’ve got it all wrong.” He shakes his head on a chuckle, and I put a defiant hand to my hip.

“Explain it to me then, Mr. Secret Holiday Spirit.”

“I’m best friends with a Christmas lover,” he answers with a soft smile. “And it goes without saying that I like seeing you happy.”

Instantly, my heart does that weird flip-floppy thing in my chest again.

God, Luke just might be the best guy I’ve ever known.

Wake up, sister. He is the best guy you’ve ever known.December 21st

LukeAva fidgets beside me, her knee bouncing up and down as the rest of the passengers on our flight finish boarding the plane.

Today—fondly called D-Day by Ava—is the day we fly to her hometown of Lakewood, Vermont. And thanks to all my years working for this airline, we get to do it in first class.

“Hey, Ace?” I rest my hand on her thigh, gently slowing her knee’s movement to a stop. She looks over at me, and a little crinkle appears between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Are you sure?” she questions. “Because, right now, I have so much anxiety, I feel like they could forgo gasoline and just hook me up to the engine. It’s either that or I might run off this freaking flight before they shut the doors.”

Memories of that first day in college, when she set her dorm on fire and then proceeded to run away from the flaming-hot-plate disaster, fill my mind.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“You want to leave?” She is already nodding. “Yeah, we should definitely leave, right? I’ll just tell everyone we had the flu or something and had to stay home. No big deal,” she tosses back, even beginning to unbuckle the seat belt secured around her waist, but I quickly place my hand over hers to stop the mid-freak-out momentum.

“We’re not leaving.” I shake my head and fight the urge to burst into laughter. Damn, she’s worked up. “But we are going to sneak a little something-something before the flight attendants start giving their spiel on no-smoking rules and emergency exit rows.”

Without preamble, I lean down and pull out two small water bottles—filled with liquor—from my bag. Ones I packed in preparation for this very moment. Ava is a nervous flyer to begin with—add in the whole high school reunion, her sister’s wedding, and that I’ve come along as her pretend boyfriend, and I knew we were sitting on the mental precipice of a disaster.

I hold one out to her and she shakes her head. “No thanks. I’m not thirsty.”

“That’s good. It’s not water.”

She studies me closely for a second, and finally, when I wink, she gets it.

“Booze?” she questions. “You brought booze?”

“It’s not just any booze. It’s peppermint schnapps. And I snuck it. Technically, we’re not allowed to bring our own alcohol on the plane.” I uncap one of the small bottles and hand it to her. “Like drinking a candy cane. So, basically, it’s like Christmas in your mouth.”

She stares at the bottle. “Pretty sure it’s going to taste like shit.”

“Christmas skepticism from you? Isn’t that illegal or something?”

She rolls her eyes, and I smile.

“You won’t know until you try.”

“If I puke, I’m directing it straight into your lap.”

A soft laugh escapes my lips, but I don’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to know that I’m planning the same. No longer a fidgeting, anxious mess, my ultimate “calm Ava down” mission is complete.

After a few huffs and sighs, Ava takes the bottle from my hands, pinches her nose, and places the liquor bottle to her lips, letting the peppermint schnapps flow down her throat. Once it’s empty, she takes a hard swallow and scrunches up her face into disgust. “Yuck. That’s horrible.”