He took her hand. “Evan Wolfe, but call me Wolfe.”
Sophie saw the name processing through Peyton’s brain; saw the instant it clicked for her. Her hand dropped from his like a stone and she took a step back, the smile nowhere in sight anymore. “The guy with the newspaper column?”
“Book critic,” Wolfe said without flinching.
“Oh yeah, I know,” Peyton said, her voice saturated with her ire. She shot a look at Sophie. “Why is he here?”
“He was Will’s plus-one,” Sophie explained with a sigh. “Will’s sick, so I said he could stay for a bit.”
Peyton’s mouth quirked in distaste. “You’re way too nice, Soph.”
Wolfe gave them what he undoubtedly thought was a dashing smile. “Well, well, well. It looks like my reputation precedes me. And here I thought I wouldn’t have anything to talk about tonight.” And then he nodded at the two of them and disappeared into the kitchen area.
Peyton turned to Sophie. “What the hell? Why didn’t you just turn him away?”
Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know. He was here, and it was cold out there, and he brought chocolates from Sweet Cute. The thought of sending him back made me feel bad.”
Peyton groaned and slung an arm around Sophie. “Your nice streak is incorrigible. But let’s go back there and mingle, shall we?”
Sophie sighed. “We shall.”
3
After a quick sidebar with Sophie, Peyton, Marco, and Jonah rejoined the group. Sophie kept an eye on them even as she talked with Ivy about her and Quinn’s latest vacation to Bora Bora. She’d told her friends who the dark-haired stranger was and had given them explicit instructions to not say anything inappropriate (Jonah), throw him out on his ass (Marco), or poison his drink with nightshade (Peyton).
Meanwhile, Sophie noticed, Quinn and Wolfe seemed to be deep into a conversation by the entryway about kitchen herb gardens. Good. Quinn was easy to get along with, even for someone like Wolfe.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Wolfe looked at her. Then, very deliberately, he picked up a book cover cookie from his plate, held it just so to make sure Sophie saw it, and devoured it whole. It was clearly a message for her, given the cheeky half smile on his face. Glaring at him for a long moment, Sophie pointedly looked away, her nose in the air. She hoped her message was clear, too: I refuse to be brought down to your level at my Christmas party.
“Ivy, honey?” Quinn called, her full cheeks pink in the warmth of the cabin. “What’s that herb I can never remember the name of but that I love? The one you say makes my breath smell like pot but that definitely does not have that effect?”
Ivy grinned at Sophie. “Excuse me. This is going to take a while.”
Sophie laughed and threw out her arm, gesturing for Ivy to go to her wife’s aid. Then, she wandered over to where Marco and Jonah were talking seriously, heads bent together. “Hello, friends. You look rather nefarious. What are you plotting?”
They both looked up at her, eyes wide in identical expressions of faux-innocence. “Whatever do you mean?” Jonah said. “We were just talking about … property prices.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Property prices. You guys both rent.”
“But we might buy someday!” Marco, all indignant, clutched his glass of sangria. “You don’t know!”
Sipping her own drink, Sophie regarded him seriously. “You’re talking about Wolfe, aren’t you?” She made sure to say his name quietly, so as to not attract any unwanted attention. He seemed to still be deep in conversation with Ivy and Quinn, but you never knew.
Jonah sighed dramatically. “Why do we even bother?” he asked Marco. “She’s onto us.”
“It’s that feminine intuition.” Marco nodded sagely at him before turning to Sophie. “Do you want me to quietly, you know…” He cocked his head and waggled his eyebrows.
“I have no idea what that means,” Sophie replied, “but no. I don’t want you to do anything. Just leave him be. Once he’s warmed up a bit and had some food, I’m sure he’ll want to leave anyway.” She glanced at Wolfe over her shoulder. He was tall, over six feet, and he loomed over both Ivy and Quinn, who were tall women themselves.
“Uh oh! What do we have here?” Peyton called, over from the slow-cooker where she’d been loading up on grape jelly meatballs (which sounded gross, but were a much-loved family recipe passed down from Sophie’s grandma). She was looking over at Ivy and Quinn, a wide grin on her face. Her cheeks were rosy, and Sophie guessed she’d had more than one glass of whatever she was drinking. Peyton got silly fast. “I spy two ladies under the mistletoe!”
Ivy and Quinn both tipped their heads back, spotted the mistletoe hanging from the archway, and laughed. “I think she’s right.” Quinn wrapped her arms around Ivy’s slender waist as Wolfe, smiling, stepped aside. “I guess you have to kiss me now.”
Ivy’s eyes shone with so much love and tenderness, Sophie felt a pang in her heart. “You mean I get to.” She pressed her lips to her wife’s. Quinn immediately pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.
The party broke out in spontaneous applause, everyone hooting and hollering. Peyton wolf-whistled. Sophie joined along in the cheering, even though a voice inside her asked quietly when it would be her turn. When would she find love like that? And what was wrong with her that it hadn’t happened for her yet—not even once?
Sophie sighed. Maybe it was best not to open that can of worms.
“You guys do the mistletoe thing?” Wolfe had joined her small group of Marco and Jonah.
“We do,” Sophie allowed. “Don’t you?”
He shrugged, his shoulders moving easily in his just-form-fitting-enough sweater. “Not really. Mistletoe is just decoration.”
Jonah scoffed loudly from Sophie’s other side, and both she and Wolfe turned to look at him. “Typical,” Jonah said, while pretending to sip
