The only good thing about being dumped in December is that you're already equipped with the world's coziest arsenal for emotional self-destruction. Every year, Hallmark sets a banquet table of overly optimistic holiday rom-coms, and this year I'm binging them like I'm in training for the Olympics of Poor Life Choices.
I've escaped my apartment in Sleepy Hollow, NY, for our family cabin in Smoldering Pines—a little slice of holiday heaven Mom and her best friend Julia bought twenty years ago in Vermont.
It’s a rustic three-bedroom log cabin with a wrap-around deck, complete with the hot tub Dad installed ten summers ago, back when things were simpler. Usually, both families descend on the cabin for Christmas, but Mom and Julia are off cruising European rivers, drowning their own holiday sorrows in mulled wine and Christmas markets.
The cabin was supposed to host my romantic getaway with my boyfriend Dan. Until he broke up with me. Now it's hosting my spectacular holiday meltdown.
The main space is open-concept—a testament to Mom and Julia's renovation skills—with the living room flowing into a small dining area and modern kitchen. A stone fireplace anchors one wall, flanked by built-in bookshelves Dad crafted himself.
A plush sofa faces the hearth, where I've been camped out since arriving six hours ago, drowning my sorrows in Hallmark movies.
Two bedrooms branch off the short hallway, with a shared bathroom between them. Despite the cabin's modest size, Mom and Julia somehow managed to make it feel spacious enough for both families during the holidays, even if it meant Julia’s son, Finn, and I usually ended up sleeping in the living room.
With a wool blanket, a mug of hot cocoa topped with a gratuitous mountain of whipped cream, marshmallows, and an impressive lack of shame, I'm deep into torture-by-Hallmark-movie number three when the cabin door swings open with a blast of winter air.
"Exactly how many versions of 'Girl Meets Boy Under the Mistletoe' are you planning to watch?" a familiar voice says.
I clutch my cocoa to my chest, heart stuttering as Finn Parker materializes in the doorway like the ghost of Christmas past, looking unfairly put-together. He's six-foot-two and fills the frame, his broad shoulders dusted with snow, and his brown hair artfully tousled like he just stepped out of a winter fashion spread—the kind of guy who could make an REI clearance rack look like Fashion Week.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, bristling at his intrusion.
He drops his bag by the door. "Nice to see you too, Winters."
"I mean—" I swipe at my eyes with my sleeve and run a hand through my light brown hair, trying to smooth it into something presentable. At five-foot-three, I've always felt like a hobbit next to him, especially now as I'm curled up in my misery nest of blankets. "I thought you were spending Christmas with in Aspen."
"Change of plans." He sheds his dark coat and scarf, then ruffles his hair, which has been windblown to look perfectly disheveled. He's always had that perpetually broody, slightly mysterious look, with the kind of sharp jawline that could slice through fruitcake. "Chelsea and I broke up."
"Oh." I sit up straighter, torn between sympathy and lingering anger. "When?”
“A few weeks ago. But it’s been a long time coming.”
“I'm sorry," I say lamely.
"Are you?" His eyes meet mine, and something passes between us—regret, pain, nostalgia.
"Of course I am," I say, but it comes out defensive. "Just because you ghosted me for the past year doesn't mean—"
"I didn't ghost you," he says, heading for the kitchen with his grocery bags. "I've been swamped with work."
"You work from home." His cybersecurity world lived entirely in his laptop.
It's a lame excuse, but I don't press him further. I don't have the energy right now. Besides, it might be nice having Finn around. He's one of my oldest friends, Julia's only kid. We grew up spending holidays together. It could be like old times.
"Where's Dan?" Finn asks, poking his head into the bedroom where I dumped my stuff.
"He swiped left on our relationship."
Finn freezes, his back to me. For a moment, the only sound is the TV, where Marcy just spilled eggnog all over a hot guy in flannel.
"And you can keep your smartass comments to yourself. Being single at twenty-nine is hard enough."
"Noted," he says, plopping on the couch next to me as I slice my gaze toward him.
"The couch is taken. You can sit on the chair."
Finn snorts. "The whole couch?"
"Apparently you needed space from me for a year, and now I need space from you."
"Look," he says, his voice tight. "I screwed up. I get it. But I'm here now."
"Because your girlfriend dumped you and you had nowhere else to go."
He turns, his expression hardening. "That's not the only reason I came."
"Then why else? Did our moms call you in for a wellness check?"
Instead of answering, he glances at the TV.
"How many of these have you watched today? Four? Five?" he asks with a smirk.
I toss a pillow at him, which he dodges. "Shut up."
"When did Dan break up with you?"
"Four days ago. By text."
Finn's smirk fades. "What a dick."
"Yeah, well." I shrug. "At least I got dumped before the end of the year so I can start fresh on January 1. A new year, a new me."
It's dripping with sarcasm.
He sinks into the armchair, eyeing me. "You're missing your usual sparkle."
"Breaking news: just got dumped like last week's leftovers."
"I know. But you're extra spicy today."
"Had to level up my sarcasm while you were busy not existing in my life."
Finn frowns. "Never thought I'd miss that toxic positivity of yours."
I give a non-committal grumble. "Look at us—two losers who got dumped in the season of giving."
"Who you calling a loser?" He spreads his arms out like he's a gift. "Besides, you're the one watching Marcy Jingleberry bone for some guy named Chase in flannel."
"His name is Chad, and I'm feeling my feelings, okay?"
"Real feelings about Dan? Or faux feelings about made-up characters?"
I meet his gaze, challenging. "Which answer will make you shut up?"
He looks away. "Fair enough."
The silence stretches between us, full of all the things we're not saying. After several uncomfortable minutes, I clear my throat. "So... are you staying?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Do you care what I want?"
His jaw tightens. "Holly—"
"Your bedroom is free," I cut him off. "But if you're staying, we need ground rules."
"Such as?"
"Such as no psychoanalyzing my Hallmark movies, no judging my hot-cocoa-to-whipped-cream ratio, and no..." I wave my hand vaguely, "bringing up stuff we're not ready to talk about."
He considers this, then nods. "Deal. But I also have a condition."
"What's that?"
"We have fun. Like we used to."
Like we used to. Before everything got complicated.
"Fine," I say, settling back into the couch. "But I'm not sharing my cocoa. Or my mini marshmallows."
He grins, and for a moment, I see a flash of the old Finn—my childhood friend, my partner in crime, the guy who used to make everything better just by showing up.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Winters." We stare at the television as the couple gets tricked into entering a blindfolded kissing contest. "Do we really have to watch this mush?"
I toss a pillow at him, but he ducks, grinning in triumph.
"Okay, Mr. Let's-Move-On-Already. Some of us need a little bit of time to get over our heartbreak."
"Touché." Finn looks over at me with that skeptical brow of his, which makes him look like a grumpy lumberjack. "And it's bruised, not broken."
"Same diff," I say.
"I just don't see the point in crying over some jerk who didn't appreciate you," he says, like someone who has clearly forgotten that he, too, is currently single. "It's better to get on with it."
"Oh, yeah?" I say, raising a brow. "And how's the whole I-Don't-Feel-Things working for you?"
"Fantastic," he says.
I want to prod him, but there's something in his gaze that tells me not to. So instead, I lean back, crossing my arms. "I guess we're both going to have a very different type of holiday than we'd planned."
"Not necessarily." He shrugs. "I mean, it could still be fun. And who needs Dan and Chelsea when we've got, you know, all of this?" He gestures to the glowing fire, the glittering candles I lit around the cabin earlier, and the snow-covered mountain scenery outside the windows.
I can't help but laugh. "Yeah, just you, me, and the Hallmark channel."
He rolls his eyes and picks up the remote, flicking off the movie with zero ceremony. "There. Let's liven things up." He glances at me with that familiar mischievous spark I've known since I was eight and he was ten. "How about... truth or dare?"
"Finn, we're not kids anymore."
"Yeah, but it's a great way to forget about our sad lives."
I raise an eyebrow. "You're serious?"
"Yep," he says, holding up his hands. "I'll start off nice and easy. Truth or dare, Holly?"
I look at him for a beat, and then say, "Dare." If I'm gonna be stuck here with him, I might as well make the most of it. Hell, it may even be fun. "What've you got, Parker?"
Finn smirks and drums his fingers on the table. "I dare you to go into town and make out with the first guy you see."
"What?" I sit up straight. "I thought we were doing gentle dares."
"A dare's a dare," he says, his smirk deepening. "Besides, we're both single now."
"I can't just walk up to a guy and kiss him. This isn't the nineties."
Finn snorts and pops one of the marshmallows from my hot cocoa into his mouth.
"Hey! No marshmallow stealing!"
He rolls his eyes, ignoring my comment. "Any guy would be thrilled for you to maul him with your mouth. Trust me."
I pause, catching on the word "thrilled" but quickly recover. "Not gonna happen."
"Fine. Then I dare you to get off this couch, stop being so emo, and use the cheesiest pickup line I give you on the first guy you see in town."
I groan but stand up, pulling on my cream-colored puffer coat. "Whatever. But don't think you're getting out of this. After I humiliate myself with some poor stranger, you're next."
Main Street in Smoldering Pines looks like someone mugged a Pottery Barn Christmas display and strung it across the entire town. Twinkling white lights drape between Victorian-style lampposts, and every shop window competes for Most Likely to Induce Sugar Plum Fairy Diabetes. Even the traffic light has sprouted a wreath.
The Bean There, Done That café stands as the town's caffeinated heart, its windows frosted with fake snow and what appears to be an entire craft store's worth of paper snowflakes. Inside, the scent of peppermint mochas and gingerbread lattes wages war with the pine-scented candles burning on every reclaimed-wood table.
A tall, sandy-haired guy in a plaid scarf that screams "I just discovered flannel is trendy" stands near the counter, looking exactly like the kind of person who'd end up as the male lead in one of my comfort-watch movies.
Finn whispers the pickup line in my ear, and I swallow my last shred of dignity. I walk over and smile widely, hoping it doesn't scream psycho-bunny killer. "Excuse me, but are you made of tinsel? Because you light up this room."
He stares at me for a second before a grin spreads across his face. "Well, you've got more holiday spirit than most."
"Oh, she's got plenty of it," comes Finn's voice from behind me. He's leaning against one of the tables with infuriating grace. "She's great at spreading holiday cheer," he adds with a wink.
"Finn!" I hiss. "Shut it."
He extends his hand to Sandy-Haired Guy, who looks between us like he's trying to piece together a puzzle. "Hey, I'm Finn."
I attempt to salvage the moment, channeling every rom-com heroine I've binged today. "So do you... come here often?" The words leave my mouth, and immediately I want to dive headfirst into a snowbank.
Sandy-Haired Guy chuckles. "I mean, I work here, so..."
"Oh god." I feel my soul trying to escape my body. "Right. The apron. Obviously."
"She's usually much better at this," Finn adds helpfully, which makes me want to stuff his pretentious coat down his throat.
"How would you know?" I snap, and the smile drops from Finn's face. "Anyway." I turn to Sandy-Haired Guy. "Nice to meet you, um... you. I have to go—" I gesture vaguely toward the door "—literally anywhere else."
I bolt outside, the bell above the door jingling merrily as if to mock my humiliation. Finn's laughter follows me out, and a few seconds later, so does he, his long legs easily catching up to my baby power-walk.
"I'm gonna kill you," I groan as we walk down to the cozy bar on the corner. "He could've been my holiday fling."
"A fling? But you've got a gorgeous man right here."
"In your candy cane dreams, Parker." I narrow my eyes at him. "Your turn."
He grins, but there's a challenge in his eyes. "Bring it."
I rub my gloved hands together. "Truth or dare?"
"Dare," he says immediately.
"Same dare. Use the cheesiest pickup line I give you on the next cute girl you see," I say.
He steps closer, his eyes locked on mine, and suddenly the festive air feels charged with something that definitely isn't holiday spirit. "What's the line, Winters?"
I tell him the line, my voice shaky, but it's probably because of the cold.
He looks up and down the sidewalk like he's looking for someone, then he leans down, his face inches from mine, and whispers, "If you were a Christmas tree, I'd rock around you all night long."
Heat shoots up my neck, and I barely manage a breathless laugh. He's so close I can feel his breath on my skin, the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint smell of peppermint.
My heart is thudding fast, and his eyes flick down to my mouth. What game is he playing?
I pull back, far too aware of the fact that we're alone, in a magical town, with twinkling lights all around us. It suddenly feels very romantic.
"Mission complete," he says. "Your turn again."
I look at him, wanting to strangle him.
"I'm not sure that counts," I say, flicking my gaze away and continuing on, needing to break this weird tension between us.
This is Finn—the same guy who once ate a worm on a dare and threw up in my mom's azaleas. The guy who's seen me with braces and breakouts and knows all my embarrassing stories. Finn who was meant to be my best friend and then deserted me when I needed him most. But the weird feeling in my stomach lingers. It's not the first time it's bubbled up, and I walk faster through the falling snow, hoping to outrun it.
This Christmas holiday might be a whole lot more complicated than I expected.
