His eyes were burning.

I was sure of it. They were like flames amongst the ice, as hot as the blaze searing my limbs. He'd shed his usually composed mask, replaced it with something far less assured. He looked as equally reluctant as he did certain, a puzzling concoction that would have been impossible to unravel if it wasn't exactly how I felt, too.

I didn't know what we were doing. But, somehow, it just made sense.

We just fit.

"Sweetheart, help her!"

Two firm hands gripped my sides, pulling me up and away like the chairlift that had transported us to the Northern peak. Mr. Bennet hauled me upright, making sure that I was steady on my feet before he reached back down to offer a hand to his son.

"You poor dear!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, throwing her bubble-gum pink poles aside to dust the snow from my black parka. "Are you hurt?"

I opened my mouth to reply.

Nothing came out.

It was like I was in shock. Like I was dazed. Like my body was there—in the present—but like my mind was still down in the snow. Like my eyes were still searching James', asking him to kiss me at the same time as they demanded him to.

"I'm fine," I managed to croak.

It was a lie. A massive one.

I wasn't fine. I was a mess.

Because I was falling in love with my best friend.

And it was making me crazy.

No. I was making me crazy. I couldn't even function around James anymore, not without taking innocent things and twisting them or overthinking them or blowing them out of proportion.

Like the Blair thing. I'd totally overthought it. I'd overthought a couple of texts to the point of concocting a whole entire person to compete with for James' affections. And for what? For Blair to be his totally sweet, totally lovely and not at all threatening younger cousin who was one of the nicest people I'd met at the resort?

It was pathetic. Obsessing over made-up scenarios was pathetic. It was a waste of perfectly good anxiety, and it was exactly the kind of habit that I was trying to unlearn.

James placed his hand on mine as his parents retreated, and I could have killed him for it. Because it simply wasn't enough.

"Are you really okay?" he asked, his voice so low and concerned it pinched my heart.

I could only stare at him. Couldn't stop my eyes from drinking in his face. My heart was beating so fast and so hopelessly, and I didn't know why, but I felt so emotional that I wanted to cry.

"No."

His eyebrows flew to the fluffy clouds above, his mouth falling agape before he shuffled closer. "No? Should we go to first aid—"

"I mean, yes." I shook my head. My throat felt thick, like my body was trying to stop me from saying what I wanted to say. But I had to. I had to. I couldn't pretend anymore.

Pretending hurt too much.

Most people need to think things through. They need to weigh the pros and cons of a decision before they make it. But that wasn't me.

Rather, it was me, but I was terrible at it.

So, maybe it was time to take another leaf out of Holly's book. To take one out of Lola's. Hell, maybe it was time to be my mother's daughter. To feel things, to let myself truly feel them. To go after what I wanted and worry about the ifs and buts afterward.

Maybe it was time to live in the moment.

"But James ..." I started, my voice drifting away with the breeze. I licked the lips that felt too chapped to move, trying to merge the thousands of emotions gnawing at my heart into something that resembled a coherent sentence. 

He blinked back at me as he waited, that same softness as before falling over his features. He positioned himself so that there was nowhere for me to look but at him, so there was nowhere for him to look but at me. "Yes, Madi?"

His hand stroked my arm ever-so-softly, and though his skin was mittened and mine was cloaked in layers of cotton, I felt it like there was no fabric at all.

I braced myself, and then I whispered, "I need to tell you som—"

"That was brilliant!" Dex exclaimed, panting as he burst through a group of skiers to our right.

Noah was trailing him with an equally broad smile.

One that faltered when he saw how close James and I were.

One that fell when he saw both of us quickly pull away.

I cleared my throat, looking down to avoid his knowing gaze. "When did you get down here?"

"Straight after you two. But Noah caught the whole thing on his Go-Pro—"

"I was trying to catch your first solo descent," Noah admitted sheepishly. "I thought it'd be ... cute."

"You totally stacked it." Dex laughed, shoving the camera under my nose like I hadn't just experienced the whole thing firsthand.

I couldn't register the video. My eyes were on the screen, a pacifying smile on my lips, but my attention was way over Dex's head.

My mind couldn't stop spinning with the realization of what I'd almost done. I'd almost told James how I felt about him. About how I actually felt about him. I was so close to revealing the emotions that were consuming my every thought, to being vulnerable and raw and doing everything that I'd always feared I would.

If Dex hadn't interrupted us, James would have known the truth. I wouldn't have been able to hide behind the cover of friendship anymore.

But, strangely, the thought of that didn't leave me cold.

In fact, I wasn't glad that I was interrupted. I wasn't happy or relieved that I was stopped two seconds short of baring my heart to my best friend.

Rather, I was disappointed.

Because I was right the day before. That road trip turned out to be just as metaphorical for me as it was literal. But I was also wrong. Wrong in thinking that the resort was my last stop.

My last stop was James. And until I told him how I felt, I was still traveling.

"Oh, crud," Dex exclaimed.

I looked up from my saucepan of raspberry jam. He was staring back at me rather helplessly from the other side of the kitchen, hands coated in flour, lifting an empty egg carton over his silver mixing bowl for the rest of us to see.

"We're out," he declared.

I frowned, scanning over the mass of ingredients spread out on the countertop. "That can't be right."

"We did make a lot of cookies," he informed me.

Like I wasn't the one just kneading the dough.

With the countdown on until the twenty-fifth, we'd had to cram every delicacy on our Christmas list into one night of baking; Noah simply wouldn't leave a single pastry or tart off. We had our first batch of brownies rising in the oven, our second batch of choc-mint rocky road chilling in the fridge, and almost enough sugar cookies to feed the rest of the resort two times over.

Not that the rest of the resort needed to know that.

"I'm sure we had another carton," I muttered, dusting off my hands before rifling through our groceries.

"We must have left one at the check-out," Noah said quickly.

A little too quickly.

He was just as quick to throw his piping bag aside and reach for his coat. "Dex and I can go get some more."

I scoffed, crossing over to their side of the counter. "It's zero degrees outside, not to mention that storm warning earlier." I clicked my fingers together, cocking my head at Dex. "How many eggs do you need?"

"Um, two—"

"Okay." I retrieved a banana from the fruit bowl and a fork from the drawer. "Here. Mash this."

He frowned back at me, eyes widening as though I'd handed him a weapon of mass destruction and not a simple piece of fruit.

"Um, Madi," Noah drawled, "that is a banana."

I couldn't help but emit another laugh. "They're both binding agents."

That didn't quite do the trick.

"Egg is, like, the glue between the dry ingredients," I explained. "Pureed or mashed fruit binds just the same, plus you get a little extra flavor." 

Noah's expression straightened out. He jerked his head back in surprise. "How do you know that?"

I shrugged, stealing a cooled shortbread from the pile he was decorating and popping it into my mouth. "Science."

"Oh," Dex cooed, bobbing his head up and down. "So this is what you do in your science class thingies."

"Mhm, you got me." I tore open a packet of sugar, sprinkling a delicate dusting into my pan. "This is exactly what I do in my science class thingies. Make chocolate brownies and bake raspberry tarts."

"Not sugar cookies?" James asked. I didn't have to turn to see the smirk lining his lips; I could hear it loud and clear in his voice.

But I did turn to throw a light helping of sugar his way.

His reflexes were sharper than his kneading skills, and he managed to dodge my totally ferocious attack. I chewed on my smile as he ducked out of the way, quite enjoying the sight of everything the otherwise inconspicuous movement entailed.

It'd been Noah's idea to have an impromptu baking-slash-pajama party. Naturally. He'd picked out matching candy cane sweats for him and me, though he knew better than to try and force Dex and James into the festive ensemble. Instead, the latter opted for his usual sleepwear.

Which, as it turned out, consisted of a simple white shirt and cuffed sweat pants. 

Grey sweatpants.

Grey sweatpants, I learned, left very little to the imagination. Especially when the person wearing them exerted quick, sharp movements.

Like jumping out of the way of a handful of sugar being flung in their direction.

I found myself still watching him as I bit down on my star-shaped cookie. He'd turned back to the counter to knead another lump of dough, and it really was the kind of sight I couldn't help but drink in.

Terrible, I know.

I also didn't care.

I gave in to temptation, moving closer until I stopped right beside him.

"You want to stretch and fold," I explained, demonstrating the movements in the empty air.

He tried to replicate the gesture.

He only crumpled the dough more.

"Like this?"

"No, like ..." My hands flailed around his before they settled on top, guiding them down and back up again. "Like this," I explained, making a conscious effort to focus on the batter.

And not the fact that I was totally nailing him to the counter.

I drew in a sharp breath, letting it out as I pressed down on his hands. "Can you feel it?"

He hesitated before answering. I wondered if he would at all. Then, roughly, he muttered, "Yeah."

I should have let go then. Obviously. That was the appropriate thing to do.

I just wasn't feeling very appropriate.

Actually, appropriate was the very last thing that I was feeling. Because it was time. Tonight was the night.

The night that I was finally going to talk to James.

My stomach bundled at the mere thought. God, I would have killed for a drink. Or even just a shot. Every part of me was churning and swirling, the little voice in my head screaming that I was making a mistake. I knew that some liquid courage was exactly what I needed. It would make me brave. It would give me enough nerve to make a move. To say everything on the tip of my tongue, everything that I'd kept to myself for too long.

But I also knew that it would be my undoing.

If I really was going to do this—if I was really going to make a move on my best friend—then I couldn't let even a drop of alcohol pass my lips. Because, that night, what I needed from James was the cold, hard truth. I couldn't give him any excuses to withhold it from me. I knew my friend, and I knew that if he thought that I was under any kind of influence, then it would be one big fat excuse.

If James turned me down, I needed it to be because he meant it. Not because he thought that I didn't mean it when I said that I was falling for him.

His hand escaped from under mine. Instantly, that pessimistic voice in my head told me that it was a hint. A hint to move away, to stop pressing him into the marble benchtop from behind.

But then his hand reappeared. He turned his head to the side, slowly grazing his finger along my cheek. Like the sugar in my saucepan, I could have melted.

"You had some flour ..." he said, his low voice trickling away into nothing.

I didn't prod him. I didn't need an explanation. I didn't care why he touched me. Only that he did.

He cleared his throat roughly, and I backed away with a start.

I'd been so lost to him that I hadn't realized I'd simply been lingering.

"Sorry," I apologized.

Even though I wasn't.

I headed back to the stove, retrieving my eggnog from the counter and throwing it back like it was tequila.

It didn't quite hit the spot.

In fact, it might have been a little too sobering. Because, like it always did, reality quickly crashed through fantasy.

The setting that James and I had wound up in that evening was, honestly, close to perfect. It was bordering on the textbook backdrop for the kind of conversation that I wanted to have. Especially once our goodies were baking in the oven and we stepped out of the kitchen and into the lounge. The chic, cozy space had been adorned with tiny glimmering fairy lights, which perfectly matched the exquisite antique decorations that Dex's parents had let us borrow for our adorable little tree. The whole room glistened in forest green and Christmas gold, the smells from the kitchen teasing us while the fireplace crackled in the background and Home Alone played on the TV screen above.

So, theoretically, the setup was ideal. Romantic, even.

But the reality of our situation was ... not.

Because Dex and Noah were snuggled between us on the sofa, hogging our singular blanket and chewing loudly on our snacks.

I sighed to myself, resting my head on Noah's shoulder sulkily. I loved my friends. Of course I did. But I suddenly realized that getting some alone time with James that night—that getting the opportunity to actually talk to him—was about as likely as the McCallisters going a single Christmas without forgetting Kevin.

In other words—it was a long shot.

Noah's shoulder fell out from under my head, and I stopped myself two seconds short from slamming into the leather couch below.

Apparently, I'd been sulking so much that I hadn't noticed the oven beeping behind us.

"My shortbreads are ready!" he cried, jumping to his feet. He pulled Dex up, too, and the two of them practically bounded back over to the kitchen.

"Is the dough okay?" James asked rather mindlessly, his eyes glued to the screen while he reached for another handful of popcorn.

It was only with the silence that followed that I realized something was wrong.

James must have realized it at the same time as I did. We craned our necks in unison, peering over the back of the sofa and into the adjoining kitchen.

"Is everything okay over there?" he asked. He was lying down sideways, propping his head up on his arm in a way that made the latter tense under the weight. And that spread of his legs was almost criminal, though it seemed like the perfect spot to plant myself in.

I really needed to write the creator of grey sweatpants a personal thank you note.

Noah and Dex whipped around from the oven, their eyes wide like they'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Their heads were bowed together, and they'd very clearly just been whispering.

I rose from the sofa. "Are they okay?"

Noah tilted his head. "Are what okay?"

With that, my smile fell. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "The shortbreads."

Dex's mouth flailed between words. His head snapped from me to James and back again before he suddenly exclaimed, "Icing!"

"Icing?" James repeated. He, too, had risen in his seat.

Our friend's cheeks turned beet-red. Noah quickly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We forgot the sugar for the brownie icing," he explained.

"Oh." I threw a handful of caramelized popcorn into my mouth, shrugging plainly. "Just use the bag I did for the tarts. There's plenty left."

After that, Dex's mouth wasn't the only one flailing.

"I ... I shouldn't. I can't," Noah stammered.

"You can't?" James frowned.

"No. It's ..." Noah licked his lips, his eyes drifting back to Dex.

Who shrugged.

"It's a very special sugar that I need," Noah sputtered. "It's a family recipe. It's important. It's ... imperative."

I mirrored James' expression, my frown deepening as my spine stiffened. "Imperative?"

"Imperative," Noah repeated.

As pure and genuine a person as Noah was, I had to admit—I took him for a better liar than that.

Because he was most definitely lying.

But he didn't give me or James another chance to call him out on it. Instead, he reached for his coat from the back of the bar stool, then grabbed Dex by the collar and dragged him toward the door. "See ya!"

"What?" I exclaimed, finally springing into action. I jumped up from my seat and trailed them to the foyer. "Where are you going?"

"To the store," the liars replied in unison.

"You're not going to the store," I cried. "It's quarter to ten! It's freezing! And, once again," I pointed to the alert on my phone, "snowstorm!"

"There won't be a snowstorm, Mads," Dex scoffed, rolling his eyes.

As though I was the one being utterly ridiculous.

"We get those warnings all the time. And, besides, even if it did storm," he shrugged, "I was raised here. I'm practically part penguin."

I shook my head. "That's ... that's not ... what?"

"Finish the movie without us," Noah called over his shoulder. "We can watch the sequel tomorrow."

"Do we have to?" James groaned.

I spun around to eye him as he hovered by the sofa. And, when I turned back to try to talk the liars off the ledge once more, they were all but gone.

"What the hell?" I muttered under my breath. "Sugar? Really?"