He stepped back and I crossed over the threshold, the heat hitting me full blast. He took the bags out of my hands, leading me toward the kitchen.

He set the bags on the countertop, and his arm hooked around my waist, pulling me into the curve of his body. I wrapped my arms around his neck, lifting my lips to meet his, leaving a kiss there. He kissed me back, his mouth waging a soft war upon mine. Our legs brushed against each other, my palms stroking the muscles beneath his T-shirt.

He pulled back. “I missed you.”

Gah.

I’d spent last night having a girls’ night with Jackie and Kate, and it had been the first night since we’d slept together that we’d been apart. It probably wasn’t a good sign that I’d missed him, but I totally had.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I whispered.

He kissed the top of my nose. “So what does ‘bringing Christmas’ entail, exactly?” he murmured, his lips brushing against my skin.

I grinned. “First off, cookies. And then Christmas movies. And, if you’re really lucky, I might have also purchased some hot cocoa complete with mini-marshmallows.”

He laughed. “Sounds perfect.”

I began pulling groceries out of the bags.

“So does this mean you’re baking cookies from scratch?”

I nodded.

“What kinds are you making?”

“Snickerdoodles. Press butter cookies. Maybe gingerbread cookies.”

He leaned over and kissed my neck, pulling me into his arms again. I didn’t know what I’d expected from him, but his affectionate side was seriously surprising. He was sweet. And even though we hadn’t talked about it—and I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk about it—I knew this was more than sex for him. Judging by the way he looked at me, it was a lot more than sex.

And considering I’d realized I was in love with him a while ago, it was a pretty good thing. A really good thing.

“You’re amazing,” he mumbled against my skin, his voice thick.

My heart tumbled over in my chest. Twice.

“Save it until after you’ve eaten my cookies,” I teased.

He flashed me a devilish smile. “Oh, I know all about your cookies.”

I laughed. “Did you just make a dirty joke?”

He winked as he released me, moved over to the bar, and sat on one of the stools.

“So how was girls’ night?”

I started gathering supplies out of the bags. “It was good. Jackie asked me and Kate to be bridesmaids in her wedding.”

I hadn’t expected it, but the moment she’d asked, it had felt right.

“That’s great.”

“Yeah, it really is. I know we’ve only known each other a short time, but I love her. She’s really fun and smart. Loyal. She’s the best thing to come out of all of this shit with my dad.”

“How was it with Kate?”

I’d told him everything about Kate, so he knew things were kind of weird between us.

“Okay, I guess. It’s not like it used to be. Not even close. There’s this wall between us, but I don’t know what to do about it because it’s the same wall Kate has with everyone, and it doesn’t look like it’s coming down anytime soon.”

“Have you tried talking to her?”

“Kind of. Not really.” I didn’t know how to explain it. “I’m not someone who does well in awkward situations.”

He didn’t speak, just stared at me, gesturing for me to continue.

“I hate confrontation. Like am pathologically allergic to it. I’ve tried to broach the subject with Kate a few times over the years, but she shuts that shit down immediately.”

“And you don’t push.”

“Not at all.”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowed.

I stared down at the recipe book, trying to focus on making snickerdoodles and not my social dysfunction.

“You pushed with me.”

I stilled. He was right. I totally had. Hell, I’d basically thrown myself at him.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So why can you do it with me and not with the rest of the people in your life?”

I had no freaking clue.

“I don’t know. Is this one of those situations where you really know and are just asking me these questions so that I’ll figure it out myself?” I asked, my tone wry.

He laughed. “Sorry, but no. I can barely get my own shit together, much less psychoanalyze someone else.”

“Fair enough.”

I started gathering the dry ingredients together, getting ready to sift the flour, my mind racing, his question eclipsing baked goods.

“I don’t think I want to rock the boat,” I admitted.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. “I sort of figured that out. The question is, why?”

Because good girls—ladies—didn’t rock the boat according to my mother. They also didn’t drink beer, curse, wear white after Labor Day—not even winter white—didn’t run out on their weddings, or own vibrators that they kept in their nightstands.

Because my whole entire life I’d been told I had to act a certain way, present a certain image to the world, because I was a Reynolds and my father was someone important, and I had centuries of history to preserve. Because he might run for president someday, and we always had to be the best version of ourselves we could be. Because Kate had cornered the market on rebellious at an early age; because there were cracks in my family that had always been there, the kind of cracks that came with a marriage built on the consolidation of wealth and power and little to do with love. Because it was easier to be a peacemaker and go along with what was expected of me than to fight who they wanted me to be.

Because I was scared. Because it was easy.

“It’s who I am,” I answered. “It’s who I’ve always been. I don’t know how to be anyone else.”

“Bullshit.”

I blinked. My mother would hate Gray. Absolutely, positively, hate him.

He said exactly what he thought. I thought everything, and said nothing.

Maybe it was time to take a page out of his book. Maybe it was time to change that.

Gray

The girl she described and the girl she showed me couldn’t have been further apart. She hid behind this facade that wasn’t her at all, and I didn’t understand why.

“Why are you scared to let people see the real you? Why are you scared to be that girl when it’s so obvious that she’s inside you, screaming to get out?”

“I don’t know.” Blair took a deep breath. “I just . . .”

It was strange to see her at a loss, searching for words that didn’t come. I knew she was younger than me, knew she had her own shit she dealt with, but I was so used to the girl who stunned me, the girl who always seemed to know exactly what to do and say, that it rocked me to watch her flounder.

I got up and came around the counter, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her against my body until her head fit under my chin, her cheek against my heart. I held her there, waiting to give her whatever she needed to make this okay.

Her body relaxed in my arms, the tension sliding out with each moment that passed, until she sagged against me. Only then did I release her, my hand tipping her chin up until our gazes locked and she gave me the rest as it came to her, filling in the remaining pieces.

“I feel like people have this expectation of who I am, of who I should be, and I’m worried I’ll disappoint them. I’m the eldest, so my parents were stricter with me than Kate. My mother immediately made me her pet project—she used to dress me in these ruffled dresses with giant bows in my hair. She was constantly drilling me on how to eat, how to walk. We’d have these family brunches where they’d take us to fancy restaurants and she’d critique our manners. When I was like six.

“It wasn’t bad. I don’t want to do the whole ‘poor little rich girl’ thing. I had an amazing childhood filled with opportunities most people never get. But I can’t deny that at the same time, it made me who I am. The kind of person who lives her life under a microscope. Who plays a role in campaign ads and interviews. The kind of girl who blends, even when she’s front and center.