I drop Jack’s hand.

“I think that mulled wine has gone straight to my head.” Without Jack’s fingers to anchor me, I’m unsteady in my attempts to remain vertical. “It might be time for me to go to bed.”

I’m perfectly aware of the fact that it’s seven thirty, but I’m not sure I can handle one more minute around other people. I stumble in the direction of the stairs, and Jack takes a step along with me. She looks worried I’m going to fall over.

I’m worried I might fall, too. I’m going to fall right into her and never let go. I grab onto the archway leading to the stairs.

Jack comes closer. I can feel her body heat again, the warmth from the fire radiating off her skin.

“Mistletoe,” Meemaw says from across the room.

“No, this is ‘Only Thing I Ever Get for Christmas,’ ” Andrew corrects her, pointing to the playlist display, where we’ve switched to a collection of Justin Bieber songs.

“No. Mistletoe.” Meemaw points somewhere north of my head, and I look up to see a bushel of green leaves wrapped in red ribbon pinned to the archway. I didn’t know people actually hung mistletoe in their houses until I saw the Kim-Prescotts’ cabin.

“That’s cute,” I say. Then I turn toward the stairs again.

“Excuse you!” Meemaw snaps, coming over to us and bringing the rest of the family with her. “You and Jack are under the mistletoe. You know the rules.”

I glare at Meemaw, but she only smiles impishly and takes another sip of her drink. “I’m not going to kiss my brother’s fiancée,” Jack says before I can formulate an argument to spare us from Meemaw’s cruel torture.

“I honestly don’t mind.” Andrew smiles and props his chin coyly on top of his closed fist. “It is mistletoe, after all.”

“This seems inappropri—”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Meemaw starts the drunken chant, and soon everyone else joins in, even Katherine. My body is attuned to the way Jack’s body tenses, shifts. She is less steady on her feet now, swaying away from me, putting space between us.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“Okay, fine! You monsters!” Jack finally shouts, and she plays it off so well. I genuinely believe this kiss under the mistletoe will mean nothing to her.

I need it to mean nothing to me, too.

“One quick kiss,” Jack tells her family, and then she’s fully facing me. “Is this okay?” she whispers just for us.

No, it’s not okay. Nothing about this situation is okay.

“Yes,” I say.

Just like that, Jack closes her eyes and tilts her face toward mine. I meet her halfway, and it’s nothing more than a graze. Chapped lips and a hint of oranges. Her mouth is surprisingly soft, even though the kiss itself feels sturdy and immovable.