And recollection comes at me like a pillowcase full of dead batteries to the face.

I haven’t locked my bedroom door in a while… Because of Jesse.

Yet last night, I locked myself in here to hide from him.

My hands cover my face. What in the fuck is going on?

Slating those thoughts for later, I go to the bathroom to take a shower and do my thing.

Exiting slowly many minutes later, I can’t help but glance across the hall at Jesse’s bedroom. The door is open, and he clearly isn’t in there. Did he sleep on the couch all night?

Now I feel kind of bad.

It’s Christmas. We shouldn’t be dealing with whatever nonsense happened last night—or didn’t, if we’re choosing denial, which seems like a comfortable fit. We should be spending time together as a family, like we do every year.

So I go back into my room and get dressed in my Grinch Christmas sweatshirt—Jesse bought it for me when he was twelve, and I wear it every year—and I go downstairs, biting the bullet. Chewing on the damn thing and swallowing it with a solid gulp.

We’re going to have a good Christmas. That’s it. Even if I have to force it, normal is the name of the game we must play.

As soon as I’m halfway down the stairs, I’m hit with a whiff of warm sweets. It smells like Christmas cookies, and sure enough, when I round the corner to the kitchen, I find Jesse mulling about, scooping cookies from a baking sheet and placing them onto a platter that’s already full.

I can’t fight the way my brows lift. The entire island is covered in treats. Apparently, he’s been at it for a while.

When he hears me, he glances over his shoulder, a subtle smile twisting his lips. “Merry Christmas!”

My jaw tightens, though I’m pretending I don’t know why as I lean against the doorframe and grumble, “Merry Christmas. You opening up a bakery I don’t know about?”

I nod toward all the cookies and cupcakes and brownies covering the island, and the counters, enough to feed several sports teams. Some appear to be finished, already decorated with frosting and sprinkles, elaborate enough that they very well could be sold in a shop for dollars apiece, while others are fresh out of the oven and awaiting his immaculate attention.

He gapes at me with wide eyes for a moment, before peeking at all of his tasty creations. His cheeks blush pink. “Um… yea,” he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I went a little overboard.”

Guilt swims in my bloodstream as I step gingerly into the room, being sure to keep my distance all the same. “It smells great.”

He blinks at me, tugging his lower lip between his teeth. I can’t help how it shifts me in place.

Nope. We’re not doing this.

“Hey, why don’t you take a break?” I murmur at him. “You’ve got presents to open.”