Christmas Crossroads

The day before Christmas Eve.

"One shot wouldn't hurt, would it?"

I stared at the bottle of tequila sitting next to my bag on the kitchen island and contemplated the consequences of being pulled over with alcohol in my system.

On the plus side, I wouldn't be able to drive the rest of the trip to mom and dads for Christmas. On the down side, I wouldn't cut it in a jail cell and I'm brave enough to admit that.

Snatching the temptation by the neck, I shoved the bottle into my bag, leaving it accessible enough that I could swig a few mouthfuls the second I arrived in Whistler.

My eyes fluttered shut just thinking about the next week. Christmas and New Year's with the Mitchell's. Mom, dad, Ivan. We'd had Christmas there every year for as long as I could remember. Mom and dad had an apartment in the resort village but it'd been two years since I'd seen them.

Though I wasn't dreading seeing my brother, I preferred to spend time with him when he wasn't under the influence of parental validation.

He had a habit of agreeing with them a little too hard when it came to frowning upon my chosen lifestyle. One that I happened to thrive in.

Two years ago, just after I'd graduated from college, I'd turned down a proposal from my high school sweetheart. Mom had been preparing me for the life of a high society wife from the moment I could walk and to say I shattered her dreams when I said no to Howie Donald, one of the top real estate agents in British Colombia, would be an understatement.

It wasn't love. He was a friend, someone I felt obligated to be with for the sake of appearances. A mindset my mother made me feel like I had to maintain. Being free of that was a relief.

Giving my outfit a once over in the bathroom mirror, I shrugged, satisfied that it was cute enough to show up in. Sweat pants, a fitted turtle neck and an oversized hoodie with the zip open. Okay, so by mom's standards it was basically the attire of an inmate, but I couldn't be bothered driving ten hours in a dress or pant suit.

I slipped a toque onto my long waves, draped a jacket over my arm and wandered over to the door of my studio. I checked I had everything, switched the lights off, swung the door open and jolted with fright at the familiar man on the other side.

Jaden Daniel's, my brother's childhood best friend. His waves of golden brown, short curls sat under a toque, one strand twisting out and onto his forehead. His soft green, sensually shaped eyes were upturned and his jaw was now coated in short stubble. I swear he'd grown since I last saw him at Thanksgiving when Ivan came to Calgary to make sure I didn't spend it alone. Jaden lived here too, which meant when my brother was around, so was his bestie.

"Jaden," I deadpanned. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Jade, as he preferred to be called, stepped up and pushed himself into me, barging in through the door so I had no choice but to step back. He quickly eyed my Christmas village set up on the hall table. The tinsel around my mirror and the wreath on my door.

"Hello to you too, Dahlia," he drawled, reaching out and twisting a strand of my long hair around his finger. "Auburn now? Looks good."

I glared and he held that glare as he reached for my bag, slipped his hand inside and found the tequila.

"Knew it," he grinned. "You're such a piss head."

"Oh you spend one month in New Zealand and come back acting like you're the king of foreign lingo," I snatched the bottle back and slid it into the bag.

Jade leaned in nice and close, staring down at me with a lazy smile. "tu deviens plus sexy à chaque fois que je te vois." (You get sexier every time I see you.)