Dirty Christmas
I teased, forcing a laugh, but my pulse quickened.
William had always been the steady one, a mechanic with callused hands that fixed everything, including my broken heart after my last boyfriend ghosted me.
From the doorway, Ethan chuckled, the younger stepbrother at twenty-seven, leaning against the frame with a beer in hand. Taller and leaner, with tousled brown hair and a smirk that screamed trouble, he was the artist type, freelancing graphic designs while crashing at home.
"Festive? More like torture. Remember last year when he sang off-key the whole drive up?" His green eyes flicked between us, catching the charged air.