Christmas Eve.

The fireplace crackled behind the couch, casting gold light across the room, but it was the heat in the air that made you squirm in your fuzzy socks. You were sitting with your legs draped casually over the armrest, nursing a mug of hot cocoa, eyes glued on her dad as he laughed at something your dad said.

God, that sound. That laugh. It settled low in your stomach, warm and wrong in all the best ways.

Across from you, your best friend was doing the exact same thing—twirling her hair and sipping her drink way too slow as she blatantly stared at your dad’s hands while he flipped through the channels.

Your dads weren’t stupid. Far from it.

Your dad glanced up from the remote, catching your best friend’s stare.

“Everything alright?” he asked her, brow raised—just enough to look innocent. But there was a flicker behind his eyes. A shift. One that said he knew.

“Totally,” she said sweetly, tucking her legs under her. “Just… cozy.”

And that’s when her dad turned to you. You were mid-sip, but his voice caught you.

“You sure you’re comfortable, sweetheart?” he asked, voice deep and knowing. “You’ve been… shifting a lot.”

You almost choked. His gaze dropped to your thighs—bare, thanks to the sleep shorts you wore “accidentally” all the time.

You cleared your throat, heart racing. “I’m good. Just a little warm.”

“I’ll say,” your dad muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to hear, and she damn near dropped her mug.

The four of you sat in silence for a second, tension thick enough to cut with a candy cane. That’s when you and your best friend locked eyes again, both of you wearing those oh-my-God-it’s-working grins.

And when the dads excused themselves to the kitchen—alone—you both bolted to your room.

You barely shut the door before she whispered, “Did you see the way your dad looked at me?”

You laughed, breathless. “Did you see the way your dad bit his lip after I said I was warm?”

You both collapsed onto the bed, giddy and wild.

“They’re so onto us,” she grinned.

You nodded, already thinking of what you’d wear tomorrow morning. Something short. Something soft. Something that’d make him stare.

Because this Christmas?

Santa wasn’t the only one coming.

In private, you talked to your best friend.

“Oh Leah, neither of our dad’s have gotten laid since their divorced, should we change that. We would both have white Christmas’.” You ask, knowing she’d say she’s all in since she’s also got a thing for your dad.