Mistletoe Mishap

Chapter 28: Holly and Hazard

It turns out the most dangerous people aren’t the ones who flirt too loudly or step too close.

They’re the ones who watch.

At first, I don’t notice. That’s the thing—nothing feels off. The common room is loud, warm, buzzing with end-of-term energy. Half-finished decorations hang crookedly from the ceiling, tinsel dangling in places that make you bump your head if you’re not careful. Students spill in from the hallways, carrying snacks, red cups, and laughter that bounces like it has somewhere to go.

Sam is in the middle of a heated debate with someone over whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie. I’m trying not to laugh too loudly because I’m vaguely aware that my voice, when unguarded, tends to attract attention I don’t always want.

Jasper leans against the wall near the windows, arms crossed, posture casual but sharp, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening. He doesn’t interrupt. He never interrupts. Not unless it matters.

And I’m… fine.

Laughing, even.

That’s probably what does it.

Because when I glance up mid-laugh, I catch someone looking straight at me.

Mara.

She’s standing near the stairs, two girls from her course flanking her like a miniature entourage. A red cup swings lazily from one hand. She isn’t smiling. She isn’t scowling either. Her expression is sharper than that—calculating, precise, like she’s lining up pieces on a board and I’m just another piece to move.

Her gaze flicks from me… to Sam… to Jasper… then back to me again.

Something cold coils low in my stomach.

I look away first.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Mara has always noticed things—who sits with whom, who leaves with whom, who suddenly stops sitting alone. She’s not cruel exactly, but she’s efficient. Methodical. Predictable in her unpredictability. That’s almost worse.

Still, the feeling lingers, a tension that won’t let me settle completely.

A little later, Sam slides another drink into my hands—apple cider this time—and bumps his shoulder against mine lightly. “You vanished earlier,” he says.

“I was literally five steps away.”

“Emotionally,” he adds solemnly.

I snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“True,” he says, lowering his voice. “But… you seem lighter.”

Before I can answer, Jasper steps closer, drawn in by something I said, or maybe by the way Sam is standing a bit too near. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t need to. His presence shifts the space around us, like gravity settling into a comfortable orbit.

And then I feel it again.

Eyes.

I glance over.

Mara is watching us openly now. No hiding, no attempt at subtlety. She leans toward one of the girls beside her and murmurs something low. The girl’s eyebrows rise, intrigued, and she glances our way before returning her gaze to Mara, silently acknowledging the plan unfolding.

Sam follows my gaze. His grin falters, just a fraction. “Problem?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “But I think we’re… interesting.”

Jasper exhales through his nose. “That’s one word for it.”

We don’t move apart. None of us do. And I realize, too late, that this is the headline in Mara’s mind: Ivy flanked by two guys, laughter easy, space unbroken, attention claimed. It doesn’t look like coincidence. It looks like formation.

The room grows louder. Not rowdier exactly, but looser—people drifting, conversations overlapping, coats piling high on chair backs. The music climbs a notch, bass vibrating faintly through the floor.

I catch Mara’s gaze again across the room. She’s no longer pretending not to look. Not subtle, not casual. She’s watching like a director eyeing the scene she’s about to disrupt, a head tilt, deliberate eyes moving—me, Sam, Jasper, back to me.

Sam leans in, murmuring something under his breath. At the exact same moment, Jasper shifts closer. The space tightens. Not crowded. Intentional. Protective.

I feel it—the subtle click of attention, locking into place around us like an invisible fence.

I step away first. Not because I want to, but because I suddenly need air. Space. A moment where I’m not part of a picture someone else is framing.

“I’m grabbing a minute,” I say, lifting my cup slightly. “Bathroom.”

Sam nods immediately. “I’ll wait.”

Jasper’s gaze flicks past me, scanning the room once before meeting mine. “I’ll be nearby.”

I manage a small, steadying smile and slip through the edge of the crowd.

The hallway outside is cooler, quieter. The party hums behind the door, muted, replaced by my own footsteps and the soft echo of muffled laughter. I lean against the wall for a second, grounding myself, breathing through the sudden tightness in my chest.

That’s when I hear heels.

Measured. Unhurried.

“Ivy.”

I straighten just as Mara steps into view, red cup still in hand, expression pleasant enough to pass as casual.

“You vanished,” she says lightly.

And just like that, the space I thought I’d carved out for myself collapses. I take a step back instinctively, and Mara matches it, moving with the ease of someone who knows she owns every inch of the room—even the quiet corners.

Her eyes linger on mine for a long second, and I realize she’s not here to ask a question. She’s here to claim territory.

The hairs on my neck prick. Something is about to happen. And I have a very bad feeling that it won’t be polite.