He grins a row of straight, white teeth. “If we play our cards right, we won’t be strangers much longer at all.”
Chapter 7
Knox
Everly’s lashes flutter, and her gaze dips away. I love her feistiness, like when she accused me of being a dine-and-dasher, but this wave of shyness that’s washed over her is nothing short of enchanting.
A whiff of perfume creates a delectable aura when she spins. She eyeballs the box on the floor. “So. Are we decorating this thing, too?”
Yes. “Thought you’d never ask.” Showing eagerness is probably a no-no for the lady magnets like Rand.
Eh, I’ll work on the broody, cool-guy schtick later. I take off my coat and lay it over a chair.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“I’ll break at least two already ugly, stumpy fingernails prying that thing open myself.”
My attention slides to the hand on her hip. Not a thing ugly about it or the smooth, neat nails tipping each finger. The ringless columns are long and graceful, and her trim nails would feel wonderful sliding along my jaw—
I swallow that thought and pop up the cardboard flaps secured by industrial-sized staples. The first tree segment I lift out is the topper. One by one, I remove the pieces, three main segments, plus the stand and some odds and ends, like cords and remotes.
This happens to be the exact model I bought for my grandmother and assembled in her new apartment last year. She’s a lover of all things Christmas, but the large tree she’d been accustomed to for years simply did not fit in her tiny senior living suite. Same issue here. The diner isn’t small, but available space for a Christmas tree is.
I point to the open area at the end of the counter where we stand. “Is this where you want it?”
“How ever did you guess?” Her slip of a smile is playful as she scoots out of the spot, watching me work.
“Lucky guess.” Starting with the stand, I click the first segment into place, following up with the center and then the top pieces.
“Seems like you’ve done this before?”
I give the topper a hard press until it clicks into the segment beneath it, then jiggle to make certain it’s secure. My chapped hands itch from the spiky needles. “Yeah, I bought one formy grandmother last year right after she moved to a senior community.”
“Did you decorate it together, too?”
“We did. She loves Christmas and was kind of bummed. Leaving her home of fifty years was tough on her, especially during the holidays.”
Everly’s hands join mine fluffing branches, but on the opposite side of the tree. “That was a sweet thing to do.”
I chuckle. “I have to be honest. She threw out some pretty strong grandmotherly hints.”
“It was still nice of you. And then to decorate with her. I’m sure it meant a lot.” There’s a smile of approval in Everly’s voice.
I pry apart some mashed together boughs. “It did. To both of us. We’ve always been close.” I flip a frond of greenery aside and grin at my companion for the evening. “Besides, I knew she’d cook me dinner and bake up a batch of her famous sugar cookies with red and green sprinkles.”
“Nothing wrong with a win-win situation.” Our eyes connect like two heat-seeking, holiday missiles.
Yeah, there’s a tree between us, but our faces are close, and Everly is so pretty, framed by seasonal green. Forget sugarplums, visions of kissing her pillowy pink lips dance in my head.
I must disguise my thoughts sufficiently, because she continues fluffing like nothing happened. I guess the zing I thought passed between us was a one-way rocket.
Crud.
For now.I’m not taking no for an answer—and I mean that in the most non-lowlife way ever.
“I feel like something sweet.”
