My eyes are hopelessly tugged to her mouth.Me too, lady. Me, too.
“How about some hot chocolate while we decorate?”
Alrighty, not on the same train as my runaway daydreams, but I’ll take it. She’s letting her guard down enough to enjoy the evening with me and her trust is as heartwarming as a cozy stocking-draped fireplace in December.
“Sounds great.” I’m not saying no, no way, no how, regardless of the fact that the apple pie probably already pushed my blood sugar to the danger zone. I’m young and healthy. I should recover.
I allow my eyes the luxury of following Everly until she pushes through the kitchen door. Poor souls, hungry for more, they wilt in despair once she’s out of sight.
I’m not a drama kind of guy. I’m not loud or overly expressive. I work. I read. I think. But Everly is stirring something magical, so magical I can practically see the twinkling stars sparkling mystically in the atmosphere.
Ohbrother.
And, speaking of brothers, I had better not let mine catch wind of these inner theatrics. He’d find a brotherly way to explode the special moment.
Against the soundtrack of clattering emanating from the kitchen, I fluff branch after branch, a thankless job if ever there was one. Unless…Everly wanted to find a way to reward me. I’d be open to any means, and—
And I sound like a sleazeball. Talking a kiss here, at the most.
A red tag with some instructions on tree assembly lurks near the trunk, or whatever it’s called on an artificial tree. I swipe a branch aside, yank the tag, and for my efforts get a swat in the face when I let go of the greenery. Yeah. I deserve it. Point taken. A simplethank youis more than enough.
The heaviness that’s settled over me like the low-hanging clouds draping the area day after day after day feels light tonight. I’d still rather skip this entire merry season, but sinceits trappings surround me like mud at an excavated jobsite, I’m going to grit my teeth and soldier through.
Everly scores multiple points for advancing that goal.
Speaking of, she’s been gone a while and the kitchen has fallen silent. Tree fluffing can wait. I didn’t play Santa in order to spend the evening by my lonesome.
My clodhopper work boots clump their way to the swinging door and I slide it open a few inches. No Everly.
Was it something I said?
I step inside the cleaned-up but laden with years of grease and use kitchen. Two mugs, one Christmassy and one a plain, restaurant white, steam from a food prep counter. A spray can of whipped cream stands at the ready.
“Everly?” There’s a rustling sound coming from the direction of the closet where I helped her retrieve the worn out tree last night. I follow the sounds.
Atop a two-step stool, Everly stretches an arm to its max extension and pats her hand around the topmost shelf.
She’s a ten, up there on that inadequate stepstool, and I’d hate for her to damage her angelic perfection by tumbling back to hard earth. “Want some help?”
She gasps and spins. My brain and my senses team up, my hands flying up at the same instant her tornado-like whirl upends her balance. Something plops to the floor near my feet, but I catch the most important thing—soft, adorable, waitress Everly.
I am the luckiest guy on the planet. My muscles contract, holding tight until she’s got her balance back.
Pressed against me, she feels fit, yet also one-hundred-percent womanly soft. Her palms flatten against my chest, and the relentless odor of a greasy diner is overridden by her shampoo. She has the bluest eyes, set into a face covered with porcelain skin. They grip me under a spell of contentment. Count thathundred-dollar Christmas tree a stroke of pure genius. Tonight has exceeded expectations.
Flyaway hairs create a halo effect about her face. My fingers tingle, pulsing to smooth them. While they’re up there, they could slide along her cheek, trace her lips.
Everly blinks and ducks out of my arms—so maybe my musings weren’t as muted as they should have been.
The clutter on the floor messes with her footing a second time. I hold her elbow until I know she’s good.
Eyes zinging all over my face like she’s trying to get a read on me, she presses her spine into the column of shelves filled with commercial-sized cans of food. Her interest is both disconcerting and wonderful. Hope-inducing.
She slaps her palm to her chest. “You startled me!”
I grin. “Jumpy much?”
“You think this is funny? I could have died falling off that stool.”
