She puts the phone away, and by the drift of her voice, turns toward me. The move feels…intimate. “I’m sorry the weather’s messing with your work, but don’t get too worried. Around here, half the time, the wintry weather never materializes. The pink and blue blobs on the radar only tease us.”
“It’s already been sleeting for hours,” I remind her. The tinkle of icy pellets striking the aluminum awning over the sidewalk is audible.
“Hmm. You make a good point.” The covers pull beneath me as she adjusts her position. “Well then, since the damage is already done, I’ll go ahead and pray for snow. If that’s okay with you?”
“You’re asking my permission to pray?”
“It feels rude to pray for something you don’t want. It’s just, I love snow sooo much. And it’s almost Christmas, too. How cool is that?”
I can’t help laugh. “Sure, Everly, pray away.”
We get plenty of the white stuff at home, so I’m mostly over it, but if fluffy white flakes make Everly happy, I’m game. I’d hate for my guys not to receive the bonus Rand dangled for finishing on time—but so little is in my control. Occasionally, I have to remind myself of this kind of thing.
Any other time, the sound of the sleet would put me to sleep in a heartbeat. Now, it accentuates the quiet—which allows for every other thought in my brain to run amuck.
I hear faint mumbling. “Everly?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?” For some reason, I whisper.
“Praying,” she whispers back, as if it’s obvious.
“You were serious about that?” Add on another layer of adorableness.
“Sure—but I’ve moved on from snow.”
Lovely. Everly’s being all holy, and I’m over here doing my darnedest to extricate myself from the mental picture I’ve worked on all week, the one where I imagined kissing her—and kissing her good—at the conclusion of our date. Worse, that fantasy has given way to one of kissing her in the snow. Of holding her against me, of—
I pitch off the useless blanket, snag it back up, and grab the top pillow.
“What are you doing?”
“Floor,” I grumble in a tone that may require an apology at some point. I stretch out onto the padding-less carpet, trying not to consider all the feet that have traipsed who knows what onto it over the last decade.
She’s quiet. Too quiet.
“Everly…”
“I understand,” she whispers.
The simple words hold the ring of confession and tell me I’m not alone in my suffering. Honestly, I might cry into my pillowif I thought the feelings blossoming between us were a one way street.
Sheets rustle. “Can I ask you something?”
I picture her up on one elbow, thoughtful. Hair tumbling…
“Sure.”
“What’s the real reason you aren’t in the Christmas spirit this year?”
The headlights of a car inching through the parking lot sweep a wedge of light across the ceiling.
A guy can hope a lady doesn’t pick up on certain things unsaid, but when the guy likes that lady, a lot, overall, it’s a good thing when she does.
I fist the top of the blanket. “You know, I’d kind of thought last year might have permanently ruined the holidays for me…but all the decorating with you has been nice. The tree lighting, the party. The movies.”
“I’ve enjoyed it too, Knox.” There’s a tender smile in her voice. “Not an answer to my question though.”
