“For… me?”
“Obviously, I didn’t know you were going to be here early enough for me to get you a proper ornament, so I cut a round from the bottom of the tree.” He blushes, holding up a perfect wood circle, a hole drilled through it for a piece of string. Our names and the year written in sharpie, in a much more legible font than the preschool ornament I saw earlier.
“Lucas, stop. That’s the best gift anyone has ever given me.” My arms loop around his neck, and the ornament bounces over my back with his tight embrace.
It’s official, a McKinney Ranch Christmas is better than any movie.
“Wow, you’ve had some shitty gifts.”
My laughter is guttural, emotion thick and uncomfortable in my throat. I blink away the burning under my eyelids and press the side of my head to his firm chest.
“Lots of good gifts. None as thoughtful, though.” I clutch the piece of wood to my chest, scanning the tree for a suitable branch. “Where should we put it?”
“Left a vacant spot front and centre. As it deserves.”
The ornament dangles from the branch, spinning clockwise then counterclockwise, catching the light with every turn.
“What’s next on the list of things youalwaysdo on the ranch during Christmas?“ I doubted him the second he said my Christmas vision was his norm—given he’s a bachelor who couldn’t be bothered to spend the holiday with his loving family—but it hasn’t gone unnoticed, or unloved, how much effort he’s making. I ease back into his embrace, his fingertips catching my chin and forcing my gaze to meet his.
“Baked goods. Lots of it. I bought out everything the bakery had left yesterday, so we can really make good use of your no-pants holiday style.”
I smile against his lips. “No pants and desserts are my love language.”
Chapter thirteen
Lucas
Snagging our bourbon glasses and a tin of cookies I bought from the bakery, I traipse into the living room and stop to toss a couple pieces of wood into the stove before sitting next to her. She’s holding the cat like a human infant, tree lights flickering over them in a random pattern. Damn, if only I was an artist. She looks like a fucking painting.
Half-Pint stretches her front legs, eyes pleading with me not to kick her out of her comfortable spot.
“Look as cute as you want. I’m still convinced you’re evil.” I move to boop the cat’s nose, and she swats at me. “Case in point.”
“Oh, shush.” Eira’s fingers rap over my forearm, but she tilts until her head’s resting on my chest. I inhale her sweet scent, looking over at the first Christmas tree I’ve had in this house.
When I saw a photo of the rundown farmhouse in a small town I’d never stepped foot in, I knew in my bones it was meant to be mine. Not a reservation or second thought. It had been listed the same day as my accident two years prior.
My head screamed coincidence; my heart whispered fate.
And that same murmuring filled my chest and exploded through the synapses in my brain when, six months ago, Eira and I spent a night laughing, sharing secrets, and filling the air between us with the buzz of sexual tension. When I lay awake in bed that night, I could’ve stayed in that moment forever.
My finger traced her hairline, brushing a soft lock of dark hair away from her temple. I drew the shell of her ear, and the curve of her creamy cheek, swallowing hard when I switched to running the back of my knuckles over her face.
Her dark eyelashes fluttered, making my heart race and hand still. No doubt it would be awkward if she caught me delicately touching her as she slept, doing my best to soak in every second with her.
When her breathing steadied, I smoothed my hardened palm over her hair. And I risked a kiss, because it was impossible not to with that stunning woman curled up in my arms.
The moment my lips touched her forehead, she mumbled something that sounded a lot like my name, nuzzling in even closer.
Could’ve been my brain playing tricks on me. Honestly? Probably was. But even the tiniest chance that she was dreaming about me was enough to fill my chest with the wrenching pain of regret.
Just one night. That’s all she wanted, and all I thought I could offer. Butfuckwould I have loved that one night to last a lifetime.
Eira breaks the silence with a sweet kiss on the back of my hand. “Whatcha thinking about?”
My eyebrows furrow while I try to come up with something that won’t put her in a weird place when we both know she has to go home in a couple days. “What made you decide to illustrate?”
She glances over at me with a bourbon-glazed smile. “I don’t even think I have an answer, because I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t drawing. But I didn’t know how to make money at it, so it stayed a hobby until a little over a year ago when my friend asked me to draw a book cover design for her. It’s been snowballing since then. I’m so tired of being treated like crap at my corporate job—the dream is to have enough steady commission work to quit one day.”
