“I like being generous with my friends,” I respond, sending up a silent prayer thatfriendsisn’t the final destination for us.
He slips past me, hipping open the front door and then setting his boxes next to the delightfully decorated Christmas tree. I freeze again when he bends down to tuck the presents in and around the others. Moving to the presents on the coffee table, then the ones I’ve been holding while frozen like a snowman, he creates a tumble of gifts that artistically spill out onto the floor around the tree like confetti, or an extension of the tree itself.
“Ugh,” he huffs out, rising up on his tiptoes to kiss my jaw, too short to kiss my cheek. “You are too much.”
It’s embarrassing to think about the number of nights I’ve spent dreaming of him tucked up against my body. To be fair, snuggling isn’t the only thing going on in those dreams, especially as I reach into my pajamas night after night, his name on my lips as I bring myself off.
“You look parched, Tolls. Let’s have some of my mother’s limonada.” He drifts off into the generous kitchen with me trailing after him like a lost puppy.
I smile. “You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered. My mother has been keeping fresh limonada on hand for whenever you showed up.”
“Again, I apologise for the delay—”
He holds out his hand, a surprisingly sophisticated gesture given the stains on his fingertips from the leather dyes. “You’re not in trouble. Especially not for arranging for that kid to be fostered.”
“Erik told you?”
He shakes his head. “Ant and I share everything.”
Of course they do. I wonder if they’ve ever talked about me.
God, I’m such a disaster.
“Mom was going to make her sopa de albondigas. Hopefully you’ll stay for dinner.”
“I’m sure it will be delicious, but I was—”Courage, Tolly.“—hoping to invite you to dinner. Just the two of us.”
His eyes sparkle and his lips take on a curious smirk.
“Of course. I’d love to join you for dinner. When did you want to go?”
I look outside at the fading sunlight. “Give me a chance to wash off the airplane and change into something a little more comfortable. Meet you back here in an hour?”
“Perfect. I’ll see what I can do to get the stains out.” He wiggles his fingers self-consciously.
Not thinking on it, I reach out, grabbing his hand. “Everything about you is perfect, including—no, especially—your stained fingers.”
His chest rises and falls rapidly as he takes a step back. Reluctantly, I let go of him and head toward the door.
“See you in an hour, Gael.”
“See you, Tolly.”
2
GAEL
Tolly is nervous, and it’s endearing as hell. He’s fancied me—as the English would say—for a while now. While I’ve held back, I must admit he’s never been alone in those feelings. Even from the beginning, when I couldn’t manage even the thought of a relationship, I could not deny the spark between us.
There’s more than just chemistry, though. My heart was his the moment he read my hesitation and unequivocally honored it. He has never once pressured me. Even when he bought the land next door, he made it abundantly clear that he is both interestedandwilling to be as patient as I need.
He’s a study in contradictions, really. He has the foppish blond hairstyle that rich guys wear, but he’s tanned and freckled from the sun. His accent is so devastatingly posh, but then he wears worn out flip-flops, Hawaiian shirts, and expensive khaki shorts. He can be prim, but he doesn’t hesitate to get his hands dirty.
Despite the fact that he’s a devastatingly handsome lord with aristocratic cheekbones and bright blue eyes, I’ve never known Tolly to try to cash in on his nobility or face card.
I also have to admit that I adore the way he towers over me and that his mannerisms are all so damned elegant. My height was average in Mexico, but now that I live in Texas, I sometimes feel like an ugly sprite, especially with my stained fingers and the smell of leather that seems to linger despite the number of times I bathe and wash my hands.
