“Okay, everyone. Drop your Christmas rescue dog name suggestions in the comments and we’ll vote.”
Bree watches me in stunned silence. “Did you just post that online?”
“Don’t you talk to your fans?”
“In the written form. I don’t show my face.” She seems to shrink like a turtle into its shell.
It’s then that I realize that I’m the classic extrovert and she tends toward the opposite.
I pretend to pinch her cheek and say, “But it’s such a pretty face.”
Her skin flushes. I can’t suppress my smirk because it’s true.
“You can’t just post photos and videos of me online.”
“Afraid to tarnish your reputation, being seen with the likes of me?”
“No, but?—”
“Are you in the witness protection program? Because if that’s the case, this will be wiped from the internet immediately. There are ways. Promise.”
A smile plays peekaboo on her lips. “Definitely not that.”
“Then what’s the problem? Can’t a husband show off his wife?”
“Fletch, I’m not like that.”
“We’ve very much established the whole marriage thing.”
She bunches up her mouth. “I mean that I don’t really have a public-facing persona.”
“You’re a bestselling author. I’ve seen the stats.”
“You looked me up?”
“And saw lots of information about your career. Come to think of it, there weren’t many images of you other than your official author photo.”
“And that’s the way I like it.”
“Why?”
She hunches with a shrug.
My jaw lowers. “Bree, is it because—?” I look from the slippers on her feet, up the length of herlegs clad in form-fitting black leggings, to her oversized sweater, and the twist of her hair on top of her head, then drag in a long, deep breath.
“Actually, you’re right. It’s better if you don’t post photos of yourself online.”
Her lips drop into a pout. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I don’t want another man looking at you and seeing what I see …” Or experience what the sight of her is doing to me. I think I now understand why Frosty the Snowman melted.
She crosses her arms in front of her chest, ready to let me have it, when she must recognize something in my expression. The only word I can come up with to describe it isdesire. But that won’t do. She won’t stand for it.
Also, likely, she’s a living, breathing thesaurus, so she has a better synonym or couldshowit rather thantell.
But if I remain here a second longer, I’m going to show her just how beautiful I think she is, even without a sprig of mistletoe hanging over our heads. I’ll certainly be using my mouth, but not my words.
Her melted chocolate scent fills the room.
