He smiles, that crooked smile that I’ve come to crave. “Afraid.”
“I thought the only thing that scared you was spiders.”
“And what would happen if you didn’t kiss me back,” he admits, pressing his forehead to mine. “Afraid that what I felt was one-sided. I was afraid that I’d ruin whatever chance we had at making this work.”
I brush my lips against his again, soft and sweet. “Me too.”
His pulse slows as we remain together at my confession. “Yeah?”
“Of feeling too much, too soon. Of trusting this to be real.”
As if not wanting to think about that for another second, our lips crash together in a kiss that’s so hungry and so strong that I’m surprised I don’t stagger.
The kiss goes deep, our hearts pound, and my inhales fold into his exhales. I don’t know where he ends and I begin or if it matters anymore. I give him so much, straight from my heart, and I feel it returned tenfold.
When we finally break apart, breathless and dazed, snowflakes clinging to his shoulders, I know with sudden clarity that I’ve been writing the wrong story all along.
This isn’t a marriage of convenience. This isn’t even a second-chance romance.
This is a first chance, finally taken. A beginning, not an ending.
But I’m not sure exactly how to tell that tale.
CHAPTER 19
FLETCH
I drive through Cobbiton,windows cracked despite the December chill. The entire town drips with yuletide wonder—twinkling lights strung between lampposts, storefronts decorated with garlands and red bows, and the massive town square tree visible from blocks away.
Even the most practical businesses have succumbed to Christmas fervor, from the hardware store’s mini hammer-shaped ornaments to the post office’s mailbox Santa display.
I think Cobbiton’s North Pole energy has rubbed off on Bree. This morning, she was filling out Christmas cards and stuffing the envelopes with mini candy canes and chocolates for what she called her early reader team.
After parking behind the town hall with the truck bed full of wrapped toys from yesterday’s wrapping party with the team, Mayor Nishimura greets me on the steps, festooned in evergreen bunting.
She’s bundled in a red coat with a sprig of holly pinned to her lapel. “Right on time, Mr. Turley! The distribution team is waiting inside.”
“This town doesn’t do anything halfway.” I open my arms wide and add, “Well done, Cobbiton!”
She chuckles and we unload the gifts. Pride surges through me at the mountain of packages. Children who might otherwise have nothing will wake up to something special on Christmas morning.
“Your wife couldn’t join you?” the mayor asks as we finish.
“Writing deadline. She’s making great progress.” Or she’s hiding from me in her writing cave, but I did get a thank you note after I left her a breakfast tray and she signed it with a red lipstick kiss.
And I cannot stop thinking about last night under the street light.
No sooner am I back in my truck with the carols on does my phone buzz. It’s Coach Badaszek.
It’s toasty warm in here, but I brace myself, prepared for bad news.
“Ho, ho, ho, hello, Coach.”
He’s quiet. Was that too much?
I add, “Everything okay?”
“Yes. Sorry. My daughters appeared with a cookie tray and I had to take one before I lost my chance.”
