Ethan moves deeper into the attic, and I’m acutely aware of how the low ceiling forces us closer together. When he reaches for a box on a high shelf, his Henley rides up, revealing a strip of tanned skin.
I quickly look away, focusing on Axel. “Careful with those,” I tell him as he examines a delicate glass angel. “They look old.”
“They are,” Ethan says, examining a faded box label. “Whoever lived here before really loved Christmas.”
I watch as he opens a box and pulls out ornaments wrapped in tissue paper. There’s something about seeing all these forgotten Christmas memories that makes my heart constrict painfully.
“We should bring these downstairs,” I say. “See what we’re working with.”
Ethan nods, but when he moves to lift a heavy box, I reach for the same one. Our hands brush, and the simple touch ignites pulsing in my core. We both freeze.
“Sorry,” I whisper, but I don’t pull away.
Neither does he.
The air is thick with everything we’re not saying. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, can smell that clean, masculine scent that’s uniquely Ethan. My eyes drift to his mouth, remembering exactly how it felt against mine last night.
“Ms. Cassidy? Mr. Ethan?” Axel’s voice breaks the spell. “Can we put the tree up today?”
I jerk back, heat flooding my cheeks. Ethan clears his throat and hefts the box.
“Let’s see what we’ve got first, buddy,” Ethan says.
We spend the next hour carrying boxes downstairs, the three of us working in synchronization. Every time Ethan and I pass each other on the narrow stairs, there’s a moment of charged awareness.
By the time we’ve moved everything to the living room, I’m practically vibrating with need that has nothing to do with Christmas planning and everything to do with the man currently kneeling on the floor, going through ornament boxes with Axel.
“Look at this one,” Ethan says, holding up a tiny ceramic Santa. “Someone really took care of these.”
The gentle way he handles each ornament, his inclusion of Axel in examining everything and the patience in his voice do things to my heart. This is what I imagined when I used to dream about our future. Ethan being kind, careful and completely engaged with our children.
“The tree looks good,” I say, needing to break the intimate mood.
We’d managed to get the artificial tree assembled and positioned by the window. It’s a little lopsided and definitely shows its age, but it’s sturdy.
“Now comes the fun part,” Ethan says, standing and dusting off his hands. When he straightens, his shirt clings to his chest, and I forget how to breathe properly. The fabric stretches across his shoulders, highlighting every defined muscle I shouldn’t be noticing but absolutely am.
I busy myself untangling a string of lights, trying to ignore how my pulse speeds up every time he moves near me. But when he crouches beside me to help with a particularly stubborn knot, I nearly drop the entire strand.
“Here,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. “Let me.”
His hands work efficiently at the tangle, and I find myself studying the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he looks down. When he glances up and catches me staring, something hot flickers in his eyes.
“Cassidy,” he starts.
“I found tinsel!” Axel announces, bursting into our moment as he emerges from a box covered head to toe in silver strands.
I laugh, both relieved and disappointed by the interruption. What was Ethan about to say?
“You’re completely covered,” I say, helping Axel remove some of the shimmering strands from his shoulders.
As I pull tinsel from his hair, an idea strikes me. “Wait,” I say, stepping back. “We need something special for the tree.”
Ethan looks up, curiosity replacing the intensity in his eyes. “What did you have in mind?”
I rummage through the craft supplies we discovered earlier in the attic and pull out cardboard, scissors, and a faded marker. “Every child should have their own ornament with their name on it.”
Axel’s eyes widen with wonder. “Really? For me?”
