She reaches up to place it on the highest branch, her oversized sweater rising to pull taut across her hips, revealing the curve of her backside. I grip the back of the couch to keep from reaching out and touching her.
“I can’t reach,” she says.
“Here.” I step behind her, close enough to catch the scent of her favorite rose hair mist. My chest brushes her back as I lean in, my mouth near her ear. “Let me.”
But I don’t take the angel.
Instead, I slide my hands just above her hips, feeling the way her stomach tightens under my touch. She’s soft where I’m hard, warm where I’m burning, and when I lift her—fuck—she makes this little half gasp, half moan sound before she melts back against me.
“Got it?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “You can—you can put me down now.”
I lower her slowly, letting her body drag against mine. The sweep of her backside down my thighs is torture. By the time her feet touch the ground, she’s trembling.
She turns to face me, and there’s no space left between us.
Her lips are parted, her dark eyes locked onto mine, and I can see the pulse in her throat. The space separating us is electric.
I want to back her against the tree, taste her lips, and slide my hands under that damn sweater.
But I don’t.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“This is the best Christmas tree I’ve ever had,” Axel pipes up, oblivious to the charged moment happening above his head.
How many Christmases has this kid had where a crooked tree in a falling-down house is the best he’s experienced?
“We’re not done yet,” I hear myself saying. “You know what this place needs?”
“What?” Axel asks.
“The smell of Christmas cookies,” I say. “I saw flour and sugar in the kitchen earlier. We could make this whole house smell like Christmas.”
Cassidy’s face lights up. “I love that idea. Axel, do you want to help us bake?”
“I’ve never made cookies before,” he admits, but there’s eagerness in his voice.
“Then you’re in for a treat,” I tell him. “Cassidy makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world.”
“That was eight years ago. I might be rusty.”
“Some things you never forget,” I say, and our eyes lock.
Axel tugs on my sleeve, breaking the spell. “Can we start now?” he asks.
“Absolutely,” Cassidy says, already heading toward the kitchen. “But fair warning. It’s going to get messy.”
As I follow them, I catch myself imagining what it would be like if this were real. If this were our house, our tree, and our kid asking to help make cookies. The thought fills me with longing.
The kitchen fills with the warm scent of vanilla and butter as Cassidy measures flour into a mixing bowl. Axel stands on a chair beside her, cracking eggs with concentration.
“Easy does it,” she encourages as he drops shell fragments into the bowl along with the egg. “We can fish those out.”
I lean against the counter, watching her patiently guide his small hands as they pick out the pieces. “So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “what do you do now? For work, I mean.”
“I’m a librarian,” she says, not looking up from the bowl. “Head librarian at a branch in Atlanta.”
