Dean chuckled and placed the weight of his large hands on my shoulders with a squeeze. My heart leaped into my throat at his touch.
“Whoa, whoa, hold your horses, honeybee. Take a breath and let me get a word in edgewise.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, sliding my arms around his bicep. Huddling close, I could fool myself into believing I was simply cold, seeking his warmth. But deep down, I knew I wanted to hold on tight and never let him go.
“I’m just excited, that’s all,” I replied apologetically. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have put together a surprise welcome home party.”
Dean grumbled.
“Which is exactly why I didn’t say anything. I hate surprises. And parties.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Some things never change. You’re still the same ol’ Grumpy Gus.”
He broke away to hold me at arm’s length, looking me up and down. A blush warmed my cheeks at his attention.
“Well, I can’t say the same for you. I swear you’ve grown three or four inches. And with that pretty face, rumor has it that you’re breaking hearts all across town.”
My blush burned even hotter and I glanced away with a flustered little laugh.
What the hell was wrong with me? Was I actually tongue-tied? That never happened before.
Dean looped an arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his side. Even through the thick layer of his insulated riding jacket, I could feel the firm muscles of his torso.
My lower belly clenched tight. I would never forget the first time I saw Dean without a shirt, tattoo ink spanning across his chest. The muscles in his back flexed as he bent over his bike in the heat of a Colorado summer. His hands had been streaked with grease, and a thin sheen of sweat slicked his skin.
At sixteen years old, that moment had been an awakening for me. I tried to fight the yearning pit in my stomach, knowing it was wrong. Knowing Dean was so much older than me, while I was still a minor.
So, I did everything I could to forget him. I scoured the boys my age for a distraction. But none of them could measure up.
Then I got an answer to my prayers in the worst possible way. Dean left town. And I bawled my eyes out every night for a week, sick with a broken heart.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I pointed out, grasping desperately at a change in the conversation that I could cling to.
“Which one?” Dean replied. “You asked about six questions in the span of two seconds.”
I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. He let out a puff of air with a grunt and a breathless laugh.
“How long are you staying?” I repeated. “Please tell me you’re going to be around for Christmas.”
Dean hedged with a groan.
“Fuck, I forgot about Christmas. You know I don’t do all that festive holiday shit, honeybee.”
“Come on. Don’t be a grinch.”
I stuck out my lower lip in an exaggerated pout. Dean swore softly under his breath and scrubbed his gloved hand over his mouth.
“Ruby,” he warned.
I pouted harder and grabbed his free hand in both of mine.
“Please,” I begged. “Dad would love to have you.”
And I can’t bear to watch you leave for a second time,I thought.Not before the holidays, when it’s supposed to be the happiest time of the year.
Dean sighed.
