My lungs constrict, cutting off my airflow.
He couldn’t be more right. I am a fierce protector of the people I love, ferocious when I need to be. Unpredictable most of the time, even to myself.
But when the rest of the world isn’t watching, I soften. I relax. And insecurity and vulnerability creep into places I didn’t know they could.
Can I find a job I love?
Will I be adrift like this forever, searching for my passion?
Am I unlovable? Destined to be alone for the rest of my life?
Swallowing those thoughts, I try to push them away. I can’t wallow in them, or I might never pull myself out.
So I summon a bit of confidence into my features and take another sip from my mug. “This might be the best peppermint mocha of my life. Try it.” I hold the mug in his direction. “You know you want to.”
He lifts a hand from Noah's back. I try to ignore the zap of electricity that shoots up my arm when our fingers brush. But it’s impossible as the jolt travels all the way to my heart.
I can’t drag my attention away as he brings the cup to his mouth. My gaze wanders over his smooth lips, sharp jaw, and strong hands.
A low groan rumbles through him, and I want to swallow it. I want to drown in it. I want to hear nothing but his laugh andthatgroan for the rest of my life.
11
GAVIN
Lena grabs the mug from my hand and pulls it to her mouth. Pride bubbles in my chest as I watch her lashes drift closed in pleasure.
It took some time to make the homemade chocolate and peppermint syrups this morning, but I know it was worth it as she lowers the cup and a peaceful smile lifts her lips.
Those perfect, plump lips. They’re bare right now, no red lipstick darkening them, but I find them even more tempting. That lush coral pink makes me want to find out if they taste like peppermint right now. And I’m dying to know what they would look like puffy from kissing.
Last night in bed, I tried so hard not to think about those flimsy straps around her collarbone and how easily I could’ve slipped them off. I tried not to imagine what it would feel like to slide my hand further up her thigh. And most of all, I tried not to fantasize about tugging her into my lap to see how perfectly we fit together.
But I failed at everyfuckingbit of it.
“Gavin?” With my attention on her lips, I get to see the way they move when she whispers my name. The way the tip of her tongue is visible when she says the syllables.
My throat is dry when I sigh, “Lena.”
Her raven curls shine in the sunrise through the window as she tilts her head to take another sip. “I missed this. Drinking coffee with you early in the morning when the house is quiet.”
“I missed it too. Last Christmas, no one berated me about how soon the cinnamon rolls would be ready.” I try to hide my small grin, but it sneaks out around the words.
Her gaze flicks up, and she groans. “They just make the house smellso good. It’s hard to wait for them. We had to go back to canned cinnamon rolls without our Gavin here to make them.”
Guilt lands like a lead weight in my stomach. My cinnamon rolls are also Penelope’s favorite, and I hate that I wasn’t here to make them.
Noah stirs on my chest, his arm flying out before he settles again. As I run a hand over his back, I scan the line of stockings on the mantel.
Mine is at the very end, Rudolph’s red nose protruding from it. Bea got me that stocking with my name embroidered across the top on my second holiday here. At thirty years old, it was the first time I ever had one with my name on it.
That night, I cried into my pillow as silently as I possibly could.
I had made it through twenty-nine Christmases without the kind of memories and family I saw in holiday movies. Twenty-nine years of wishing I could have what Ralphie fromA Christmas Storyhad. Or, hell, I’d be content with two parents fighting for my attention like Charlie fromThe Santa Clause.
Instead, I had two biological parents who wanted nothing to do with me and foster parents who couldn’t care less.
“We hung yours up even though you weren’t here,” Lena whispers, like she can sense where my thoughts are.
