“Can we put one of my ornaments on the tree first?” She holds up a delicate crystal one. “It’s a snowflake. For Snowflake Harbor.”
Ronan lifts Belle, and she puts her ornament near the top. We proclaim it perfect, and then we decorate in earnest. He pretends to be annoyed by the holiday movie on the screen, calling it cheesy, but I know he’s secretly invested in the couple getting together. I can tell because when we’re at the obligatory breakup scene near the end, he’s so riveted that Belle has to call him three times to get his attention to put tinsel at the top of the tree.
And then, the only thing left is the tree topper, which we don’t have.
“We have time to pick out the perfect angel,” I tell Belle.
We analyze our handiwork. It’s a little lopsided. And you can still see the tree’s bald patch.
“It’s beautiful,” Belle says happily.
“It’s perfect,” I agree.
“It’s not bad,” Ronan allows. “But it’s too sparkly.”
And then it’s time for Belle’s bedtime. We argue the entire way up the stairs about whether it’s possible for a tree to have too much sparkle.
But underneath it all, I’m arguing with myself about how it’s possible for a temporary situation to feel so real.
CHAPTER17
17 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS
Poppy
“What areyou doing at this hour?”
I startle. My paintbrush clatters to the floor of the large open kitchen and little globs of paint spray on the drop cloth.
“You scared me.”
I set my palette and brush down and turn to Ronan. At the sight of him standing in a pair of sleep pants and no shirt, my brain short-circuits. Is it hot in here? Because suddenly, I’m flushed. His muscled chest and arms are chiseled perfection, as are his eight-pack abs and the line of fair hair disappearing into his low-hung pants held up by a drawstring.
It’s been a week since we decorated the Christmas tree together, and he’s been a more regular fixture around the house, but I’ll never get used to the sight of him, especially shirtless.
“Poppy?” he queries. I drag my gaze from his body and focus on his face, which is frowning. Just like with his half smiles, I can now decipher Ronan’s many types of frowns, and this isn’t a grumpy one. It’s perplexed, which is an expression he often directs at me. Go figure.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked what you’re doing awake and painting at two a.m.”
“The Christmas ball has a charity auction, and I’ve been asked to donate a few paintings. Only, it’s been so busy, I’m behind on finishing them. I thought I’d work on one tonight, but I lost track of time.”
Ronan’s frown veers away from confused and hurtles into full-fledged irritation.
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Shit, Poppy. Don’t apologize. This is my fault. You haven’t had enough time off, so you’re working on your projects when you should be sleeping. I can find another babysitter to help out or take Poppy with me to set, so you have more time.”
I realize he’s not irritated with me, but himself, which is sweet, but misguided.
“Ronan, you’re being silly. You were clear when you hired me that the hours would be intense. You’re paying me a ridiculous amount of money to be available. Plus, it’s not a hardship. I love all the time I’ve gotten to spend with Belle.”And with you. “I know I could have taken more time for myself, but I didn’t want to.”
I tilt my head, not wanting to say exactly why I don’t want to be away from them, because then I’d have to reveal the giant, inconvenient crush I’ve developed. He shouldn’t feel guilty. Not when my position of nanny is one I want to play twenty-four seven.
“Well, regardless, it’s not right that you’re working in the middle of the night.” He glowers at me.
I shrug. “I’ve just overextended myself like I do every year. It’s no big deal. I’m used to it.”
