“I hope so.” She huffed a laugh before taking a sip from her own glass, her fingers pressing delicately around the stem. My gaze lingered on her touch, careful, controlled, like she was trying to hide her feelings, keep them to herself.
I smiled softly. “I wasn’t going to leave you there, Kit. Even if you hadn’t wanted to stay, I still would’ve brought you firewood. Let’s be honest, you’d still be cold.”
She shrugged, a slow roll of her shoulders that sent a wisp of her hair falling forward. She didn’t tuck it back, though. Instead, she shifted, her knee brushing against mine, deliberate or not I couldn’t tell. But she didn’t move away.
I arched a brow, meeting her gaze head-on. “I can’t imagine you ever need much rescuing, Kit.”
Her gaze snapped to mine again, the intensity behind her blue eyes sharp and unreadable.
I cleared my throat, trying to push past it. “I could see you now, forcing me to drive you to Inverness.”
Her jaw fell open. “You mean that was an option this entire time?”
“It wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my Christmas Eve. And the roads are still dangerous.” I looked out the window. The snowstorm had stopped, at least temporarily. “But if you’d asked, I would’ve.”
She tilted her head slightly, considering me, before a slow, genuine smile spread across her lips. “Thanks, Jonah.”
The way she said my name sent a warmth up my neck. And while this hadn’t exactly been how I was expecting to spend my Christmas, I couldn’t bring myself to mind. I had grown used to being alone over the past few months. My family had planned to visit, my sister had talked about coming over, but it never came through. I told myself I didn’t care. That I had the book to finish. However, sitting there with Kit, glass in hand and the fire crackling, I realized how much I had hated being on my own.
“So, what’s your typical Christmas Eve plan?” I asked, trying to push away any more thoughts of work.
Kit grimaced before admitting, “I don’t really have them. I usually get invited to a couple of parties, spend my time floating around. I haven’t really celebrated Christmas since…” She hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I don’t know. Maybe the last time I visited my gran. I think I was sixteen?”
“Really? How come?”
“My parents weren’t really the family kind. They were always working, and I was a second thought,” she admitted. “I mostly spent Christmases with my gran. She was actually from around here, which is why I thought visiting was a good idea.” She waved her hand, her expression looking a little forced. “You know, last Christmas memory and all that.”
My chest tightened at the way she said it, light but a little too rehearsed. I could’ve left it alone. Should have. Instead, I shifted closer – just a little.
“Sounds like she meant a lot to you.”
For a second, I thought she wouldn’t answer. Then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it, she said, “Yeah. She did.”
I couldn’t handle it anymore, that sad look on her face. So, I pushed up from the sofa, almost with too much bounce and enthusiasm for the moment. “I think it’s time we made you some new holiday traditions.”
“What?” Kit asked.
I ignored her question, instead turning to look down at her, my hands stretched out in offering.
She hesitated, clearly unsure whether to take the help. I didn’t move, didn’t retract. She sighed and, rolling her eyes, slipped her hands into mine. Her touch was soft, warm from the fire.
As I pulled her up from the sofa, the blanket she’d wrapped herself in slipped to the floor, pooling at our feet. Neither of us moved to pick it up.
“That’s why you’re here, right?” I asked, keeping hold of her hands a second too long. “In Scotland. You wanted a Christmas like the ones you remember. The tree decorating, the cookies, the whole thing. Santa coming down the chimney.”
She huffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess so. Not the Santa thing though. I prefer strange men to stay outside my place of residence.”
“Guess I must be the exception,” I said with a smirk.
This time, when she laughed, it was softer. A welcome crack in that carefully guarded expression. “I’ll consider that box ticked.”
“The rest of the stuff,” I said. “We could do that.”
She hesitated, looking away from me. “Your tree is already decorated?”
I looked over my shoulder, finding the sad looking tree in the corner. I’d been going stir-crazy one weekend, almost climbing the walls with the early darkness, the winter loneliness. Thetennis lessons and drinks down at the pub with Archie started to not be enough. Coming home to an empty house, I couldn’t stand it. So, I’d cracked, driving the forty minutes to the nearest big store and stuffing the car full of Christmas decorations.
I’d thrown the tree together with no real skill, only memories of how my mom had ruled the decorating process with an iron fist, but I’d had fun with it, almost enjoying how disastrous and sad the tree looked after.
