Declan doesn’t immediately look up when I approach. He seems lost in thought, his hands buried in his pockets, his shoulders hunched like the cold has finally found its way through that polished exterior. I’ve never seen him like this. So…sad.
“Would you like some company?” I offer.
He snaps his eyes toward mine, completely taken aback by my presence.
“You look like you’re a bit out of your depth here.” I push out a laugh, hoping to cut through the tension.
He blinks repeatedly, as if clearing whatever he was just thinking about from his mind.
Then he blows out a long breath, the stiffness in his posture gradually waning.
“I could definitely use some help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
DECLAN
Claire walks beside me,her gloved hands stuffed into the pockets of her oversized puffy coat. Her breath clouds in the air, her cheeks flushed a deep pink from the cold.
I keep my eyes trained forward, unsure how to act around her.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. I know how I should act. Friendly. Detached. Uninterested. Like she’s my son’s best friend and nothing more.
Like I haven’t spent the past several weeks craving the feel of her legs wrapped around my waist.
Like I haven’t longed to hear the sound she makes when she comes.
Like I haven’t jerked off to the memory of her pussy clenching around me every damn day.
Sometimes twice.
I should have declined her offer of help. Nothing good can come from spending time with her.
But Claire has this gravity around her that keeps pulling me into her orbit.
“Let me guess…” Her teasing voice cuts through the awkward silence as we meander through the rows of trees. “You’re morethe artificial tree type. And not just a plain artificial tree, either. You get one with the lights already attached so you don’t have to deal with testing them and cursing when they inevitably don’t work, even though they were fine the year before.”
I chuckle, my lips curving up at the corners. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“With regard to an artificial tree, absolutely not. I love the smell of a real tree.”
She inhales a deep breath, her eyes briefly closing as she basks in the scent of pine and cedar that permeates this place. She looks so happy. So carefree.
I wish I could find joy in the smell of Christmas trees.
Instead, it brings forward memories of that night. Of the scorching heat. The burning in my lungs.
The blame.
“But testing lights?” she continues. “Definitely. I’m pretty sure the manufacturers intentionally make it so their product only works for one season.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I say with a smile, before looking forward once more.
“So am I right? You have a fake tree, don’t you?”
“Truthfully, I haven’t had a tree in years. Not since I was a boy.”
“What?” She comes to an abrupt stop, staring at me like I just confessed to some horrific crime. Like kicking puppies for fun.
