Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
NOELLE
T hree hours and what felt like an eternity later, I shut the door to my place. The house was small, and living in the outlying Montreal suburbs plus my lease meant I lived within my means plus had a little extra because of the money Grandma insisted on giving me.
“Home sweet home, little man.” Frosty squirmed as I set him down and immediately went into the kitchen and to his bowl. The open floor plan was one of my must haves, and the one room concept meant I could see from the front door to the back of the house where the kitchen was. “Just like a man. All about your tummy, huh, Frosty?” His little body wiggled, tail wagging as I stepped out of my heels. He barked then looked at his empty bowl. “Coming, you little stinker.”
The Christmas tree and outside lights were on a timer, so the glow greeted us as soon as we walked up the front steps. And I loved it even more every time I came home.
Frosty was happily slurping and chomping away when I heard a knock at my front door. Frosty, the little stinker, barked, then continued to devour his dinner. Confused, because who was knocking on my door at almost midnight on a snowy and frigid Friday night?
Unless it was Mr. Murray, looking for Honey. The silly ginger cat loved to sneak into my greenhouse in the back yard when it was cold. I still didn’t know how she opened and closed the door, but every time I found her curled up under my potting station, the door was latched tight.
“I’ll go check to see if she’s in the greenhouse, Mr. Murr-” I said, as I opened the front door, only to come face to face with the Christmas wish I thought had slipped through my fingers.
Killian McCreary. Holding a Christmas cookie in one hand and a small paper bag in the other as snow fell down behind him. A sexy and impossibly gorgeous illusion because there was no way Mr. Nice Guy Turned Scrooge Sex on a Stick was standing at my door in the middle of the night.
Maybe I had fallen off the ladder and hit my head, and the entire night had been a dream. I pinched myself. Nope, still here. And so was Killian.
He smirked, and held up the bag, snowflakes dusting his jacket and hair. “Thought you might like to share my Christmas cookies. I seem to remember something about sharing them with someone. And maybe,” he said, “I could make the rest of your Christmas wish come true, too. Because I haven’t been able to think about anything else since you fell into my arms.”
Oh, God. He had heard me . “You want to eat my cookie?”
“That,” he nodded, “and so much more, Christmas girl.” The Christmas lights glowed, and if this was a dream, because maybe I sucked at pinching myself, I didn’t want to wake up.