6. Edward
Chapter 6
Edward
I pull up to Mrs. Hendricks’ “home,” the tires crunching over snow-dappled gravel. A strange twinge of anticipation warms my stomach as the mansion looms before us. Its grand structure is lit like a beacon against the dark, its windows ablaze with a warm light spilling over the frosted lawn, where reindeer figurines and a jolly Santa sleigh seem to wait for us. Only, these aren’t the blow-up kind. They’re real, meticulously crafted with polished wood and metal, standing as if ready to launch into the night.
“Wow,” Ember breathes beside me, her eyes wide with childlike wonder as Santa smiles and waves at her. The look on her face alone makes this trip worthwhile. “It’s like something from a Christmas movie,” she whispers, her cheeks flushed, her gaze captivated by every detail.
“Wait until you see inside,” I say, a smile creeping onto my face despite my usual reservations. It’s rare for me to feel at ease, but seeing her excitement bubble over makes it impossible not to join in. The Grinch in me retreats, quietly slipping into the background as I soak in her joy.
Mrs. Hendricks meets us at the door, her warm smile crinkling her weathered face. She’s one of the town’s fixtures, having lived here longer than most and known by everyone for her knack for throwing grand parties. But I know her from more than her social gatherings. Every couple of weeks, she buys eggs, milk, and occasionally fresh cuts of beef from my farm, insisting that “nothing beats local, Edward.”
“Well, if it isn’t Edward and…?” Her sharp eyes move to Ember, softening as she takes her in. Mrs. Hendricks is quick to form opinions, but she’s never unkind.
“Ember,” I say, gesturing toward her. “She’s a friend. Bought the old McCormick place.”
“Oh, a friend , is it?” she asks with a teasing lilt, her grin widening.
Ember blushes but holds her ground, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hendricks,” she says politely.
“Polite too,” Mrs. Hendricks remarks, shaking her hand with vigor. “You’re a rare gem, Ember. You know, this town could use someone like you.”
I clear my throat, hoping to steer the conversation away from the matchmaking undertone already creeping in. “You’ve outdone yourself with the decorations this year, Mrs. Hendricks. The reindeer out front are impressive.”
“Oh, you’re not changing the subject that easily,” she says, wagging a finger at me, her grin sly. “But thank you, Edward. I like to keep the spirit alive. And besides, who doesn’t need a little extra joy these days?”
She turns back to Ember, her tone softening. “Now, you make sure this one feeds you plenty of his farm’s best. He doesn’t brag, but his beef is the finest I’ve ever had, and those eggs? They practically sing in the frying pan.”
Ember laughs lightly, glancing at me. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t hold out on me.”
“Good,” Mrs. Hendricks says, patting Ember’s arm. She leans in slightly toward me, her voice dropping just enough for Ember to hear, “You’ve found yourself a real beauty this time, Edward.”
My ears burn, and before I can say a word, Mrs. Hendricks winks and moves on, her laughter fading as she disappears into the crowd.
Ember glances at me, her brow raised. “Does she always make you squirm like that?”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “She’s harmless. Loves to meddle.”
“Well,” Ember says, her smile teasing. “I think she likes me.”
I hold her gaze. “What’s not to like?”
Because, fuck, she looks cute in her Christmas sweater with little bells on the front. It clings to her curves, emphasizing her large breasts and wide hips. She’s teamed it with a flowy skirt I want to bunch in my fists and slide up her smooth thighs and black boots I want to unzip with my teeth.
Forcing down my lustful thoughts, I lead Ember inside and into a scene straight out of a holiday card. Every inch of space is decked out in yuletide splendor. Garlands of evergreen drape over the mantels and twist up the banisters like golden vines, casting a soft glow across the room. A towering Christmas tree looms on one side, its branches adorned with ornaments that glint like jewels, catching the light and sending tiny rainbows dancing across the high ceiling.
Ember’s hand finds mine, the warmth and gratitude radiating through her gentle touch, a silent thank you for bringing her here.
At the buffet, we load our plates, savoring the mingling scents of roasted turkey, buttery potatoes, and the sweet tang of cranberry sauce. Laughter fills the room, mixing with snippets of seasonal songs floating around us like snowflakes in a warm, cozy dream.
As we mingle, I catch several winks from the elderly ladies in the room, each one more conspiratorial than the last. They all think Ember and I are an item. It’s a misunderstanding, but as I look down at her, laughing and vibrant under the soft holiday lights, I can’t bring myself to correct them. The weight of my worries—my ex-wife’s constant interference, her new boyfriend’s underhanded threats toward Ember—fades into the background as if silenced by the warm hum of Christmas cheer. I’m here, truly present, soaking in the happiness that radiates from her.
She’s unaware of how she affects me, how her laughter is a melody that makes my pulse quicken, how her touch is both fire and silk on my skin. She’s sweetly sensual, a rare combination that ignites a yearning I’ve fought to keep at bay.
“Come on, Edward!” Ember says, her hand tugging at mine, pulling me toward the center where couples are dancing to a rendition of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.
I hesitate, glancing down at myself as she tugs me forward, acutely aware of the snugness of my shirt over my middle. It’s a sharp reminder of the additional weight I’ve carried for years—a physique forged by hard work on the ranch and perhaps a few too many hearty meals—rather than the sculpted leanness I once had in my youth. I feel clunky, out of place, as if this polished holiday setting deserves someone sleeker, someone who would complement Ember’s radiant beauty instead of contrasting with it.
But then she looks at me, her smile wide and utterly sincere, and all my doubts falter. “Edward, please?” she urges, her voice light and teasing, no judgment in her eyes, only joy and a longing for me to share it with her.
I can’t help but smile as the festive spirit sweeps away her cares, and she dances with a childlike abandon that’s contagious. It’s as if she’s shedding the fear and caution she brought from Vegas, her laughter filling the space between us, soft and full of life.
I get swept up in it, dancing along despite my usual reluctance. The self-consciousness doesn’t disappear entirely, but with her hand in mine and her delight so genuine, it’s smaller, quieter, as though it’s no match for the light she brings into the room.
As the song fades into a mellower tune, I’ll Be Home for Christmas , something inside me shifts. The melody seems to reach out, luring me forward, guiding my hands to rest on her waist, drawing her close. Her body fits against mine with an ease that should surprise me but doesn’t. We move together, slow and gentle, each step like coming home. I catch myself humming along, my voice low as if singing to her alone.
It’s new to me, dancing with a woman who stirs up a storm within my chest, a mixture of emotions I’d all but forgotten. Thoughts about duty and the weight of past mistakes drift away as I lose myself in the moment, in the feel of her in my arms. Maybe falling in love isn’t such a distant concept after all.
The song ends, and I’m reluctant to let go. But as we pause, I realize we’ve stopped beneath a sprig of mistletoe, delicately tied with a red bow, hanging innocently overhead.
Ember glances up, a playful glint in her eyes, her lips curling in a smile that makes my heart stutter. “You know,” she says, her voice a soft chime, “it’s bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe.”
Is it? I’ve never been one for superstitions, but as she stands there, hope glimmering in her gaze, I’m unable to refuse.
Leaning down, I press my lips to hers, starting with a tenderness that makes her hum with happiness. But the sweetness quickly ignites into something deeper, a fiery passion that surprises us both. The kiss sears straight to my soul, a revelation of desire and connection, and I know that I’ve crossed a line I can’t come back from.
When we finally break apart, breathless, I stare down at her, need burning through every cell. “I’m not sure about luck, but I’d certainly accept more kisses from you.”
Her cheeks flush with a rosy hue, her lips still tinged with the promise of more. Leaning closer, she whispers the words that send my heart racing even faster.
“Take me home, Edward.”
“Home,” I echo, the word taking on an entirely new meaning.
With her hand in mine, the promise of what’s to come fills me with a heady combination of anticipation and wonder. Could this Christmas be the one that changes everything?
Silence fills the car as I drive us toward our homes. Ember is so quiet beside me that I wonder if she’s changed her mind, if perhaps the magic of the evening momentarily clouded her judgment. I want to tell her how much she means to me, how I’ve been holding my breath until this moment. But I keep it inside. If she’s having second thoughts, that’s her right, and I’ll respect it.
But as we reach her driveway, she gets out of the truck humming a Christmas tune, her eyes soft and her smile still lingering from our evening. I walk with her up to her porch, my hands tucked into my pockets as the cold bites at my skin. The festive lights from inside her house spill out, casting a warm glow over the snow, the world still and almost dreamlike around us.
“I should probably get going,” I murmur, reluctant to break the magic that has cocooned us since that kiss under the mistletoe.
“Stay.” Ember’s voice is soft yet insistent, her hand reaching to grasp mine gently.
I look down at her, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her breath comes out in little puffs of white. Desire courses through me, a powerful current that washes away thoughts of duty and past regrets. How can I possibly walk away from this woman who has turned my world upside down in a matter of weeks?
“Come inside,” she says again, her voice a whisper of invitation that tugs at something deep within me.
I nod, wordless, knowing that if I speak, I might shatter the fragile bubble of hope that has enveloped us. Following her lead, I step across the threshold into the warmth of her home. The door swings shut with a soft click, sealing us away from the winter night. Our breaths mingle in the quiet space, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wrapping around us.
“Home,” I say quietly, the word carrying a sacred weight in the small sanctuary she’s created.
And for the first time in a long while, I believe it could be. Home isn’t a place; it’s wherever this feeling resides, wherever Ember is. And tonight, that’s right here with her.