Chapter 10
Chapter ten
It’s the next morning, and time to get my plan back on track and continue the Baby Prep.
I wasn’t simply giving Ivy lip service last night. I know my nieces will get strong and they’ll all be home for Christmas, so the house needs to be ready.
I march down the stairs ready to babyproof. I’m armed with a box full of outlet covers, bookshelf anchors, cabinet locks, and corner guards, as well as a glare I’m not afraid to use if Grant tries getting too close.
No more side quests; no more flirting.
When I land in the living room, he’s not there. Pausing in the hallway, I don’t hear any humming or movement coming from his room or see him in the kitchen as I continue on.
The heavy box makes my shoulders sag—not the disappointment of thinking he’s clearly left without telling me. Really. It’s relief. In fact, I hope he’ll be gone all day and really give me some space. I can throw my pajamas back on and blast some Christmas jams while I’m working.
I set the box down just as the back door opens.
I scream as cold air blasts my back. Then, I turn and see Grant, looking all rugged with a scruffy jaw and long-sleeved henley that hugs the lines of his shoulders. My stomach drops, heat blossoms and turns into butterflies.
I am in trouble.
“Oh good, you’re up,” Grant says, and it could be my imagination, but I swear today his voice sounds silky as Stevie Wonder. I need to get a hold of myself. “Can you come here? I need your help with something.”
Before I can ask what he’s up to, he disappears back outside. I stare at the door for a few moments, welcoming the building irritation. I’ve got things I’m trying to work on; I’m not at Grant’s beck and call.
Still, I trudge to the shoe rack to put on some tennis shoes and grab my coat.
When I step out to the back yard, the slap of frigid air against my face makes me gasp.
You never can tell what kind of weather you’ll get in Central Texas as winter approaches.
I can recall a few Christmases Ivy and I spent playing outside, in shorts, because the days were so warm.
Even though it’s cold now, I’m not holding my breath that it’ll stay this way come a few weeks.
“Over here,” Grant calls from the shed.
I see him kneeling beside the big green tubs full of decorations.
“What are you doing?” I ask, battling the wind to get to him as it whips my locs to and fro.
Grant looks up, unaffected by the wind though the tip of his nose has a slight red hue from the cold. “Did you realize that every house on this street already has their decorations up? Since this is the only one slackin’, and since it’s on your list, I figured we could knock it out today.”
“Today? I was going to babyproof everything. Besides—” I turn my back against another gust of wind and raise my hood. “I’m not sure if we should be doing anything in this weather.” Not to mention I don’t want him to mess up any of Dad’s old ornaments.
Grant smiles into another box. “Here’s what I was looking for.”
It takes me a few seconds to tear my eyes away from his handsome face made even more attractive by his excitement. When I finally see what he’s holding up, I smile back.
“You found the lights.”
“Yes ma’am.”
He takes the string of lights in both hands and extends them to study the bulbs. Red, yellow, blue, green—the colors of my childhood.
“Wait, are these—” Grant begins.
“Traditional incandescent lights. They were Dad’s favorite.
He absolutely refused to use anything else.
Listen, one year, Ivy and I accidentally bought LEDs.
I kid you not, Dad spent three hours stringing lights only to then turn them on and realize we got the wrong type.
You’d think after all that work that he’d take it as a lesson to not let us shop next time but roll with it, right?
” I look up at Grant who’s watching me with an amused grin and shake my head.
“Nope. Not my daddy. He took every single strand down. He returned them the next day and started over.”
Grant lets out a low laugh. “That explains why there’s at least twenty unopened boxes of these things in here then.”
“There are not.”
Grant quirks an eyebrow and gestures me to look inside the bin. I lean forward for a peek and giggle. Grant’s right. Dad did stock up on the lights.
Grant laughs with me. “So, about putting them up now?” He holds the lights up.
I sigh, long and dramatic. I guess I can babyproof later. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
His answering grin is bright and genuine, and my stomach is back to doing somersaults. I can see Grant actually likes all this Christmas stuff. And I like that about him.
I’m going to take these lights down and strangle somebody with them. Grant by the looks of things so far.
“Come on, Eve,” Grant drawls behind me. “No one’s gonna care if the lights look more... artistic. From the curb it all shines the same. Besides, this isn’t a competition with the neighbors.”
I snap my head around and scowl. “Yes, it is. At least it always was to Dad.” I yank the stupid strand straighter and try to force the bulbs to sit in a neat line around the pillar.
They still won’t lay flat how I want, and I’m this close to giving up.
“You know,” Grant says, slowly inching toward me. “I could always do it for you.”
It’s the third time he’s offered since I’ve been working at this. First, I declined because I wanted to be the one to decorate it like Dad. Then I declined out of principle, not wanting to be undone by the lights. Now I see it’s been a losing battle all along.
“Ugh. Fine,” I huff and let the lights fall into Grant’s waiting hands.
Of course, he fixes in two minutes what I’ve been battling for half an hour. His long arms loop the cord neatly and evenly, his motions quick and sure.
He steps back, admiring his work with a self-satisfied—bordering on smug—grin.
I narrow my eyes. “I could have done that if I had the wingspan of a pterodactyl. You basketball players and your long arms.”
His eyes tighten slightly, and he picks up another bundle of lights. “I’ll get these strung up on the roof.”
Watching him walk away so abruptly is not a good feeling and I can’t help but mentally kick myself for that little basketball comment. I hadn’t meant to poke at his wound and know I should apologize. But he moves quickly and is already up the ladder, so I’ll shelve that apology for later.
For now, one more pillar needs to be decorated and since I hurt my handyman’s feelings, I’ll have to do it myself. I hold in a silent sob and pick up another strand of lights.
When I’m done, my pillar looks noticeably different from Grant’s, and not in a good way. I cast him a pitiful look, but my stomach immediately drops when I see that he’s all the way on the roof, lying flat while hanging lights below. Dad never did it that way. He always stuck to the ladder.
I don’t know if what Grant is doing is safe, but I refrain from yelling out so I don’t startle him.
“Lookin’ good!” Ms. Thomas calls from across the street.
I turn to see her standing by her car in her fur coat and kitten heels, shooting us a thumbs up. I wave but before I can turn back to Grant, she calls out, “Eve dear, look at these!”
She holds some woven socks from a bag. “I got them from the Christmas market. I’m about to turn on some hot chocolate and get nice and cozy.”
That sounds delightful and makes me long to visit the market myself, though I know I won’t.
I open my mouth to compliment Ms. Thomas on her style and activity of the evening when a strong gust of wind blows my hood back. Ms. Thomas’s gaze darts toward the roof, and her eyes go wide.
I whip around just in time to see Grant roll, then drop like a sack of coal into the yard.
“Grant!”
My heart seizes as I sprint to the side of the house. He’s face up in the grass, eyes closed.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” I drop to my knees with my hands hovering helplessly above him as I scan for anything that could be broken. “I’m going to call the ambulance.” My fingers scramble for my phone, but they’re shaking so bad it slips and lands right on his chest.
“Ow,” he groans.
“You’re alive!” The surge of relief makes me dizzy.
His eyes slowly crack open, heavy with pain but locked on me.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” I tell him, my voice cracking. “How could you think going on a roof on a windy day was a good idea? Do you have any idea—”
His lips crash into mine.
For a heartbeat I freeze, too stunned to process that he’s actually kissing me. But then his hand cups the back of my head, anchoring me to him, and I melt.
My eyes flutter shut and I kiss him back, all that control I’ve been clinging to slips right through my fingers.
My hand finds his cheek, stroking his skin. It’s cool beneath my palm, but his lips are hot and soft and taste faintly of the hot cocoa—of course this man made some without offering me any.
How dare he.
I lick his bottom lip, chasing every drop of sweetness, and am startled to realize it’s not the cocoa that’s sweet. It’s him. And I am utterly lost in him. I don’t care about the howling wind or the cold ground beneath my knees. This addictive kiss drowns out all else.
He squeezes the nape of my neck, fingers tugging my roots. I sigh into his mouth. He breathes into mine.
“Honey, are you okay—oh!”
Ms. Thomas’s voice brings everything to a screeching halt. I gasp for air, looking for the good sense that left me when Grant’s lips touched mine.
“Well, I see everything is okay here,” she says, already sashaying away. “I’ll just leave you two lovebirds to it.”
I turn back to Grant. Although he fell back to the ground when I pulled away, his lips are curved into a blissful smile.
“Why did you do that?” I ask, proud of how steady my voice sounds given that I’m still reeling on the inside.
I kissed him! Again! Or, rather, he kissed me. But I kissed him back. Boy, did I kiss him back.
Grant shakes his head slowly as if coming out of a trance. “On the way down, I swore if I lived, I’d stop wasting chances. Then I opened my eyes and saw an angel hovering over me.” His eyes clear and his mouth quirks. “Seemed like a dumb time to hesitate.”
My cheeks burn hot. “Well, I’m no angel. We’ll chalk that up to head trauma.”
I help pull him up, my hands gripping his arms to make sure he’s steady.
He winces and rolls his shoulders but seems otherwise unharmed. I can’t say the same for my nerves. I don’t know whether to yell at him more for climbing onto the roof, yell at him for kissing me, or pull him back down and make him do it again.
As usual, with Grant, everything is out of control.
“Gotta say…” Grant dusts grass from his pants while waiting for me to look at him.
I shake my head, already knowing that he’s going to say the most ridiculous thing to make this whole situation even more complicated.
When I still don’t look up, he tugs my hood back over my head and gently tips my chin with his finger until our eyes meet.
“The fall was worth the kiss,” he says softly, “and judging by how you kissed me back, I’m not the only one who wanted or liked it.”