Chapter 8
eight
JONAH
“So, you really expected to survive on cheese and wine?” I asked, sitting down on the other side of the couch, placing both glasses on the coffee table.
She threw her head back, sighing loudly. The movement exposed the long, elegant line of her throat, and I had to look away before I stared too long.
It had been a few of hours since she’d officially moved in, and after the tea debate I let her have some time to get settled before dinner.
While she’d taken a bath, I’d gone out and made sure we had enough firewood to see us through the next few days.
If anything, it was an excuse to give her some alone time – and me the space to consider why on earth I’d invited a siren into my home.
“It’s the newest fad diet. The ‘I’m not used to the village shop closing for the foreseeable future detox’.
Haven’t you heard of it?” She took a long sip from her glass, her eyes closing as she swallowed.
The way her lips touched the rim of the glass, the mark they left, and the appreciative sigh she gave after did nothing to stop me wondering how much better she’d feel up close.
Her knee nearly brushed mine as she sat opposite, wearing a heather lilac sweater and a pair of leggings, looking much warmer since I’d lit the fire. The flames cast a warm glow on her skin, almost making her seem soft.
I could barely reply, let alone tease. “Oh, I forgot, you’re a big city girl.”
“Shut up, America.” Her voice had taken on a teasing lilt, like she was enjoying this back-and-forth as much as I was. “Where are you from, anyway?”
“I grew up outside of DC, in the suburbs.”
Her eyebrows pushed up, and I didn’t miss the way she leaned in slightly, getting comfortable, settling into me a little. “And you’re giving me shit?”
“I know, but it’s fun,” I laughed, looking over at her again. Her eyes sparkled in the firelight, making it hard to look away. “The helpless act is kind of cute.”
“Act?” she repeated, narrowing her blue eyes in suspicion. That sharp, assessing look sent a little jolt through me. I wondered if she was sizing me up, deciding if she liked what she saw.
I swallowed, trying to put the feeling I had around her – the feeling I’d failed to shake since the second she walked into the pub – into the right words.
Kit made my thoughts slow, more deliberate.
Made me want to read between every line of what she said, only to make sure I didn’t miss a single note.
“You strike me as the kind of person who’s almost never not in control of a situation.
” My voice was quieter, more serious. The teasing edge was gone now, replaced by something new.
Something heavier. The air between us shifted; it was warm and electric, like a live wire.
“It feels very strange and out of place to see somebody as headstrong as you are, completely lost in the middle of nowhere.”
Her eyes searched my face, holding my gaze a moment too long, as if testing me, seeing if I’d flinch.
“Thank you?” she answered, her gaze now avoiding mine, downcast on her glass. After a moment, she added “I think,” and shot me a side-long glance, her expression unsure, stuck between amused and wary.
I adjusted my position, suddenly too aware of the space between us – or rather, how little of it there was. The couch, the entire cabin, felt smaller now. I picked up my own glass, trying to drown the feeling.
“It was supposed to be a compliment.”
“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.
The tennis 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.
Almost a little like me.
“You call this decorated?” I looked at it, the randomly placed baubles, the tinsel sprawled almost diagonally. “It’s terrible. Barely any decorations on the old thing. Maybe we could fix it up.”
Stretching out, I grabbed a bauble, using some care to remove it from the branch.
Kit’s hand met mine. “No, stop,” she said, her grip tightening. “That’s stupid. Honestly, you’ve done enough.”
“I want to do this,” I said, my next words tumbling out before I could stop them. “If I’m being honest, you’ve saved me from a very lonely Christmas.”
Her grip softened slightly, her gaze warming. “And you’ve saved me from freezing. Twice.”
“I thought we agreed you aren’t normally the saving type.” I held her gaze, that determination I’d met at every turn shining brightly…
I broke. Immediately.
“Fine,” I agreed. “We’ll find something else.”
A smile slowly curled onto her lips, an excitement showing through.
“But…” I said, watching that pink curve falter. I held the glittery bauble out towards her, specks of gold sparkle pressed into my fingertip. “You’ve got to hang this one.”
She looked between the bauble and the tree, suddenly unsure. Tentatively, she took it, rolling it in her hand, leaving a faint trail of glitter against her skin.
I couldn’t look away as she thought over the tree, her eyes going over every branch, every space available. Kit stretched forward, decoration in one hand, the other pulling her long blonde hair over her shoulder, revealing her long neck.
Carefully, she hung the bauble, leaning back to evaluate her work, her pink lips separated.
The rest of the tree might have looked chaotic, but this one bauble, the sole focus of her attention, was the eye of the storm.
“Happy now?” Her voice rang right through me, not only the challenge of it but the warmth too. That smile on her lips felt so special to me, as if it had been a while since anyone had won a genuine look of joy from her.
More than you know, I thought to myself.