Chapter Twelve Barrett
Chapter Twelve
Barrett
“This is interesting.”
She was still staring up at the mistletoe when she said it, a casual tilt to her head that sent her long hair spilling over her shoulders. Only during the cookie-baking process had it been tied back, but as soon as they were done, she let it down again.
The sight of it gave me the most irrational reaction. Chiefly, a skin-tingling curiosity that needed a mute button because I patently refused to give it any headway.
Was it soft? It looked soft.
My hands curled up in helpless fists, and I sucked in a breath. “Is it?”
Her eyes—that dark-navy color—flicked to mine. “You’re saying you didn’t put it there?”
My head reared back. “No. Why would I?”
“God, Barrett, if you wanted to kiss me, you could just say so.” Lily bit down on her bottom lip, casually surveying my facial expression. “Not what I expected for a Christmas present, but I suppose I can consider this part of the truce.”
“I did not put that there to try and kiss you, Lily,” I said evenly.
Fucking miracle, that, because my pulse was entering dangerous territory—thready and fast and roaring in my ears.
Panic made me lightheaded, and I tried to back up, but there was a wall directly behind me, and when my back hit said wall with an audible thud, Lily’s eyes lit up.
“No tongue, then?”
“Lily,” I practically growled.
“So you don’t want to kiss me,” she said seriously, taking another step closer. “I feel like . . . like I might be a little bit offended.”
My throat was bone dry as I tried to swallow, and fucking hell, I was hard as a rock behind my jeans. “Please, I couldn’t offend you even if I tried. You’d have to care what I thought first.”
Her lips pursed into an amused little pout. “True. But what if you’re my type?”
I blinked. “What?”
Slowly, she licked her lips, her teeth biting down on the shiny, wet bottom lip before she took another step closer. “What if, after a day without bickering and snarling at each other, I find myself attracted to someone who’s a little bit quiet?” she whispered.
Her hand reached out, one finger winding into the material of my sweatshirt, raising goose bumps along my arms. Thank God she couldn’t see them.
“Very serious. Kinda growly. Sucks at Scrabble.” Her lashes fluttered, a shaky inhale through open lips. I was transfixed. “Maybe I want someone who’s a little mean to me,” she whispered. Then she lifted her eyes. “What then?”
Every muscle in my body screamed to do something. To snatch her behind the neck and slant my mouth over hers, lick against her tongue and see how her ass felt underneath my hands.
It was all I could do to keep breathing, to not let her see how unmoored I felt by her unexpected proximity. There was no control to be found here, no discipline, unless I wrenched it up to the surface with bloodied nails.
Just when I opened my mouth to speak, Lily let go of my shirt, her lips curling into a secretive little smile. “No matter,” she said airily. “It must be all the cookies going to my head, because I’m pretty sure my dog fits that description too.”
As she took a step back, ready to pass by me, I pushed off the wall and my hand shot out, palm anchored on the wall next to her head.
Lily reared back, her eyes wide.
Rapid breathing had her chest rising and falling, and simply because I knew they existed, my brain focused in on one searing fact: Underneath that baggy sweatshirt, she was hiding incredible curves.
It didn’t make her any less attractive because she wasn’t showing them.
In fact, this side of her, the one I’d seen all night—sweeter than I’d imagined, almost unbearably kind with my kids, filling the house with a warmth that by all rights shouldn’t have come from this prickly, surprising woman—simply made her even more attractive.
Dangerously, hopelessly attractive, because both sides of her existed in one stunning package.
“What are you doing?” she snapped, the defensiveness back in full force.
The sudden flip in her demeanor wasn’t upsetting or surprising. If anything, a switch flipped in my head, clarity flooding my brain.
“Don’t play,” I told her, my voice raw, and even to my own ears it sounded dangerous. She must have heard it, because she sucked in a quick breath and lifted her chin. A show of strength, pulling up on her backbone, much like I’d done when she’d prodded me in a very different way.
Lily scoffed. “Who’s playing now?” she asked, tilting her head toward my hand on the wall, where I’d effectively caged her in.
“I don’t have the time or inclination for games.” I held her gaze unflinchingly. “And you know that’s not what I’m doing. So you better think really carefully before you try something like this with me again.”
Her throat worked on a swallow. Then her eyes dropped down to the floor. It was as close to an admission of guilt as I’d get. When she lifted them again, they were carefully blank, like she’d slammed a wall over whatever she was feeling.
“I don’t really know what I expected you to do,” she said quietly. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
The honesty had me dropping my hand but not moving back. One step and her chest would brush mine, so I held carefully still.
“I think you know exactly what you expected me to do.”
Lily sucked in a breath. “Most men would’ve taken advantage of that moment,” she said, eyes still on my face.
“Most men might have,” I told her. “Believe me, if I wanted to kiss you, I wouldn’t need a fucking plant to make me do it.”
Her eyes flickered. “Take-charge type, are you?”
I pulled in a slow breath through my nose. “When the moment’s right, yes.”
God, who could remember? Not me.
She hummed. “But this moment isn’t right?”
We were dancing a line, tiptoeing around the edge.
By calling her bluff, I’d stepped over it into her space before she’d known what was happening.
There was nothing to be gained by going any further, but the uncomfortable tightening in my stomach, the overwhelming need to inject honesty into whatever this was—it pushed me there anyway.
“You don’t even like me,” I pointed out quietly.
This time, it wasn’t a coy smile that spread. It wasn’t teasing or meant to entice. It was pure amusement. The sight of it left me a little stunned, and I fought not to let my mouth fall open.
“I don’t know about that,” she said cryptically, then walked away to slip her feet into her boots where they sat by the door. “You’re growing on me, Barrett. Like a barnacle.”
I rolled my eyes. “Lovely.”
Instead of tugging on her coat, she draped it over her arm. “Thank you for inviting me. It was nice—and weird—not to be alone tonight.”
A million questions threatened on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them. “It’s cold outside. You should put your coat on,” I said, unable to help myself. Her eyes gleamed, and I gave her a stern look. “Don’t you dare call me daddy right now.”
She sighed, sounding terribly put out. “I told you, that’s not my jam. I mean, no kink-shaming or anything if it’s yours.”
“It’s not,” I said dryly. Not that I knew what my kinks were anymore.
Other than long-legged brunettes with mysterious tattoos and a mean streak.
Lily opened the door, sending me one last smile over her shoulder. But when I followed behind her, she paused, the edges of her smile dropping. “What are you doing?”
“Watching until you get inside,” I explained. My cheeks were hot, and I felt a little—a lot—stupid. But the urge was there, and ignoring it would only make things worse.
She blinked. “I live next door.”
“And it’s slippery out,” I barked. “What if you fall and hit your head?”
“Oh my.” She sighed. “You really are a pessimist, aren’t you?”
We walked side by side down the driveway, and when we cleared the edge of my garage, I stopped. “Hard habit to break,” I admitted gruffly. “You telling me you don’t watch my kids when they come home in the evenings?”
“Of course I do,” she said, completely affronted. “But that’s different.”
I held her gaze, and my tongue. The quickest way under her skin, I’d learned, was my silence. If she expected a big reaction, she wouldn’t get one, and when she screwed up her lips, impatiently waiting for me to attempt the last word, a flicker of satisfaction burned bright under my chest.
Maybe I was playing a game of sorts; it just wasn’t a game I was used to.
I expected Lily to scoff and march off, but she stood there instead, her breath visible in puffy little clouds from the frigid air.
For a moment, she glanced at Scott and Patty’s home, then looked back at me.
There was no wall anymore. Her eyes were big in her face, and she blinked a few times like . . . like she was nervous.
“It’s a car,” she said quickly.
I tilted my head. “What is?”
She licked her lips, the movement quick and jerky, nothing like when she’d done it earlier.
With one hand, she pushed the sleeve of her sweatshirt up and gently tapped the small tattoo just beneath her elbow.
“It’s a car,” she repeated quietly. “My . . . my dad loved working on old cars. When I was little, I’d always find him tinkering on one.
The smell of a garage still reminds me of him. ”
Somehow I was able to tear my stunned gaze away from her unexpectedly vulnerable expression to glance down at her arm. The silhouette was a simple line, graceful and small, and unless you studied it closely, you might not notice what it was.
“That’s one,” I said quietly, unthinkingly. How many more did she have?
She let out a small laugh. “I guess.”
“Why’d you tell me?”
Lily shrugged one shoulder, tugging her sleeve back down until the ink disappeared. What other stories did she hold on her skin? The curiosity might drive me mad before she left, but this explanation felt like a strange gift.
The sky above us was ink black, a thick cloud cover blocking out the moon and the stars. Instead of answering, she stared up at it for a long moment.
Then she looked at me, her face open and direct as she smiled. A real smile. Genuine but small, and I felt it in my lungs. In my stomach too. “Merry Christmas, Barrett.”
“Merry Christmas.” I hardly spoke above a whisper, but she heard me, nodding at my response before crunching through the snow between our houses. Lily let herself in the front door without looking back in my direction. When the lights went on inside the house, I let out a slow breath.
It had been so long since I’d felt the aching, unnamed thing swirling around my chest, I could hardly recognize it long enough to give it a name.
Scarier than attraction. Bigger than lust. It wasn’t about wanting her. If I was being honest with myself, I’d wanted her the moment I saw her wrapped in my favorite blanket, wearing my slippers.
What was larger than want? What eclipsed simple desire?
Nothing I had time for, that was for damn sure.
I ran a hand over my mouth and stared at the house for another moment, refusing to label anything. Unearthing new impressions of someone took a certain level of humility. You had to set aside what you knew of them before.
When I went back inside my house, I locked the door behind me and shook my head, thinking of all the different things I’d thought of her from that first exchange.
Rude.
Cold.
Prickly.
Impertinent.
Surprising.
And what now? The sight of my daughter’s present, something thoughtful that would likely be her favorite gift of the year, tugged at that empty spot in my chest that was feeling things long unfelt. On top of the box was the card she gave Maggie, and with a sigh, I bent down to pick it up.
Her handwriting was neat and small.
Maggie,
You are one of the best gifts I’ve gotten this year. Thank you for climbing through the fence and making my life just a bit sweeter. Please self-destruct this letter before my hardcore reputation is ruined. Merry Christmas, my favorite little wild thing. I hope you never lose who you are right now.
Always,
Lily T.
Emotion tightened my throat as I thought of what something like that would mean to my daughter, but I swallowed it away. To feel seen and appreciated during a stretch of time when we were ironing out so many kinks in our new life—it was something Maggie would remember forever.
Slowly, I sank down on the couch, my head reeling. All it took was one day, and so many carefully constructed barriers could be irrevocably shaken. I wasn’t even sure how to go about erecting them again.
It was good that I hadn’t kissed Lily. Only madness would’ve followed.
It was good because I didn’t want to kiss her.
I didn’t want to know what sounds she made.
Or if her lips were sweet and soft. It was entirely possible that all this time with no female companionship had simply forced my brain in her direction because I was mildly curious.
There was no big, dark, unnamed thing swimming under the surface, no matter what it had felt like standing in the cold with her.
Like everything else in my life, I could slot her into the space where she made the most sense. Define her in a way that was clear so that the way I defined myself remained the same.
Yes. I could do that. I’d made a living being able to do that with every other facet of my life. It was why I was successful.
Redefining Lily was the only course of action. That was why, as I laid my head back and stared up at the ceiling, I thought about dark-blue eyes until I fell asleep.