Chapter 7
Knox
Everly’s lashes flutter, and her gaze dips away. I love her feistiness, like when she accused me of being a dine-and-dasher, but this wave of shyness that’s washed over her is nothing short of enchanting.
A whiff of perfume creates a delectable aura when she spins. She eyeballs the box on the floor. “So. Are we decorating this thing, too?”
Yes. “Thought you’d never ask.” Showing eagerness is probably a no-no for the lady magnets like Rand.
Eh, I’ll work on the broody, cool-guy schtick later. I take off my coat and lay it over a chair.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“I’ll break at least two already ugly, stumpy fingernails prying that thing open myself.”
My attention slides to the hand on her hip. Not a thing ugly about it or the smooth, neat nails tipping each finger. The ringless columns are long and graceful, and her trim nails would feel wonderful sliding along my jaw—
I swallow that thought and pop up the cardboard flaps secured by industrial-sized staples. The first tree segment I lift out is the topper. One by one, I remove the pieces, three main segments, plus the stand and some odds and ends, like cords and remotes.
This happens to be the exact model I bought for my grandmother and assembled in her new apartment last year.
She’s a lover of all things Christmas, but the large tree she’d been accustomed to for years simply did not fit in her tiny senior living suite.
Same issue here. The diner isn’t small, but available space for a Christmas tree is.
I point to the open area at the end of the counter where we stand. “Is this where you want it?”
“How ever did you guess?” Her slip of a smile is playful as she scoots out of the spot, watching me work.
“Lucky guess.” Starting with the stand, I click the first segment into place, following up with the center and then the top pieces.
“Seems like you’ve done this before?”
I give the topper a hard press until it clicks into the segment beneath it, then jiggle to make certain it’s secure. My chapped hands itch from the spiky needles. “Yeah, I bought one for my grandmother last year right after she moved to a senior community.”
“Did you decorate it together, too?”
“We did. She loves Christmas and was kind of bummed. Leaving her home of fifty years was tough on her, especially during the holidays.”
Everly’s hands join mine fluffing branches, but on the opposite side of the tree. “That was a sweet thing to do.”
I chuckle. “I have to be honest. She threw out some pretty strong grandmotherly hints.”
“It was still nice of you. And then to decorate with her. I’m sure it meant a lot.” There’s a smile of approval in Everly’s voice.
I pry apart some mashed together boughs. “It did. To both of us. We’ve always been close.” I flip a frond of greenery aside and grin at my companion for the evening. “Besides, I knew she’d cook me dinner and bake up a batch of her famous sugar cookies with red and green sprinkles.”
“Nothing wrong with a win-win situation.” Our eyes connect like two heat-seeking, holiday missiles.
Yeah, there’s a tree between us, but our faces are close, and Everly is so pretty, framed by seasonal green. Forget sugarplums, visions of kissing her pillowy pink lips dance in my head.
I must disguise my thoughts sufficiently, because she continues fluffing like nothing happened. I guess the zing I thought passed between us was a one-way rocket.
Crud.
For now. I’m not taking no for an answer—and I mean that in the most non-lowlife way ever.
“I feel like something sweet.”
My eyes are hopelessly tugged to her mouth. Me too, lady. Me, too.
“How about some hot chocolate while we decorate?”
Alrighty, not on the same train as my runaway daydreams, but I’ll take it. She’s letting her guard down enough to enjoy the evening with me and her trust is as heartwarming as a cozy stocking-draped fireplace in December.
“Sounds great.” I’m not saying no, no way, no how, regardless of the fact that the apple pie probably already pushed my blood sugar to the danger zone. I’m young and healthy. I should recover.
I allow my eyes the luxury of following Everly until she pushes through the kitchen door. Poor souls, hungry for more, they wilt in despair once she’s out of sight.
I’m not a drama kind of guy. I’m not loud or overly expressive. I work. I read. I think. But Everly is stirring something magical, so magical I can practically see the twinkling stars sparkling mystically in the atmosphere.
Oh brother.
And, speaking of brothers, I had better not let mine catch wind of these inner theatrics. He’d find a brotherly way to explode the special moment.
Against the soundtrack of clattering emanating from the kitchen, I fluff branch after branch, a thankless job if ever there was one. Unless…Everly wanted to find a way to reward me. I’d be open to any means, and—
And I sound like a sleazeball. Talking a kiss here, at the most.
A red tag with some instructions on tree assembly lurks near the trunk, or whatever it’s called on an artificial tree.
I swipe a branch aside, yank the tag, and for my efforts get a swat in the face when I let go of the greenery.
Yeah. I deserve it. Point taken. A simple thank you is more than enough.
The heaviness that’s settled over me like the low-hanging clouds draping the area day after day after day feels light tonight. I’d still rather skip this entire merry season, but since its trappings surround me like mud at an excavated jobsite, I’m going to grit my teeth and soldier through.
Everly scores multiple points for advancing that goal.
Speaking of, she’s been gone a while and the kitchen has fallen silent. Tree fluffing can wait. I didn’t play Santa in order to spend the evening by my lonesome.
My clodhopper work boots clump their way to the swinging door and I slide it open a few inches. No Everly.
Was it something I said?
I step inside the cleaned-up but laden with years of grease and use kitchen. Two mugs, one Christmassy and one a plain, restaurant white, steam from a food prep counter. A spray can of whipped cream stands at the ready.
“Everly?” There’s a rustling sound coming from the direction of the closet where I helped her retrieve the worn out tree last night. I follow the sounds.
Atop a two-step stool, Everly stretches an arm to its max extension and pats her hand around the topmost shelf.
She’s a ten, up there on that inadequate stepstool, and I’d hate for her to damage her angelic perfection by tumbling back to hard earth. “Want some help?”
She gasps and spins. My brain and my senses team up, my hands flying up at the same instant her tornado-like whirl upends her balance. Something plops to the floor near my feet, but I catch the most important thing—soft, adorable, waitress Everly.
I am the luckiest guy on the planet. My muscles contract, holding tight until she’s got her balance back.
Pressed against me, she feels fit, yet also one-hundred-percent womanly soft.
Her palms flatten against my chest, and the relentless odor of a greasy diner is overridden by her shampoo.
She has the bluest eyes, set into a face covered with porcelain skin.
They grip me under a spell of contentment.
Count that hundred-dollar Christmas tree a stroke of pure genius. Tonight has exceeded expectations.
Flyaway hairs create a halo effect about her face. My fingers tingle, pulsing to smooth them. While they’re up there, they could slide along her cheek, trace her lips.
Everly blinks and ducks out of my arms—so maybe my musings weren’t as muted as they should have been.
The clutter on the floor messes with her footing a second time. I hold her elbow until I know she’s good.
Eyes zinging all over my face like she’s trying to get a read on me, she presses her spine into the column of shelves filled with commercial-sized cans of food. Her interest is both disconcerting and wonderful. Hope-inducing.
She slaps her palm to her chest. “You startled me!”
I grin. “Jumpy much?”
“You think this is funny? I could have died falling off that stool.”
“Dramatic, too, I see.”
Not only is she not in fear of death, I don’t think she’s half as ticked as the slap she lands on my bicep would indicate, either. I hop back, rolling my shoulders in and laughing. “Ouch.”
She flaps the backs of her hands. “Move it. I’m getting claustrophobic in here.”
Claustrophobic and maybe some other things, judging by the hot pink flush across her cheeks.
“‘Move it’, she says. What? I get no credit for my daring rescue?”
She huffs. “Says the guy who caused the whole problem in the first place.”
Chuckling, I scoot backwards, wrap my hand around the top of the door, and cock a knee. “Whatcha digging around for anyway?”
The intense color on her cheeks wisps away. She searches the area around her feet. “Aha!” She scoops a bag of red and white candies off the floor. “You like peppermint?”
“Not particularly.”
Her hopeful expression wipes out. “Oh.”
Um…idiot. “Ohhh, peppermint. Like candy canes? Yep, love peppermint. Love candy canes.”
Everly’s eyes roll around like the ball on my deodorant bottle. “No candy canes, but I have a plan and you’re going to love it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As long as she lets me stick around for whatever she has up her sleeve, I’ll eat peppermint every day until New Year’s.
Her shoulder brushes mine as she dodges me making her exit from the pantry. I hang back while she struggles to rip open the bag of candies, but when she slips it between both rows of perfect white teeth, I can’t stay sidelined. “Give me.” I wriggle my fingers.
“I can open a bag, Knox.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’m almost certain you’re prettier with all your teeth in your head.”
Her face freezes with her lips mashed together around the plastic. I grab her eyes with mine so I’m clear. Yeah, I called you pretty.