Chapter Eight
Brody
December twenty-fourth in Manhattan is magic, but driving through it in a truck is a test of my patience.
Which is why, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t even be in the city on Christmas Eve.
We have a wild card playoff game coming up in a few days, which means strict personal time management, hours of film review, and intense morning workouts.
But tonight, my routine fell apart in a series of unexpected turns.
First came the weather out of the Midwest. A massive lake-effect blizzard shut down all air traffic out of Cleveland, canceling my mom and sister’s flight into Newark.
I’d spent forty-five minutes on the phone with my mom while she paced the terminal, apologizing endlessly for missing Christmas, while I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault and that I’d get them on the first flight out so they could be here for my game.
Then came the small little gathering at Liam and Allie’s in their city place overlooking Central Park.
Alie’s parents are the team owners of the franchise, and they live in the same building, so they just happened to stop by as well.
While I like the Grants, spending my free time with them isn’t on my agenda for tonight.
After my mom and sister’s flight was canceled, I just wanted to chill out with some of my buddies.
Alie went all out tonight, and I took advantage of eating all the amazing food they have prepared for us. But it’s getting late, and I really need to go. I say my goodbyes to the Grants, my friends, and their little families, then head to the elevator.
The second I walk out of the lobby and into the cold, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Ellis: Merry Christmas Eve!
Brody: Are you back from your family party? I have something for you.
Ellis: Just got home. You still in the city?
Brody: Yeah, just walking to my truck from Alie and Liam’s place.
Ellis: Do you want to stop by?
Brody: See you soon.
Snow has been falling since the late afternoon, dusting the blacktop and making traffic along Fifth Avenue into a sea of glowing red taillights.
I check the clock on the dashboard. 8:42 p.m. It’s been twenty minutes since I sent that text to Ellis.
While I wait at a light while pedestrians hurry past bundled in coats, I reach over to the passenger seat and adjust the small, silver-wrapped box sitting there. My stomach twists with a sudden knot of nervous tension.
I haven’t seen Ellis since the dinner at my house a few days ago. We’ve been texting every day, just little updates about her day and how she’s feeling. But I haven’t physically seen her since I kissed her until we both ran out of air.
What am I doing here?
The question has been lingering in my head.
Was that night just a heat-of-the-moment reaction brought on by good food and hormones?
Does she regret it? Ellis seems to have her life completely in order, minus this curveball of a pregnancy, and I get the feeling she doesn’t really like complicated.
So the last thing I want to do is push for something that she may not be ready for or open to.
I pull my truck into an underground parking garage that she texted me the code for, and park in a visitor spot. I grab the silver package from the seat, check my reflection in the rearview mirror, get out of the car, and head toward the elevators.
When I reach the lobby, I exit, and a doorman in a crisp, brass-buttoned uniform recognizes me with a nod, then escorts me to the private elevator that requires a keycard scan to access the penthouse suites.
“Have a good night, Mr. Vaughn.”
“Thank you,” I say, just as the doors shut.
When the doors slide open, I walk right into her private foyer, and I can hear Christmas music drifting from somewhere in the house, mixed with the scent of pine, vanilla, and maybe cinnamon or some other kind of spice.
I take a few steps toward the double doors at the end of the hallway, but before I can knock, Ellis opens them.
My mouth suddenly feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls. I respect her, I really do, but the second I see her, my brain goes completely rogue. I’m trying to be good while every single scenario running through my mind is shameless, filthy, and might even make Ellis Renwick blush.
She’s not in her usual workwear. She’s in a pair of sweats that probably still cost more than my first car, lying seamlessly over her gorgeous body, and she’s barefoot.
Her hair is in loose waves hanging over one shoulder, and I can’t help but trace the curve of her neck on the exposed side.
At this stage in her pregnancy, the curve of her stomach is unmistakable, a subtle little bump that shortens her shape.
She looks comfortable and undeniably breathtaking.
“Hey,” she says, a genuine smile breaking across her face the second our eyes meet.
“Hi, Princess,” I reply, taking a step toward her.
Before I can figure out what type of vibe is in the room, Ellis closes the distance between us. She reaches up, resting her hand against the side of my neck, stands on her tiptoes, and presses her lips against mine.
It’s not a rushed hello. It’s sweet, but lingers with intention. And I want to savor the feel of her soft lips pressed against mine.
Every single bit of overthinking I’ve spent the last twenty minutes doing melts right out of my chest.
When she pulls back, her eyes dance with humor. “You look like you’re frozen.”
“It’s about twelve degrees outside,” I laugh, my hand settling naturally onto the small of her back. “And traffic was bad, even at this time of night on Christmas Eve.”
“Well, let’s get you warmed up,” she murmurs, taking my coat when I remove it, then leading me through the doorway to the main living space.
Ellis’s penthouse is absolutely Manhattan elegance, a drastic contrast to my home. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows wrap around the living room, offering a panoramic view of the snow falling over Central Park and the soft lights of Midtown.
Her holiday decor is classy but understated.
A ten-foot Fraser fir stands tall near the windows, complete with white lights, gold ribbon, and glass ornaments.
There’s also a sleek electric fireplace built into a white marble wall, and muted amber flames cast soft light across her velvet sofa and hardwood floors.
Before I can look around more, a familiar brown furball comes running down the hallway.
“Oshie! Easy,” Ellis commands with a soft laugh.
Oshie doesn’t listen and bounds up to me, her tail wagging wildly as she nudges my hand to pet her.
“Hey, girl,” I laugh, dropping to one knee. I dig my hands into her fur to give her a scratch behind her ears while she rubs her nose against my leg. “Missed you too, Osh.”
Ellis stands next to me, her arms lightly folded over her chest, watching us with a sweet look in her eyes. “She clearly prefers your company to mine. After I took her out to potty earlier, she’s been keeping herself in the bedroom.”
“I can’t help it, I’m irresistible,” I say, laughing as I stand.
“Buck is probably ready to eat and go outside by now. I’ve been gone for a while.
I had my dog sitter run by earlier to check on him, and he has the doggie door, but I still like to make sure he’s okay when I’m traveling or am in the city for long periods of time. ”
Ellis nods, understandingly, and gestures toward the sofa. “Come on in. Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Wine? Something stronger?”
I shake my head as I follow her deeper into the room. “A bottle of water if you have it. I don’t like to drink and drive.”
“Water it is. Do you want lemon or lime with it? I have both,” she asks, walking over to her pristine white kitchen.
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
While she’s in the kitchen, I look around some more.
The place is impeccably clean, but it doesn’t have that cold, sterile feel to it.
Photos line a built-in bookshelf with shots of her in various places, a framed picture of her and her brother on a boat, and some shots of her parents, more casual than they’re pictured online.
She walks back over, handing me a bottle before gesturing to the sofa. “Let’s sit.” Oshie follows us, and plops down onto the rug right at my feet with a sigh.
I lean over and set the gift on the low coffee table near us, then sit back, close enough to Ellis that our shoulders are brushing.
We both talk about our evenings, and then she tells me about her plans with her family tomorrow.
And I tell her about my mom and sister’s flight troubles.
Then I tell her a funny story about how Liam’s daughter asked him why she had to put her pj’s on when he and mommy don’t wear clothes to bed, in front of all their guests, including Alie’s parents.
It was hysterical.
As our conversation slows, we settle into a comfortable silence until Oshie gets up from her place on the floor, gives us a tired look, her fur on her head parted to the side from sleep, and wobbles toward the bedroom.
We look at each other and smile.
I set a hand on her knee and nod toward the gift on the table. “Merry Christmas, Ellis,” I say, smiling.
Ellis looks at the box, her eyebrows lifting. “You’re so sweet, Brody. Although I didn’t expect you to get me anything for Christmas.”
“I wanted to. Open it,” I insist, laying my arm across the back of the sofa, watching her face.
She picks up the box, turning it over in her hands. The silver paper is neat, the corners perfectly tucked, and tied together with a silk bow.
“I gotta say,” she says, looking at me with a raised brow. “You did an amazing job on this wrapping. I didn’t peg you as a man who masters decorative ribbon crafting.”
I can’t help the laugh that rumbles out of me. “I wish I could take the credit, but I had a very nice woman named Helen turn it into this art piece before you.”
Ellis lets out a laugh, filling the room. “Well, Helen did an amazing job.”
“Open it.” I nod my head toward the box in her hand.