Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
DECLAN
Claire walks beside me, her gloved hands stuffed into the pockets of her oversized puffy coat. Her breath clouds in the air, her cheeks flushed a deep pink from the cold.
I keep my eyes trained forward, unsure how to act around her.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. I know how I should act. Friendly. Detached. Uninterested. Like she’s my son’s best friend and nothing more.
Like I haven’t spent the past several weeks craving the feel of her legs wrapped around my waist.
Like I haven’t longed to hear the sound she makes when she comes.
Like I haven’t jerked off to the memory of her pussy clenching around me every damn day.
Sometimes twice.
I should have declined her offer of help. Nothing good can come from spending time with her.
But Claire has this gravity around her that keeps pulling me into her orbit.
“Let me guess…” Her teasing voice cuts through the awkward silence as we meander through the rows of trees.
“You’re more the artificial tree type. And not just a plain artificial tree, either.
You get one with the lights already attached so you don’t have to deal with testing them and cursing when they inevitably don’t work, even though they were fine the year before. ”
I chuckle, my lips curving up at the corners. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“With regard to an artificial tree, absolutely not. I love the smell of a real tree.”
She inhales a deep breath, her eyes briefly closing as she basks in the scent of pine and cedar that permeates this place. She looks so happy. So carefree.
I wish I could find joy in the smell of Christmas trees.
Instead, it brings forward memories of that night. Of the scorching heat. The burning in my lungs.
The blame.
“But testing lights?” she continues. “Definitely. I’m pretty sure the manufacturers intentionally make it so their product only works for one season.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I say with a smile, before looking forward once more.
“So am I right? You have a fake tree, don’t you?”
“Truthfully, I haven’t had a tree in years. Not since I was a boy.”
“What?” She comes to an abrupt stop, staring at me like I just confessed to some horrific crime. Like kicking puppies for fun.
In her mind, I may as well have.
“Declan,” she begins, her tone scandalized. “Christmas without a tree is like…” She shakes her head, searching for the right words. “It’s like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the peanut butter and jelly.”
I arch a brow. “So… just bread.”
“Exactly. Sad and pointless, at least when you could have peanut butter and jelly with it. Why haven’t you put up a tree? Are you secretly a Grinch? Do you hate Christmas or something?”
“I don’t hate Christmas,” I reply, continuing along the rows of trees. “I’ve been alone for most of my adult life. The only person around to enjoy a tree is me, and I’m perfectly happy without one.”
“You don’t have any family?” She steals a glance at me as I look straight ahead, unsure how we went from picking out a Christmas tree to peeling back the armor I’ve always kept firmly in place. “Apart from Joshua, of course,” she adds quickly.
As if I need a reminder of the reason I can never touch her.
“I have a brother.”
“Are you two not close?”
“We are, I suppose.”
“Then you’re not really alone,” she offers softly. “You just choose to be.”
The words hit harder than I expected, and I stop walking once more. I glance at Claire, but she’s examining a tree like she didn’t gut me with a single sentence.
Like she didn’t see me in a way no one else ever has.
I can’t deny she has a point.
After my mother died, after the accusations and guilt and blame, I told myself it was safer this way. Keep everyone out. Don’t risk being needed. Don’t risk failing someone ever again.
I thought I could survive like that.
But then Claire walks into my life, bright and warm and uncomplicated. She makes it harder to stay numb. Harder to pretend I’ve been content in this quiet, empty life I built.
“What about you?” I clear my throat, desperate for a change of subject. “Are you close to your family?”
“My sister’s my best friend. But don’t tell Dylan.” She winks conspiratorially.
“And your parents?”
“My mom’s great, even if a bit…eccentric at times.”
“What about your dad?”
Claire shrugs, her expression falling. “He left when my mom was eight months pregnant with me.”
“Jesus,” I exhale, unsure what I expected her to say. It wasn’t this.
It takes a special kind of asshole to abandon his kids. I feel like enough of a prick for not being there for Joshua until now, even though I had no idea he even existed. But to walk away from your family?
It’s not that far off from what my father did after Mom died. He may have been there physically, but that was the extent of it. He no longer felt like a father to me.
“I… I’m so sorry, Claire. That’s… He’s a fucking idiot.”
She shrugs again, but it’s tighter this time. “It messed up my sister more. She was six when he left. But me? I never knew him. It’s kind of hard to miss someone you never met.”
I study her face. There’s a flicker there. Something unsaid. She’s not as unaffected as she wants me to believe. I recognize that deflection too well. I’ve spent most of my life doing the same thing.
“My mom always said it was his loss since both of her daughters are awesome.”
I let out a low chuckle. “I don’t know your sister, but based on what I know about you, I can definitely attest to that.” I slow my steps and fully face her. “I couldn’t imagine ever walking away from you. Not willingly anyway.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and for a beat too long, we just look at each other.
The cold disappears. So does the noise around us. I shouldn’t say shit like this. But it’s the truth. Claire’s one of the most amazing women I’ve met in a long time. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s also compassionate. She has a presence about her that lights up any room she walks into.
“What made you change your mind?” she asks, breaking the moment before it can build into something we can’t take back. She faces forward once more, her eyes focused anywhere but on me.
“What do you mean?”
“Why get a tree now?”
“Joshua, I suppose. I want to give him a good Christmas. Make up for the ones I missed. I just want this Christmas to be memorable. Or, at the very least, not as difficult for him as it could be. I want it to be what he’s used to.”
“It doesn’t need to be perfect. Or the kind of Christmas he always had with his mom. Just give him you. Give him a Declan Christmas.”
I snort. “That would mean working sixteen hours and relishing the silence in the office with everyone gone.”
She comes to another abrupt stop and stares at me, looking even more horrified than she did about me never putting up a tree. “You work on Christmas?”
“What else am I going to do?”
“I don’t know!” She throws up her hands in exasperation. “Spend it with your brother maybe?”
“He lives in Florida.”
“Florida isn’t that far from D.C.”
I sigh, dragging a hand over my face. “I guess I always feel…out of place. He’s married. Two kids. Their life feels…full. And I…” I hesitate, the words stuck in my chest.
How do I explain this to her without revealing the truth? That every time I think of celebrating Christmas with his family, all I’ll be able to think about is how it’s my fault my mother isn’t there to play with her grandkids or spoil them with presents.
It’s why I don’t celebrate Christmas.
Instead, I bury myself in work to forget. But the guilt never really fades.
It hasn’t in over thirty years. I doubt it ever will.
“I guess I don’t want to feel like a burden,” I finally say, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“I may not know your brother,” Claire begins cautiously, “but if you’re as close as you say, he’d never see you that way. He probably just wants his brother around.”
“I’m not usually great company. Especially around the holidays.”
“I like your company.” She slows to a stop and faces me, her eyes finding mine. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve missed your company.”
The air between us shifts again. Thickens. Warms.
This entire scene feels straight out of a Christmas card.
Or a Hallmark movie. Surrounded by Christmas trees.
A woman who lives and breathes Christmas helping a miserly grump like me pick out a tree.
Holiday music piped in through the speakers.
Maybe it’s being in this place that has me acting out of character.
Or finally sharing pieces of myself I’ve kept locked up for years.
“You’re right,” I say softly. “You probably shouldn’t admit that.”
“Do you want me to take it back?” she asks.
“No,” I reply, my eyes dropping to her lips. So full. So soft.
And the way they moved against mine… God. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. Shouldn’t be remembering that night. Shouldn’t be remembering how warm her mouth felt on every inch of my body, but I can’t help it.
So instead of keeping my distance like I promised, I lean closer.
Out of nowhere, a toddler runs past us, bumping into Claire and nearly causing her to lose her balance.
I steady her, the feel of her body against mine just as intoxicating as it was the last time I touched her. But she quickly scrambles out of my hold.
“You should get this one.” She nods toward the tree in front of us. “It has a bit of a lean, but they can level it out for you.”
“Right,” I respond, pushing down any hint of disappointment. “Thanks for your help.”
“Of course.” She grits a smile, then turns away, hurrying down the row of trees.
“Claire,” I call out before she disappears from view.
She pauses, meeting my eyes from over her shoulder.
“I shouldn’t say this either, but I’ve missed your company, too.”
Her lips curve in that same teasing smile that undid me in Boston.
Then she walks away.
And I’m pretty sure she sways her hips a little more than usual.
Just for me.