29
Last Christmas” plays softly, rousing me from sleep. Not again!
My eyes fly open in terror, finding myself cocooned in a man’s arms with my back against him.
“Did I tell you it took George an hour to write that song?” a warm voice says. It takes a second for the terror in my body to release. I exhale shakily. I’m still with Robbie and in my sister’s shed. He kisses the top of my head, his eyes warm with affection.
My mom’s gingerbread blanket has fallen to the floor, but I’m a little bit relieved to see we’re still fully clothed.
Our make-out session was ultra hot, but I think we both prefer our first time together to maybe not be in my mom’s she-shed?
I nuzzle into his warm chest in perfect bliss, smelling his comforting woodsy and vanilla scent. I wish Bath & Body Works would bottle this scent up. He answers by wrapping his arms tighter around me. “I think you mentioned that trivia fact last night.” I sigh.
Robbie laughs as he muses about the song. “Remember how we even started writing our own version?”
I stiffen. Of course, I remember. I sang it to him in Leo’s timeline. But he doesn’t know that.
“Actually,” I say bashfully, twisting in his arms to face him. “I finished the lyrics.”
He pulls away, shock and joy on his face. “I can’t wait to hear it!”
I grin. “When we get you on a piano, I’ll perform the song for you.”
“On it,” he says, with a look like the wheels in his head are turning. It’s going to be ten times better than singing it to him on his parent’s porch while Audrey watches.
“I can’t wait to sing with you again,” I say. “I love making music with you.”
“I love doing all kinds of things with you,” he teases.
He kisses my lips and then my neck. His hand trails down my arms and my hips and I lose myself in his touch.
It’s almost an hour later when we stop for air. He nuzzles my ear and groans, checking his phone for the time. “My parents will be expecting me for breakfast… unless you want me to stay?” he asks hopefully.
I look at my clock. The kids will have been up awhile now, likely digging into their stockings while the rest of the family lazily makes a light breakfast and gets coffee ready before it’s time to open the real presents.
As much as he’s practically family, I don’t want him to miss Christmas with his folks. “Don’t bail on your parents last minute. Spend every chance you can with them,” I add, trying to not choke up as I think of my father.
Robbie pulls me close. “You’re right. This will probably be the last Christmas before they retire.”
“I still can’t believe your parents are closing the music store after all these years.”
He nods. “End of an era. But not all change is bad.” His eyes search mine. “For example… I like this new Christmas tradition we just started.”
“Same,” I say and press my lips to his. “Promise you’ll come back later today.”
He squeezes my hand as he promises, and I squeeze his ass in return, whispering another promise, which makes him moan.
As he slips out of the shed to go to his car, bypassing the house so he doesn’t get caught by my mom, I can’t help thinking about his parents’ store and if there’s anything I can do to help.
Later that morning, Mom’s family room is a cheerful mess of torn wrapping paper and ribbon as my family exchanges gifts. Mom beams as she unwraps her annual Bath & Body Works set—this year, Winter Candy Apple lotion and a matching candle.
My cousin Juliet squeals softly when she opens a box of tiny yellow baby clothes. My heart leaps with excitement for her, and I can’t help blurting out what I think the baby’s gender might be.
She laughs in surprise, and before I know it the entire family has turned it into a wager, everyone shouting their guesses and placing mock bets like it’s a holiday sporting event.
I bite my lip as I place my bet on “girl.” Might as well make a little money off my time travel trials, right?
The laughter is still echoing in our household when Robbie slips in through the front door hours later, brushing fresh snow from his shoulders.
My family greets him with a welcome worthy of a hero returning from the wilderness, which he might as well be after so many years away.
“More presents!” Libby shouts, running over to him.
I glance at the big bag he’s carrying over his shoulder. I’ve been so focused on him, I missed that he’s dragging in a sack full of gifts for my family.
“Merry Christmas, Libby!” He sinks to his knees and begins to pull out the various gifts for my nieces and nephews.
I pull him aside as we watch them unwrap cowbells, tambourines, and even a mini keyboard.
“How did you find time to shop?” I have to shout over the rising din of music.
He beams at me. “Turns out my family owns a music store,” he says. “I made a quick pit stop before coming over.” He leans closer to my ear. “I also have a gift for you, but it was too big to carry into the house.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, my body warming several degrees hotter as our eyes meet. “You know, I think I just might be able to get away.”
Robbie pulls his truck to a stop in front of Morrow Music.
A thrum of excitement pulsates through my body seeing the old green brick music store.
Even though the FOR SALE sign still hangs, sad and lonely on the window.
With a flourish, Robbie helps me out of the passenger side, then tugs out his keys.
I blink watching him opening the store doors.
It looks and feels so natural seeing him wiggle the door open.
Robbie’s hand grazes the small of my back, sending chills up my spine as he guides me in.
Nostalgia greets me like a cozy warm hug as soon as I step through the doors. The polished wooden floor, the scent of sheet music and violin resin, and of course the beautiful brass and wood instruments gleaming on the walls.
It all looks as I remember it—everything, except for something at the center of the store: A microphone stand with a large ribbon on it is angled next to a grand piano, situated perfectly for a duet, just waiting for a player and a singer. I turn to him, mouth open in shock.
“This is for me?”
“Yes. You mentioned you would sing your song when I’m on a piano. Plus, it’s not just the instrument. You also get me.” He rubs a bashful hand through his windswept hair. “If you need a piano accompanist to help you with scales or practice. And I don’t know, record music, too?”
I grin. I can’t wait to recreate that night at the tree lighting with him.
“I’d love that, but it’s not just the musical accompaniment that I’m thinking about when it comes to your services.
” I pull him in for a kiss. His response is slow and sweet as his hands cup my face.
I can feel him smiling as we kiss. He pulls away.
The tender look in his eyes takes my breath away.
“Do you know how long I’ve dreamt of kissing you in this store? ” he asks.
“Then no need to stop,” I tease. I tug his collar, ready for a little more spice as I kiss him harder. My mouth widens, and he follows my lead. He slips his hand to the base of my head, pulling me close.
“I’ve no intention of stopping,” he manages to say. “But I do want to take my sweet time…” I cry out as his hands cup my ass and he lifts me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he places me atop the grand piano, the cool lid under me making me gasp.
He spreads my legs and settles himself between them.
My breath catches. The way his gaze locks on me, it feels like he’s seeing the real me—and not a version of me like I was with my exes.
Something warm stirs low in my chest and blazes below my belly.
Before either of us speaks, I pull him in by his collar and press my lips against his again.
Our kiss starts slow—soft, reverent—but deepens quickly as his tongue slides into my mouth. I open wide and respond in kind. Our tongues dancing and exploring each other as fast and as frantic as our hands, we rove and press and touch each other’s bodies.
His breath stutters when I pull him closer.
His eyes darken—not with hunger, but with something deeper, something that makes my pulse race.
He plants one hand on the piano lid and kisses me again, slower this time.
I imagine Robbie the musician carefully, expertly playing an instrument as his hands and mouth touch me all over.
His fingers skim the shape of my back, then circle the curve of my waist and the bare skin between my skirt and sweater.
I wiggle my hips eagerly. “Touch me more,” I plead.
“You sing lead,” he whispers against my ear.
He pulls me in for a deep kiss as his hand crawls up my back and finds my bra strap.
I moan as his lips slide down to my neck and his fingers trace the underside of my breasts.
My breath hitches as he skims around my nipples, teasing me until I nudge myself into his hands.
He tugs until my nipples are hard and taut with ache and want.
And like he’s reading my mind, he lifts my shirt.
The cool air hits my bare breasts, followed by the warmth of his mouth as he suckles, sending jolts of energy up and down my body.
He groans with pleasure as he buries his head between my breasts and tells me how sexy I am.
Not to be outdone, I slide my hands under his sweatshirt, down the planes of his toned abs, and below his waistline. I pull back and lock my gaze on his as my hands sink lower. He moans my name as I rub him, and he throws his head back as I pull and stroke. I relish every single whimper.
He staggers forward, and his hands miss the piano lid and land on the piano keys, producing several accidental notes that startle us both into breathless laughter.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine again. “If we stay down here, I won’t want to stop.”