Chapter Twenty #2
“What are you plotting?” His rich voice, all bourbon and honey, cut through her reverie. He stood in the doorway on the right side of the fireplace, disheveled and barefoot. She wrinkled her nose at the aroma of dried sweat. He must have gone for a run before burying himself in woodwork.
She gave him a cheeky grin and waved at the fireplace. “Holiday decorations.”
His brows winged upward, almost disappearing into his ruffled hair, falling on his forehead.
“We need a tree there.” With an airy gesture, she pointed at the window.
An image flickered through her mind, lying in bed, his arm around her with his hand tracing lazy caresses on her shoulder, her head on his chest, the room lit with the soft, cheerful glow of fairy lights. “And maybe one in the bedroom.”
His brows dipped downward, confusion twisting them tight. “Why do we need a tree?”
Lord, he was ridiculous.
“Hey, we could do that tonight.” She brightened at the idea of tromping through the tree lot, surrounded by the smell of pine sap and holiday music. “Two for here and three for my house . . . wait, three for here so one can go on the porch, too.”
“Three.” His eyes looked a little dazed, brows still tied into a vee. “For both houses.”
“Yes.” She slapped her hands against her thighs. “You really should get in the shower. We can hit the Millhouse or somewhere for supper. Oh, you know what would be great? A hot pretzel dog and apple cider. The lot does those some years.”
“Holly.” He laughed, a tight, rusty sound. “I don’t need three Christmas trees. I don’t need one tree.”
“We need trees.” If he wasn’t gritty and stinky, she’d wrap herself around him and nudge him toward the shower. She didn’t have anything clean here, though, and her holiday tee didn’t need a coating of sawdust on it. “Come on, sweetie, go clean up.”
His mouth fell open, a scowl cutting grooves into his brow. “Don’t call me sweetie like one of the damn dogs.”
“Colton.” She pitched her tone to even patience. “You stink. Go shower.”
“Stop telling me what to do.” He flung a hand toward the corner. “And I don’t need a damn tree.”
“Fine.” She lifted a dismissive gesture and twirled her wrist. “We’ll go get trees for my place. You can help me set up.”
Last year, she’d had to prevail upon Mackey because Tick wasn’t around and it wasn’t like she could ask Scott. She’d felt horrible, although Mackey being Mackey, he’d never said a word about lugging trees with her. He was a great friend.
“That’s better.” He finally shut the door. Polo shifted, flicked an ear at him, swatted her tail and subsided into her relaxed blob again. “You’re bossy as hell.”
“Yes.” She clapped her hands, the gesture that tended to send Tick over the edge. “Shower.”
Outrage flared in his dark eyes. He opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and strode for the bedroom. She bit her bottom lip, a hint of anticipation uncurling beneath her navel. He’d want his own back for that later, and she imagined his revenge would be sexy and inventive.
While he showered, she scrolled through her holiday boards on social media, looking for ideas.
The empty mantle drew her attention, his idea for a private commission playing through her mind.
She’d get some shots of the blue hole, have him a nice archival-quality canvas made and framed for Christmas.
And maybe a second shot for her house, replace her mass-produced farmhouse sign over the bed with something like that.
Start turning her house into their home.
The shower stopped, water pattering to the tile.
“Holly.” From the bedroom, his voice rumbled with graveled authority. “Get in here and get your clothes off.”
She paused, phone in hand, biting back a smile. Wonder what would happen if she refused? Pondering all those possibilities, she laid her phone aside and uncurled.
“Who’s bossy?” she called, grasping her hem and stripping her tee over her head. “This better be good, Colton, if I’m going to the trouble of taking my clothes off.”
He stood by the bed, naked, aroused, damp hair falling on his brow.
That no-nonsense stance said he was about to take control, take her apart, and her body reacted, chest clenching with emotion, womb contracting with a hard grip of desire.
Heat bloomed between her thighs, heavy and wet.
An irresistible smile pulled at her lips.
Sexy and inventive, indeed.
“You’re serious about getting three?” Colton passed her a paper cup of cider, a cardboard sleeve protecting her palm from the heat. Gravel crunched under their shoes as they walked away from the beverage stand, painted in holiday red and sporting a bright swag of icicle lights.
Holly inhaled the spicy goodness, anticipating a sip once it had cooled some. If she tried now, she’d have a third-degree burn on her tongue. “I am.”
“Holly, that makes no sense.” He sipped, hissed, and grimaced on a hard wince. Lips pursed, he exhaled, and she bit back a soft laugh. The man was normally patient to a fault, until sustenance was involved.
“Living room, bedroom, front porch.” She took a bite of her pretzel dog, a satisfying blend of soft, salty bread and smoked sausage, and waved at the sea of firs. “It makes perfect sense.”
“This is crazy expensive.” He flicked the tag on a tree. He’d scarfed down his dogs while they stood in line for cider, but she got it. A wholly feminine smile curved her lips. He’d expended a lot of energy in the hour they’d spent in his bed. “Why not just buy a set of fake ones?”
Her smile died, lips parted. Buy fake trees? “Colton.”
“It makes more sense—”
“It makes no sense.” She stared at him, horrified. These words were not coming out of him. “Fake trees?”
“Well, yeah.” His face set in earnest lines, he shrugged. “You invest up front, use them for years—”
“It’s not the same.” She shuddered and moved down the line, examining this tree, then that one.
The needles had to be right, fresh and lush.
She drew in a lungful of the sharp scent, absolutely ready for her home to be filled with the smell.
She loved that first sniff when she opened the door at the end of the day, the way the pine wrapped around her like her blankets as she lay in bed and watched the lights glow.
“It’s like buying fake flowers. You would never. ”
“I would not.” A grin quirked at his mouth before his quiet chuckle manifested between them. Oh, she adored that subtle hit of genuine humor. “Can you imagine Sue if I did?”
“Yes.” She took a small sip, testing the temperature. Warm clove and orange exploded on her tongue with the tart apple. “And that’s how I feel about fake Christmas trees.”
“Okay.” He lifted his hands and let them fall in defeat, boots scraping on the graveled pathway between the trees. “Have at it.”
She refused to be daunted by his lack of enthusiasm.
Disappointed, a little sad, maybe, because she wanted to share this with him, but not daunted.
She also refused to be rushed, because shopping for the perfect trees was part of the fun.
She might not have what Lorraine and Barb had, a house filled with excited small children and a husband grousing about Christmas Eve gift-wrapping, but she could decorate, damn it.
Ralph would have a stocking, too, even if Mr. Hermit Grinch wouldn’t let her decorate the cabin.
Even though she now spent half her nights there.
She leaned in to sniff a lush spray of needles, then cast a look at him over her shoulder. “We should pick a place and move in together.”
He snorted. “We should not.”
Her feelings pricked, she straightened and glared. “Why not?”
“Other than both Mona and Sue would pitch a fit?” He sipped at his cider, unperturbed by her attitude. “We’re still in the honeymoon period, flushed with all the feel-good hormones. Moving in together is not smart.”
“Honeymoon period? Hormones?” Scowling, she stared at him, lips parted. Her chest panged, like Tick hitting a discordant string on the guitar or missing a chord on the piano. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” He spread his hands, pale blue cotton stretching across his chest. “Come on, you know it’s a thing.”
“You think what I feel for you is hormones.” Did that mean he thought what he felt was nothing but a wash of chemicals? She tensed all over.
“I think I’m not touching that statement.” His wry voice matched the twist of his lips.
“Smart move.” Shaking her head, she huffed. She didn’t believe this.
“A smart move is not overcommitting before we’re ready. It’s basically been a month.” He circled the cup, gaze steady on her face. “Think back to you and Barlow. What was that like at a month?”
“That’s an impossible question.” Her enjoyment in the evening fizzed out in a flash like a blown twinkle light. “We weren’t ever anything, really, so there was no first month.”
“Okay, so that first month? Everything’s great, roses and hearts, and the physical stuff is great, too—”
“I really don’t want to hear about you being physical with other women.
” Revulsion shivered over her. Realistically, people didn’t get to their late twenties without some sexual experience, but she hated picturing him doing what he did with her with other women.
Jealous and petty of her? Absolutely, but she owned the reaction — some small, insecure part of her wanted him to belong to her alone.
“Focus on the topic.” He kept moving down the line of trees, and Holly rolled her eyes. The man was ruining her holiday buzz with reality. “It’s a couple of months before that wears off, and then I’m getting on your nerves because I don’t hang the dish towel right.”
“Like people fight about those things.” She ate the last bite of her pretzel dog and dropped the napkin in the trash receptacle at the end of the row.
A pine-scented breeze played with her hair.
She tried to hold on to those details, an antidote to the too-logical discussion she found herself immersed in.