Chapter Thirteen
My nose wakes up before the rest of my body does, sending a rush of desire pulsing through my veins that rouses the rest of my senses. I hear the crackling of a fire and then something I haven’t heard yet. A gentle, deep humming, and… surely, it’s not from Boone?
My eyelids flutter open just barely before I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
I pick up my phone and feel my eyes enlarging from the numbers.
It’s ten o’clock. I can’t remember the last time I slept past six.
There isn’t exactly an excess quantity of time when you live in New York City.
There are lines to wait in, cabs to catch, and it takes me a good three hours every morning just to get to work.
I slide across the wood floor in Boone’s wool socks, toward the living room, following the smell of coffee and the sound of what sounds like melodious murmuring of a Christmas carol, so it definitely cannot be Boone.
But when I peek around the doorway, I can literally feel my jaw drop.
There’s Boone, steaming coffee mug in hand, Dog curled up next to him on the couch, and a Christmas tree that smells fresh from the woods. It’s strung with lights that look familiar, but I can’t place them.
“What is happening?” I question, my arms hanging floppy at my sides as if I’m lifeless, and maybe I am. Maybe this is a dream? It must be a dream.
“Good morning, Kate.” Boone smiles. “Coffee?”
I nod my head. “Yes, of course. Duh. But what is all this?”
“Did you just duh me?” Boone asks as he stands from the couch. Dog stretches out, his black fur glistening from the glow of the Christmas lights, yawning.
“I did. I most definitely duh’d you, because it was an unnecessary question. But what isn’t an unnecessary question is why is there a Christmas tree in your living room?” I walk over to it slowly, as if it’s a mythical creature and not just a simple pine tree.
“Well, I figured it’s not just me for Christmas this year.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Gingerbread creamer?”
I nod my head again. “These lights?”
I reach out to touch them. I’ve seen them somewhere, but where would Boone have gotten them? We’re snowed in.
“The hens weren’t too happy I stole them from their coop, but I figured they could do without them for a day or two,” Boone answers. “I’ll be right back with coffee.”
Boone cut down a tree and strung it with his chicken-coop lights. For me.
Not for him. Not for Dog. Not for Christmas.
For me.
This man makes it too easy to like him.
I walk over to the couch, grabbing a plaid blanket to wrap around me, and snuggle down next to the cat. “What do you think, Dog? Christmas is better with a tree, right?”
He pushes his head against my leg, purring. I take the movement and sound as a yes.
Boone reenters the room, a cup of angelic liquid gripped in his hands. “Merry Christmas Eve, Kate.”
I take the coffee, inhaling it for a good ten seconds before I reply, “Merry Christmas Eve, Boone. Thanks for the coffee and the tree. Although I’m a little nervous about how Goose will treat me now since she already hates me.
If she knows I’m the reason you stole her lights, then I can only imagine it will sharpen her animosity toward me, and by sharpen, I mean her claws won’t miss next time she attacks me. ”
Boone picks up Dog, moving him over to the other side so he can sit right beside me.
Then, he reaches over, brushing hair that has fallen over my eyes out of my face, and I’m positive that every atom in my body just burst from what feels like natural, gentle affection.
Something I haven’t had in a long time. I feel everything.
“Goose doesn’t hate you. She can share her light for a little while,” Boone says softly.
And the words feel like they mean something more than just a conversation about a chicken. They feel like Boone didn’t just take an axe to a tree last night, but that he took one to his heart, too—splitting it open to hope and possibility.
But I’ll soon be gone, and I can’t be the one that breaks Boone’s heart after all he’s been through.
It’s not fair to him. It’s not fair to me.
Do I even want this, or is it just being snowed in at Christmas with this handsome lumberjack of a man that has the inside of me currently lit up like a Christmas tree?
“Boone, don’t take this the wrong way,” I begin. “I like you. I really do, but…”
His facial features rearrange themselves into one of quick confusion.
“You can’t kiss me, and if I happen to slip and fall into this Christmas magic you are creating—which it’s working, by the way—don’t kiss me back.
Please, don’t kiss me back. I won’t be able to catch my breath if you do, and I need to.
I have a life back in New York. A life I like that would just complicate this life that you like here in the mountains. ”
“You’re asking me not to kiss you?” Boone questions, tilting his head.
“And to not kiss me back if I kiss you,” I add on.
“Do you want to kiss me?” he asks.
I bite my bottom lip, strategically sorting through my words before I spit them all out, while watching Boone intently.
He doesn’t look offended. In fact, he looks even more intrigued, which is not exactly the look I was hoping for. Like he wants to kiss me just to find out what I’d actually do. Would I kiss him back?
Yes. Yes, I would. But I need to ask him to have more strength than I currently possess. I mean, I did almost die recently. I’m kind of the weaker one of the two of us. I think.
“Boone, you’re a super likeable person. Perhaps the most likeable person I’ve ever met.
Of course I want to kiss you. You’ve got that mysterious mountain-man appeal.
You make the most delicious coffee I’ve ever tasted.
You seem content to be with yourself. You cut me down a tree.
You saved my life. I mean, it’s kind of the perfect combination of everything to inspire the wistful desire to put my lips on your lips.
To see what it’d be like. But we both know this isn’t a good idea.
Yeah, sure, it could be great. But Boone, I’m not looking for great.
I don’t date. I’m not searching for a man to take care of me. I can and want to take care of myself.”
“But you want to kiss me?” Boone questions again.
“Is that all you got from that?”
Boone smirks, and unfortunately it makes me want to kiss him more.
“I promise I won’t kiss you back, but I’m not that likeable of a person, Kate.
I hate jury duty, so twice I’ve just sided with the accused to get out of it.
I also forget my mom’s birthday every year.
June third. Oh, yes. I know it now, but I forget it every June.
My dad calls me and reminds me on the day of, because quite honestly, he forgets, too.
I also don’t recycle. I know. It’s terrible. I throw plastic in the trash can.”
“You’re not helping your case, Boone,” I laugh. “You just made me like you more.”
“We’re adults, Kate. I don’t think a kiss is going to ruin things for us,” Boone suggests.
I take a sip of coffee that wraps my tongue up in warmth and joy and relax into it.
Then I look at Boone seriously. “I like my life, Boone, and kissing you seems like it might ruin things for me, or at least complicate things. So, let’s just enjoy Christmas together without any kissing, and as soon as I can catch a flight, I’ll go back to the city, and you can forget about the ridiculous woman you had to rescue because she needed coffee.
” Then I tip my mug toward him. “This is great, as usual. Thank you. I’m going to go check on the cinnamon rolls. ”
Then I stand up and leave the room, because if I don’t, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to find any other reasons to argue against kissing Boone. Not right now. Not without at least three more cups of coffee in me.