My knees weaken.
Leo grips me tighter and gently walks me toward the couch. My legs didn’t buckle from the swooniness of the moment, well, notmostly. It’s that gripping fear I’ve known all my life that I can’t explain even to myself right now.
I pull back, my breathing ragged, and place my hands on his shoulders. I want to stay, and Leo will always want to go.
His eyes are hazy, no doubt resembling my own. Then his mouth curves into a slow, satisfied smile. “We didn’t even need mistletoe.”
I give a nervous laugh, but I’m inwardly freaking out. “I should go.”
He blinks. His gaze—seconds ago so beautifully hooded with the languid pleasure of our kiss—is now alert and … confused. “Everything okay?”
“Yep. Just jolly over here.”Jolly? Who says that? Other than Santa Ned after his smoke break? Why am I so weird? Probably because my entire body is humming with the residue of Leo’s touch. I feel fire and ice in tandem. Happiness and sadness. With shaky limbs, I grab my purse and beeline for the foyer, Leo trying to keep up with my crazy pace.
He gathers my coat and scarf and hands them to me.
I force a bright smile. “Thank you for tonight.”
He steps close. “Greta, talk to me.” His voice is a deep timbre like rich cocoa—smooth and hot. But I can’t stomach any more of his sweetness. “Are we good?”
“Yeah, all good. I just didn’t know the time.” Which is true. I still don’t know the time. “I should be heading back.”
He nods, his gaze still hesitant, and opens the door for me.
“Goodnight, Leo.”
CHAPTER 20
My mind hasn’t beenthis disharmonious since the Mavericks’ impromptu Christmas caroling jaunt. It happened five years ago, and I’m still haunted by their tone-deaf version of “Blue Christmas.” But this morning, I’m in no mood for Christmas songs. After church, I need to teach Mom how to access Pap’s online medical portal to get prescription refills. I also intend to grab the tub of antique ornaments Gran gifted me in her will. I’ve been slow in getting them, but I want that reminder of her right now.
Oh, and I need to figure out what to text Leo without sounding dumb.
I left the Secret Santa folder at his place, and I’m not going back to his house. Him and his backward hat, and gray sweatpants, and perfect words. And even more perfect kissing.
It’s like when I was eleven and got a sewing machine for Christmas. I’d been saving money working at The Memory Bank but didn’t have enough to get the Brother SE400 model. Though that didn’t stop me from dreaming of all the creations I’d make on it. The machine could sew and embroider. It came with an LCD touch screen display and an automatic needle threader. To me, every other machine didn’t measure up.
When I woke that Christmas morning, a large box, covered in green paper and topped with an enormous bow, sat beside our tree. I wanted to tear the gift wrapping to shreds but also savor the moment. Because this—this!—was my every wish, my every expectation, and, somehow, I knew my life wouldn’t be the same after I opened it.
Last night, I had that same sensation. Leo’s kiss is my SE400. The weight of his hands on my back, the pressure of his lips, the tightening of his arms around me was everything I didn’t know I was missing. Those minutes made me see that every kiss before fell way short, like some dollar-store version of the real thing. Okay, not that there weremanyprior kisses. I don’t have Tilly’s long list of exes. Am I being dramatic in saying that Leo not only ruined every past kiss, but every future one if he’s not the other participant? Maybe. I don’t know. But Idoknow that—just like opening that present years ago—things aren’t going to be the same for me.
Especially now, since I destroyed the experience with my rashness, leaving Leo in a state of confusion.
When church lets out, I head straight to Pap’s and pull in the driveway. Mom’s already opened the garage door for me. After ditching my high heels at the entrance, I find Mom in the kitchen making lunch.
She smiles brightly. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.” I stoop down and pet Oggy behind the ears, but he seems more interested in what Mom’s cooking. “It’s jumpstart jumper day.”
“It’s what?”
Oh, that’s right. She wouldn’t get it. I scored this wool jumper from the ’70s at a flea market across the state. I only wear it when I need a mental boost, so Gran coined this my Jumpstart Jumper. I’m not saying that the vintage outfit cures brain fog. But also, I’m not saying it doesn’t. Though today, I’ve had nosuch luck. “Never mind,” I mumble, not having the energy to explain.
“You hungry?”
“No, thanks.” I haven’t had an appetite since last night’s steak dinner. With Leo. Who kissed me, and I ran from the room like the floor turned to lava. I don’t understand why I got so triggered. I shouldn’t have flipped out. Yeah, it was an amazing kiss, but it’s not like Leo proposed marriage. We aren’t even dating. Maybe after I teach Mom how to access Pap’s prescriptions, I should just call him to get it over with. Or leave the country. Perhaps buy property in a remote land and raise bunnies. That’s how it is with me, chasing one illogical thought after another. Although, is raising bunnies truly an outlandish idea? Because it’s kind of growing on me.
“Oh, guess what?” Mom flips over her grilled cheese. “I figured out how to navigate that portal thingy. So I refilled Pap’s prescriptions.”
“Great.” Yep. Wonderful. I’m no longer needed. I can go home, and my mind can replay my life choices on an unending loop before going to Tilly’s for our scheduled girls’ night. I’m already dreading telling my best friend. Though I don’t think she’ll be overly surprised at my making things awkward between Leo and me. While she’s the beauty queen, I’m the vibe assassin. We’re good at what we do.
