Maybe I should consider getting satellite internet so I can stay in touch with the world a little more. I could check my email more often than once every couple of weeks when I get around to it. The phone service would be reliable too. Not that I’m expecting a certain blond bombshell to keep in touch.
“Did you get lost?” that bombshell asks from the doorway.
“Mmm,” I grunt as I walk past her carrying the supplies she asked for. Returning to my seat, I focus on cutting out snowflakes. Luckily, my art skills transfer to ornament making. Soon were both lost in the task. Harmony hums as she cuts on her creations.
“You’re humming again,” I say when I can’t identify the tune.
“Sorry. It’s driving me crazy. I can’t quite catch it. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do.” I understand exactly. My hands have been itching to draw her since I turned around this morning to see who had me in a death lock.
“My manager says to leave it alone, and it’ll come out when it’s ready.” She shrugs her shoulders and studies my snowflakes. “You’re weirdly good at this. How many do you have?”
“Ten or fifteen.”
“That should be plenty. Should we hang them on our tree?”
Something about hearing the words “our tree” makes my heart warm. It’s strange how much I’m starting to enjoy this Christmas. With just my brother and me, it’s never been very festive. We just stopped trying years ago. There’s only so much Yuletide cheer two single men are willing to do.
“What do you think?” she asks several minutes later when we have the snowflakes hung on the limbs.
“Not bad.”
“Not bad?” she says with a puff. I check to make sure she’s not upset, but she’s smirking at me. “That’s a work of art.”
“Fucking Mona Lisa.”
“That’s better. Now how about some of my famous, but totally stolen recipe, shrimp gumbo?” She laughs.
“Can’t. Too busy marveling at this masterpiece,” I say, pointing at the tree.
“Smart-ass,” she mumbles. Rolling her eyes, she shoves me toward the kitchen.
“Did you just cuss?”
“Yes, now get in the kitchen, asshat, before I change my mind and toss it all out the backdoor.”
“I would hate all that good shrimp to go to waste. I’m sure this asshat will appreciate it more than the raccoons.” She grins at me, and I follow her into the kitchen. At this point, I would follow her anywhere.
five
HARMONY
Staying perpetually upbeat is exhausting.I’m trying my best to make the best of an awkward situation. Being trapped in a house in the middle of nowhere with a man I don’t really know was never at the top of my Christmas wish list.
It’s hard because I can’t get a read on this man. One minute he’s growling at me, the next he’s cracking a joke. It’s enough to make my head spin.
Then there’s the fact that every time he turns that simmering gaze on me it feels like he can see everything. I’ve never felt more exposed, and his eyes rarely drop below my face.
I can feel them on me now as I study his mom’s old DVD collection. Do I bend over so I can see them better, thus waving my behind in his view, or do I continue to squint but stay ramrod straight? Oh, screw it.
“Hmm,” he hums behind me when I bend over. What does that mean?
“Oh hey, you have one of my favorite Christmas rom-coms,” I say before I can overanalyze the proportions of my ass and his response to said proportions.While You Were Sleeping.
I hold up the DVD when I turn around like it’s a trophy. Who am I kidding? It is a trophy. I’ve had a girl crush on Sandra Bullock for years now, and in my humble opinion, this is one of her best.
“Whatever,” he mumbles.
