“Bum ankle. I can’t move as fast.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Maybe these will help.” Jack stepped into the room and hovered near the edge of the sofa. His hand was behind his back, hiding something. “I couldn’t find a pair of Grandma Jean’s that would work. So I went out tonight and found these. They’re yours if they fit. And if not, I still have the receipt.”
With a hesitant move, Jack revealed a pair of thick winter boots. They looked cozy and well-insulated with rubber soles to keep out the snow.
My heart swelled, and I couldn’t hide my cheesy grin as I reached for them, letting my fingers slide over the soft fur inside. My voice wavered. “I bet these get great traction.”
“Yeah, for those spots where people don’t put down enough rock salt. It’s a real nuisance around here. Someone should say something.”
I choked on a laugh as I tried them on, slipping my foot into the soft lining. They were perfect. Easily the nicest pair I’d ever owned.
“Thank you, Jack. I love them.”
It was his turn to shrug, but I could tell he was pleased. I tapped the seat next to me and waited for him to sit down. A nervous flutter danced in my stomach. The last time we were in the living room together we’d almost kissed. I was playing a risky game. But I wasn’t ready for the night to end. If possible, I wanted it to go on forever, or maybe I could wake up tomorrow and have it start all over like one of those Groundhog Day time loops.
Just for a little while,I promised myself.
Taking a deep sip from my eggnog, I hoped some of Susan’s liquid courage would help calm my nerves. Jack was sitting so close, I could feel the heat from his body. His knee brushed mine, and in a bid to distract ourselves, we both leaned forward to take the last sugar cookie.
“You can have it,” he said, lifting his fingers from mine. But it was too late, my skin was already tingling from his touch.
I swallowed hard and shook my head, breaking the heart-shaped cookie with red icing and white sugar sprinkles in half. Maybe the rum was going to my head or maybe it was too much sugar, but the way Jack looked at me when I handed him the broken heart made my pulse jump.
Leaning back against the cushion, I cleared my throat and tried to break the friction simmering in the air.
“Wow, you must hate this, holiday songs by a warm fire while sharing the last Christmas cookie. What a nightmare.”
Jack’s voice was rough around the edges. “Yeah, it’s horrible. I may never recover.”
The fire snapped and popped, giving off waves of delicious heat.
“Where’s your photographer, this evening?” Jack asked, breaking the silence.
“His name is Simon.”
“Oh yeah. The man named after a shrub or was it the other way around? I’m not sure.”
Was that mild irritation in his tone? Jack drained his eggnog and frowned. Why was I finding his reaction to Simon so endearing?
“I think he went into town for drinks. Simon’s not the type to settle in for the evening. He’s used to city life. Bars that never close and parties that go till morning.”
“And what do you prefer?”
“Definitely this. A low-key evening with good friends.”
“What about family? I don’t think I’ve heard you mention anything about them. How come you’re working over Christmas and not spending time with them?”
I brushed crumbs from my fingers, and then traced the lines on my palm, reluctant to answer. “I don’t have any family. I grew up in foster homes and moved around a lot.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. It’s not something I like to talk about, but it is a part of me. I think it’s one of the reasons I like Christmas so much. That sounds weird to say because I never actually had a real Christmas like other children do. But it was the only time I felt like I could soak up some of the joy around me. Like it lived in the air. As I got older, it was something I looked forward to, and it became this thing where other people experiencing the magic of Christmas allowed me to experience it too. It’s why I took the job at—” My mouth snapped closed, and I cursed myself for almost giving away my employer's name. “The magazine. They are very festive.”
Jack’s gaze had darkened, and he shifted closer, his arm on the back of the sofa, nearly grazing my shoulder.
“Then you came here, and I tried to get you to leave and grouched at you at every turn. This must be your worst Christmas ever.”
“Is it yours?” I murmured.
