She’s silent for a few moments, and I don’t push.
“My ex left me for my best friend around Christmas five years ago. I was the cliché wife who didn’t have a clue.” She snorts. “So when the divorce came through a year later, let’s just say I wasn’t feeling very Christmassy and avoided everyone.”
Resisting the urge to haul her into my arms, I say, “And you haven’t celebrated Christmas since?”
She shakes her head, her lips clamped shut, like she’s said too much or is trying not to sob, and I’m so pissed off at her ex I could thump the trunk of the tree.
What kind of dickhead cheats on a special woman like Vera?
I wish I could make it better for her. And as she continues to avoid my gaze and stare out to sea, a glimmer of an idea hits me.
I know exactly how I can help her.
8
VERA
Inever should’ve revealed to Linc that I spend Christmas alone, because this is the result.
“What do you think?” He steps aside so I can enter his cottage and absorb the full effect of the effort he’s gone to.
“I think you’re one of those ridiculous romantics,” I mutter, unable to hide my burgeoning smile as I see tinsel draped over the rough-hewn wooden furniture, candles of all shapes and heights lit on every surface, and a fat inflatable Santa perched in a chair at the dining table, where he’s laid out a Christmas feast.
The small glazed ham, roast chicken and vegetables, and cranberry-topped pavlovas aren’t leftovers either. He’s gone to a lot of trouble for me, and my heart gives a painful twang.
Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before.
“You deserve it,” he murmurs, coming to stand beside me and taking hold of my hand.
I let him because my resistance is low with his thoughtful gesture, and because he smells incredible, a tempting blend of sunshine and citrus.
“I mean it, Vera.” He tugs on my hand so I’m facing him, and the look in his eyes slays me. Tenderness combined with desire. “I know you think I’m some shallow younger guy who wants to get into your pants so will do or say anything, but that’s not me. I like you, and when you told me about your prick of an ex and the effect that’s had on every Christmas since…”
He shrugs and gestures at the room. “I wanted to give you a Christmas you deserve.”
A boulder of emotion lodges in my throat, and I blink away the sting of tears. I inhale and exhale a few times before I can speak, aiming for flippant.
“It’s not a proper Christmas without presents,” I say, pretending to look around.
“I got you a present, but it’s not gift-wrapped.”
His husky voice ripples over me like a caress, and my skin pebbles.
“Let me guess. It’s in the bedroom.”
He chuckles at my cynicism. “It’s right here.”
He steps forward and wraps his arms around my waist, hauling me close. “Check my back pocket.”
I can’t help but laugh. “If that’s your way of getting me to grope your butt, it’s lame.”
“Just check,” he says, smiling.
Curious, I slide my hand inside the back pocket of his shorts and pull out what feels like a drink coaster. He releases me so I can look at it. A thin piece of wood, engraved with World’s Best Builder.
“My grandfather gave that to me when I was ten,” he says, as I struggle to get my emotions under control. “I used to follow him around everywhere, handing him tools as he repaired stuff, then later learning to cut and join wood.”
His eyes glaze in remembrance. “He made that for me. Called me his apprentice.”
