“It wouldn’t be for nothing,” Noah finally says. “Even if the Petersons don’t come, it’s still Christmas. I’ll still be here.” He holds my gaze and lifts his shoulders in a tiny shrug like it almost pains him to admit the next part. “And you will too.”
The words make me surer than ever that somewhere beneath Noah’s broody exterior, there’s a man who doesn’t want to be alone for the holidays after all, no matter what he told his family.
Feeling empowered by his admission, I cross the distance between us and push up on my toes, my hands curling around his forearm as I press a kiss to his cheek.
The skin above his beard is warm, despite the chill in the air, and I find myself lingering, my nose brushing against him as I breathe him in.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “This really means a lot.”
As I lower back onto my heels, the loose snow shifts under my feet and I lose my balance, but I only wobble a moment before Noah steadies me, hooking his arm around my waist and tugging me against him.
My hands lift reflexively, and I press them against his chest.
“Careful,” he says, his voice low and a little raspy.
I tilt my head upward, and his face isright there,his blue eyes intense and focused wholly on me.
Just like it did the other morning in the kitchen, Noah’s gaze wraps around me, making my skin heat and my face flush. I bite my bottom lip even as my gaze drops tohislips. They’re so close—close enough for me to see the flecks of amber in his beard and notice the tiny freckle just below his lip.
Noah’s hand tightens against my back, his fingertips pressing against my skin with new intention, and for a split second, I think he might lean down and kiss me. He licks his lips, his head shifting forward until his nose touches mine, but then he clears his throat and shifts away.
His hand slips from my back and grips my elbow, like he wants to make sure I won’t topple over before he lets me go completely.
I drop my hands from his chest and step back, willing the heat in my cheeks to dissipate. Maybe he’ll think I’m just flushed because of the cold. In truth, it’s taking all my willpower to stand here normally and not melt into a puddle of embarrassment.
Except—I’m not sure Ishouldbe embarrassed. He clearly wanted to kiss me. All the signs were there. He even leaned close enough for our noses to touch.
So why did he back away?
Disappointment pricks painfully as I step away and force myself to look anywhere but at Noah.
Over the past few days, Noah has annoyed me and frustrated me and confounded me. But he has also intrigued me andpuzzled me and left me wanting more.A lotmore, apparently. Because I’ve never been so disappointed tonotbe kissed.
“I should…” Noah motions to the tree with a slight tilt of his head and lifts the saw.
“Right. Good,” I say. “Thanks for…” I wave my hand up and down my body as if that’s explanation enough for why I couldn’t seem to stay on my feet. “Catching me.”
Noah offers me a wry grin. “Is that what happened?”
I lift my eyebrows playfully, at least appreciating he isn’t going to pretend like nothing happened. “Unfortunately, it’sallthat happened.”
At first, I’m not sure Noah hears me, but as he leans down and positions the saw on the trunk of the tree, I catch a glimpse of a smirk that makes me think he absolutely did.
Nine
It’s possible,as we drag the Christmas tree back to the house, that I fantasize a tiny bit about Noah and me decorating together, listening to music, drinking eggnog while we hang ornaments on the tree like we’re in some sort of holiday romance movie. Hedidsay he was available to help.
But after thealmostkiss on the side of the mountain, I won’t be surprised if he makes his excuses the minute the tree is inside.
But he doesn’t do it. Once the Fraser fir is secure in its stand, we work together to move all the decorations downstairs, then he builds a fire in the fireplace and gets to work weaving lights through the branches of the tree.
I turn on some Christmas music, and before long, I am fully engrossed in the magic of turning the Stonebrook Farm farmhouse into a winter wonderland. Olivia said I could keep things low key, but honestly, once I start, it’s hard to stop.
A tiny village with snow-capped houses. Garland trimmed with twinkle lights. Ornaments in every color of the rainbow. There are scented pinecones that smell like cinnamon and a beautiful nativity scene and a set of hammered copper Christmas trees that I set up on the hearth where they reflect the flickering firelight.
The afternoon isn’t exactly movie-worthy. There is no kissing under the mistletoe or snuggling by the fire. But wedoexchange a few lingering looks. And every time he moves past me, he touches my arm or my shoulder or the small of my back.
Every time, fire shoots across my skin, crackles of energy that heighten my awareness of him. The longer we’re together, the more he starts to relax, enough that I start to wonder if I actuallydohave him figured out. He’s quiet and a little bit intense. He appreciates his solitude, and he doesn’t like small talk. Which means he’s happy to have people think he’s grumpy because that means he’s often left alone. But the more I get to know him, the more I’m seeing his kindness. He’s thoughtful and intentional and a really good listener. I find myself telling him things I’ve never told anyone—about what it felt like when my best friend married my brother. About the bittersweetness of losing a little piece of them both when they fell in love with each other. We talk about my parents and my friends in New York, and he tells me about summers on Stonebrook Farm, chasing pigs and climbing mountains and eating apples right off the trees.
