Page 64 of Elf-ish

“Really?” Her excited trill has me briefly meeting her eyes, but just as quickly, I look away again, feeling my face heat.

“Want to tell me what you’ve done so far?” Her eyes are expectant, blue flames of hope. Hope for me?

I fall to my back and tick off on my fingers. “I gave of my time at the breakfast with Santa.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

I turn my head on the pillow and narrow my eyes. “Are you my shrink now?”

She waves her hand and gives me a soft smile. “Fine. Continue.”

“I donated money.” A Snowball’s Chance. She already knows this one.

I’m not ready to admit that I might have cheated a little bit, and I’ve put purchasing her Christmas presents on the list. It kind of matched up with Scrooge tossing coins at the boy and telling him to purchase the biggest goose. While I’d initially told myself the purchases were made in gratitude for her saving my life, I actually enjoyed the time we spent together as she carefully selected items for each of her family members. Her love for them was obvious in every decision she made.

Did I think I was reformed? Did I like giving shit away? Donating money. Paying for others. Not particularly. But it had not been as bad as I thought it might be. In fact, it had been kind of nice.

I shiver at the thought.

What has been miserable were the days of silence between us since the breakfast with Santa. Why hadn’t she called me? She never answered that question, and when she didn’t answer any of my phone calls on Thursday after her midnight announcement about being sick, I stormed her apartment on Friday morning wanting answers.

Staring at her beside me, I still have questions. But the biggest ones on my mind center around her. Does she believe in me? Could she be proud of me? Does she see a change?

As for her question—why her?—I didn’t have an answer, but I had an inkling it had to do with that feminine voice asking me not to leave.

Someone needed me. So far, the need had been my time and my money. The bigger items on the list were still up for consideration.

“I’m proud of you, Jude,” she says, her voice soft.

And I turn my head again, certain she’s joking. But the gleam in her enticing eyes and the soft curve of her lip, highlighting my favorite freckle, is all the reassurance I desire.

“It’s a step,” I admit.

“Never gonna skate, if you don’t put on the skates.”

“‘You always miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.’ Wayne Gretsky. Hockey great,” I explain.

Angelica chuckles, which leads to a short coughing attack. As she presses herself upright to a seated position, I sit up as well and reach over her for her water bottle on the opposite side of the bed. This causes me to lean against her. My chest brushes over her covered breasts. She tracks my retreat over her body and drops her gaze to my bare chest.

“What does that tattoo mean?” she asks, still struggling to clear her throat.

I hand over her water and remain sitting. The blankets pool over my lap, while I glance down at the elaborate design. I raise my arm so she can better see the ink.

The image is an intricate clock, like the one outside Ashford’s. Surrounding the large timepiece is a rose vine. Some flowers are in full bloom, others are only buds. On one portion of the clock, the flowers are wilting while another is only a vine of thorns.

“The clock is Ashford’s signature piece. The roses symbolize the seasons.”

Angelica stares at my hand as I stroke around the ink. Something inside me wants her to trace the cycle. Run her fingertips from spring to summer to fall to winter.

“The thorny vine is closest to your heart.”

“Winter is my favorite season.”

“It’s also my last name,” she states, arching a brow. Maybe there is deeper meaning to the tattoo after all. A subliminal message I hadn’t even known I’d imprinted on myself.

“Fancy that,” I tease.

“So grim, though,” she counters about the coldest season of the year. But she continues to stare at the tattoo while drinking from her water bottle. When she pulls the bottle from her mouth, her lips are moist, and she swipes at them with her thumb.