Page 35 of Santa Baby

“It’s the size of a cargo ship!”

“Do you think the decorations we bought are going to cover it.”

“No!” I laughed again. “Mason, who are you?”

He smiled, looking a little smug as he crossed the distance between us. “I’m going to make dinner. Let me know if you need any help.”

“You’re leaving me? What if I get lost?”

“Just call out for me. This place has a terrible echo, anyway.”

I watched him walk into the kitchen, my lips parting in shock. He’s cooking? For me? In his multi-million-dollar apartment?

“I need your help!” I shouted, and my voice did in fact carry through the entire apartment, bouncing from wall to wall. Mason’s footsteps hurried out of the kitchen and he came to a stop in the archway, wiping his hands on a towel.

He looked relieved to find me in one piece but furrowed his brows at the living room. “Whoa.”

“You don’t like it.” I frowned from my position on the stairs, where I was weaving the vintage silver tinsel through the railing. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“No, this is—I’ve just never…” He scanned the room again, his gaze lingering on the tree, which was now fully decorated with all of the fun, vintage ornaments and a vibrant electric blue tree runner beneath. Soft white lights shone from within the branches, and the entire room was spiced by the scented candles I’d made him buy at a corner drug store before we met up with Rex to catch a ride into Brooklyn. In fact, it felt so much warmer, like the decorations had given this place the life it’d been lacking before.

A slightly sad smile touched his mouth as his eyes met mine. “I love it.”

“You don’t look like you love it.”

“I don’t like you being so high up and practically hanging over the railing.”

“You’re a little scared of heights, huh?”

“I’m not scared of heights. I wanted to be a pilot, remember? I don’t like the idea of anything happening to you, though. So come down. Plus, I need you to pick out a bottle of wine.”

I raised my brows. “Your fancy dinner doesn’t include whiskey pairings?”

His smile turned upward, brightening. “Not tonight, but maybe next time you come over.”

I hopped down the stairs, much to his chagrin, and followed him into the kitchen where two steaks were sitting on a plate, seasoned, waiting to be cooked in a cast iron pan. “So, you’re not only a billionaire, but a cook, too.”

“I know my way around a kitchen.” He motioned for me to follow him down a hallway.

I glanced around, noticing a half bath and laundry room and what looked like an office or spare bedroom. “How many bedrooms does this place have?”

“Three. The master suite and second bedroom are upstairs.” He opened a door and I gasped as the room flared to life, more soft lighting showing off an incredible wine and spirit collection. “You like sweet stuff,” he murmured to himself, meticulously scanning the wine rack. “Do you have a preference?”

“Got anything that comes in a box?” I teased, but my voice wobbled over the words. Just like at the pizza place earlier today, I had that sinking feeling that I wasn’t where I belonged again. That I was in some new, unexplored world and totally, utterly out of my element.

Mason straightened up with a bottle of wine in his hand. He must have noticed the uncertainty on my face because his eyes softened, his mouth forming a tight line. “I know this place is a lot. I bought it eight years ago now thinking it was what I wanted, you know. What I should have after becoming so successful.”

I stepped backward out of the room, giving him space to squeeze past me back into the kitchen. “What made you want to buy a brownstone?” I sat on one of the stools along the kitchen island, watching him rifle through a drawer.

He pulled out a corkscrew, opened the bottle, and poured it into a decanter. I raised my brows. Well, this was going to beat boxed wine, that was for sure. I might not even get a migraine after a few glasses.

“I liked the schools.” He placed an impressive wine glass in front of me and poured one for himself.

“The schools?” I examined the glass. Tiffany’s, of course. I felt rich just touching it. “Like, for kids?”

“I figured whatever I lived in next should probably be more child friendly than this place. Less sharp lines, lower to the ground.”

“Ah.” I sipped my wine as my head spun. I hadn’t been prepared for this line of conversation with Mason, but given that we’d entered dangerous territory with that kiss the other night, it wasn’t entirely a shock that we were now discussing kids and a future. At least, for Mason.