Page 72 of Santa Baby

“You look like a Christmas tree in the best way, my dear. Just beautiful.” Again, her eyes slid to mine. “Are you positively sure you’re spending your evening with him?”

Fia roped her arm around mine, beaming. “You must not know Mason very well. He’s the best man in Manhattan.”

Abigail raised a brow, but she finally broke into a smile I hadn’t seen in the years I’d known her. “He does make a mean bottle of whiskey. I’ll say that much.” She looked Fia up and down again, pleased. “Be sure a bottle of your original recipe is delivered by tomorrow morning, Mason. Make an old woman’s holiday.”

“It’s already in your study, Abi,” I told her with a knowing smile.

“Alright,” she said, nodding. “Maybe you are good enough for this fetching young lady.” She winked at me before turning and walking away.

“Have you known her for a long time?” Fia asked as we walked toward the towering Christmas trees. People were starting to hang their ornaments on them, and several waiters had ladders to assist decorating the hard-to-reach branches.

“She was friends with my grandmother. When my grandfather came into the money that took them out of poverty after leaving Scotland, Abigail was one of the only high-society women who accepted Grandma into her circle. I’ve known Abigail all my life.”

“So she doesn’t actually despise you and want to shove me off on one of her grandsons?”

“When she sent the invitation, she told me to make it count. Make it count was the last thing my grandma ever said to me, right after she gave me the family recipe for the whiskey. It was their thing, I guess. Everything they did, they made it count.” My throat felt suddenly dry. I could feel Fia’s gaze on my face, her eyes searching mine.

“You loved your grandma a lot.”

“I did. I do. I miss her this time of year.”

She squeezed my arm before lacing her fingers in mine, her touch warm and grounding like always. A passing waiter stopped to offer us drinks—Abigail’s signature cocktails. Fia chose a gin number with a sprig of holly sticking out of it, while I stuck with my usual. Whiskey, neat.

I wondered if I should bring up the fact that I called her my girlfriend on the phone earlier. I hadn’t said it on purpose, but it felt right. Just like joking around and calling her darling felt right.

The only thing holding me back from taking the plunge was Colin. I hadn’t been able to pin him down. I had three meetings today where he was in attendance, but it was the last day the office was open before the holiday, and he was busy shutting down his department for the week-long break we mandated every year, paid of course.

I was ready to pull Fia aside and lay it all on the line. But I wasn’t going to do anything until I had a chance to talk to Colin first, face to face. Man to man.

I cared about Fia. I cared about her wellbeing, her happiness, and her future. If she wanted to be with me, I was ready. More than ready. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. I had to take care of the Colin situation first. In the best-case scenario, he would be happy for us, not caring at all that I’d fallen in love with his little sister and he would trust I’ll take care of her.

In the worst case, he’d be livid. He’d punch me in the face and confront her about it, ruining her Christmas.

I would rather sit and wait than ruin her favorite holiday of the year, even if it was only a slim possibility.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, sipping her cocktail as her eyes met mine. They glowed every shade of hazel. Smooth golden and rich copper.

“I have something for you.” I reached into my jacket pocket, ignoring the hammering in my chest, and pulled out a small jewelry box. A ring box. Tiffany blue.

Fia’s eyes went wide. “Mason…”

“Open it.” I smiled, cupping her hand in mine and placing the box at the very center of her palm.

“You’re not supposed to propose to me until New Year’s Eve, remember?”

“I’d be down on one knee professing my undying love for you if that were the case,” I said wryly, and she smirked, rolling her eyes to the gilded ceiling before meeting my gaze again. “Just open it.”

She opened the box and went totally, completely still. Inside, on a little plush cushion, was a crystal Christmas ornament in the shape of a vintage camera.

“It reminded me of you.”

She looked up at me. I noticed a shift behind her eyes, gears turning, like she was working through some thought she hadn’t voiced. For a moment, I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

But then her eyes met mine, creasing. “This is for me?”

“To hang on one of the trees. Whichever one you want.”

She nodded, slightly teary eyed, which surprised me. My lips parted to ask if something was wrong, but she shook her head, smiling wetly, and pulled something out of her clutch.