Page 11 of The Boxer’s Belle

Her gaze darted between him and Bella, expression trapped somewhere between amused and terrified. “Eliza, please. And, of course, you’re welcome to⁠—”

“Christmas,” Ben said. “We can renegotiate the terms of the ceasefire then.”

Bella glared at her brother. It was quick. West would’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to her every movement. But he was—always had been.

Her lips pursed, a lightning-fast flicker. He had only enough time to fix a teasing smirk on his face before she turned back to him.

Her eyes were the darkest of browns, rich and warm, and framed by inky-black lashes. But it was her freckles he adored most, strewn along the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Bella was all woman. Even as a girl she’d acted twice her age, but those freckles… tiny, perfect imperfections she couldn’t erase no matter how hard she tried.

“If you need suggestions for what to gift me, I’m happy to provide a list,” he offered.

“A singular intelligent thought in your head is near the top, presumably,” she shot back.

“I’ve more than a few thoughts, Belle, but none appropriate for the breakfast table.”

Her teeth ground together as a familiar flush, the color of ripe plums, washed over her cheeks. Whether her reaction was to the endearment or the implication, West neither knew nor cared. He was a greedy man.

“I’m certain your thoughts are entirely inadequate. It really is for the best that you keep them to your⁠—”

“Alright!” Ben tossed the word out, thrusting it between the bickering pair. Then he paused, no doubt ransacking his mind for some topic they wouldn’t squabble over. “I’ve nothing. Eliza, please, any subject at all.”

The woman in question straightened and cast her gaze toward the window he’d found Bella beside that morning. Sometime in the hour since, clouds had blanketed the sky.

“I need to plant my chrysanthemums over the next few days. Do you suppose the weather will cooperate? There is so much left to do!”

Ben caught her hand and pressed a grateful kiss to the palm. “How could it not?”

Because God had a sense of irony, he chose that precise moment to release a strike of thunder that rattled the window frame.

The quartet froze for a too-long moment, then burst into bright laughter. West’s heart clenched before his head found the reason.

Bella was laughing.

West couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard anything more than a derisive huff from her. This genuine peal of merriment warmed his chest and stole his breath.

Bella smiled rarely. When she did, it was usually studied—carefully considered in order to further some end. But a genuinely smiling, delighted Bella? There was nothing more glorious, more lovely. West hadn’t been on the receiving end of such a grin since that night.

His chuckles faded. Because he knew where her smiles and giggles had gone.

He’d stolen them—stolen that bell-sweet giggle that put a wedding carillon to shame.

“Did you attempt to consider two topics at once?” Bella asked, with none of the usual derision in her voice.

West cleared his throat. “Just remembered I promised Pa I’d split logs for him today. Seems a damp prospect now.”

“We only arrived last night. When did you have time to meet with your parents?” Ben asked.

The reproachful look West delivered proved to be ineffective.

Fortunately, Ben’s wife had sense enough for them both. “Oh, I promise myself things all the time and forget I’ve not told anyone. I’m certain your parents would rather enjoy your company. There’s always tomorrow for the firewood.”

“I’ll pitch in. We can finish tomorrow in half the time,” Ben offered cheerfully.

“Thank you,” West muttered, spearing a sausage link with more force than the task required.

“Pass the eggs?” Benedict asked, oblivious.

West did so with little more than a grunt of acknowledgment.