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MIA
Agustofwindwhipped my hair around my face as Carson grabbed my hand and we ran back to the warmth of his Jeep. Once inside, I rubbed my hands together while he turned up the heat. Neither of us had expected the drop in temperature, but we’d just delivered the last of the packages, so we were finished for the night.
“Wow,” Carson murmured, almost to himself, and I knew exactly what he was referring to.
“I know. That mom . . . “ I shook my head, thinking of her tear-streaked face.
“She was beyond thrilled. So incredibly grateful it hurt,” he finished for me.
“When you went back to the Jeep for the final box, she told me how her husband died this time two years ago. Ever since, she’s struggled to make ends meet with four young kids.”
“Seriously?” He shook his head. “Well, at least they’ll have a full Christmas.”
“You could tell they don’t have much, but man, the way her eyes lit up when she saw all those presents for her kids. And the food?” I exhaled, staring out the windshield at the darkened exterior of the small house. “It really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? No matter how bad it is with my parents fighting, it could be so much worse. A lot of people have it harder. Kind of makes me feel guilty for being forced into volunteering my time instead of willingly offering it.”
Carson turned to face me, draping one arm over the back of his seat, while the other rested on the steering wheel. He filled every available space around him with his massive frame. “How about every year, we do something like this? Help the needy around the holidays. Maybe we can even start our own Angel Program in Durham.”
“Yeah?” I smiled and nudged him in the ribs. “You think you’ll want to keep me around for that long?”
His mouth curved. “If you’ll have me.” Then he leaned closer, his mouth begging for a kiss as he whispered, “So what do you say?”
“I say, yes, I murmured before I closed the gap and brushed my lips over his, relishing the feel of his mouth on mine for a moment before I remembered where we were and slowly pulled away.
Reaching up to my neck, Carson traced the crystal snowflake he’d given me hours before, and I shivered. “It looks good on you.”
I placed my hand over his, pressing it flush against my chest, wondering if he could feel the frantic beat of my heart. “It would look good on anyone because it’s beautiful.” It was true. The moment after Carson confessed his feelings for me and we kissed, he’d presented me with the little velvet box. When I opened it, I’d been so surprised and awestruck at the gorgeous piece of jewelry winking up at me, I gasped, and the moment the words,I need to ask you something, left his mouth, I knew what his question would be.
“That’s because I picked it out. You forget, I have impeccable taste, Shorty.”
“Is that so?” I chuckled. His ego knew no bounds.
“I chose you, didn’t I?” He winked, and my cheeks heated. Then with a shake of the head, he lifted a hand to my cheek and said, “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of that.” His gaze dropped to my mouth and he licked his lips. “What do you say we get out of here?”
Twenty minutes later, we sat outside the entrance to the lake, the very beach we’d met on nine years ago. The place where we first became enemies.
Carson parked his Jeep overlooking the water as we sipped hot chocolates from paper cups and stared out into the inky night. “What’s your favorite Christmas memory?” he asked, licking a glob of whipped cream off the side of his cup in a way that made my mouth water.
Mesmerized, I stared at him a moment, the sharp curve of his jaw, the straight line of his nose and all that messy, dark hair. Part of me couldn’t believe he was mine. That he wanted me.
It took me a minute to find my voice, but when I did, I murmured, “Hmm . . . that’s tough.” It was true. Despite the tension in my home the last few years, I’d had an amazing childhood. “Probably the year Ella begged Mom and Dad for a hamster.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, his voice soft.
I stared at the dash remembering. “She wanted one so bad. She wrote letter after letter to Santa. Drew pictures of it. Begged. Pleaded. Saved pet store brochures when they came in the mail. Wrote up a contract on how she’d clean its cage. She even promised to do dishes for a year straight, no complaining. Sure enough, my parents caved, and Christmas morning, she woke up to cage and with a wheel and a little white hamster. Well, after we finished opening presents and had breakfast, Mom and Dad warned her not to get it out without washing her hands. But she was too excited and didn’t listen. So what does she do? She picks it up when they’re not looking, and the little rat must’ve smelled the cinnamon roll on her skin because that thing latched onto her finger so hard, Mom had to pry it off. Her finger bled for half an hour.”
Carson frowned, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “That’syour favorite memory? I thought youlikedElla.”
“It’s my favorite because after that, she wanted nothing to do with it.” I grinned and shrugged as I blew on my hot cocoa. “So I got an extra Christmas present.”
“The hamster,” he said, getting it.
“From that day forward, Mr. Pickles was mine.”
“Mr. Pickles?” he arched a brow. “She named it Mr. Pickles?”
“No, of course not. I did.”
Carson snickered. “Remind me never to let you name any of our pets.”
