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“Yes.” I don’t mention the rolled-up sleeves or the way I picked up on his cologne with hints of cedar and sandalwood, even with dozens of flowers laid out between us.
“Then what?”
My forehead drops to the cool granite countertop. “We went on a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park.”
“What?”
“You can say that again,” I mumble.
“Doesn’t sound like he just wants to bang it out.”
“I don’t get that impression either.”
“Did he kiss you?”
No, damn him. Garrett helped me down from the carriage, his large hands clasped around my waist. When my feet touched the ground, I thought he’d release me, but he didn’t. His hold lingered, and I wanted to melt into him, to feel a man’s strength against me again.
I glanced up to meet his eyes, and he was so close his warm breath, almost visible in the frigid afternoon air, skated against my skin. He wanted to kiss me. I could see it in his smoky eyes, but he didn’t follow through. He pulled back and cleared his throat, a muscle in his jaw working.
“No.”
“Oh.”
I rise and pace back and forth across my kitchen, the frustrated energy from that moment surging through my veins. “But it’s a good thing. I mean, like I said, he’s a client.”
“And what’s your excuse going to be tomorrow at two o’clock?”
“He’s…he’s not my type.” Garrett wants to get married again. At least I think he does, and I don’t. I am happy with my life exactly the way it is.
“If you say so.”
I say so. And later, when I’m craving a pint of dark chocolate gelato, I grab an unsweetened almond milk yogurt instead. After all, I know what’s good for me.
CHAPTER6
GARRETT
Veronica stopsshort on her way to the patio, the length of evergreen garland in her arms swaying, and eyes the corner of my living room. “Nice tree.”
It was the best I could find when I scoured the city last night as the temperature plummeted after dropping Veronica off at her brownstone back in Brooklyn. The oversized star on top is disproportionately large for the scrawny fir that barely reaches the crown of my head, but the tree is real, natural, and there’s something to be said for the smell of fresh pine to make a place smell like Christmas.
“I was going for traditional and…wispy.” That’s better than sparse and sad looking, right?
“Traditional,” she murmurs, as if weighing the word on her tongue, testing its sound, and considering its meaning.
She studies the tree, decorated with some ornaments and ribbons I pulled off the artificial one before I asked my housekeeper to dispose of it. The new one’s a little crooked, but I can’t bother to straighten it now. Veronica’s brow is furrowed and those ridges demand my full attention. And send a shiver down my spine.
“You did this for me?” she asks quietly.
Hired staff are buzzing all around us, carrying folding chairs and rattling glassware over at the bar. I step closer to Veronica, close enough the sweet vanilla of her shampoo replaces the scent of evergreen in the air. I could easily rest a hand on the small of her back, but I don’t. I’m still a client—at least for a few more hours. To my consternation, the proximity doesn’t provide the clarity I was hoping for. I still can’t tell if the answer she’s looking for is yes or no.
I play it safe. “I enjoyed it last night, after I got it decorated, of course. I had a fire crackling in the fireplace and a nice glass of Cabernet.”
Her eyes flit to the hearth and then skate over to the massive sectional my housekeeper tidied up this morning, refolding the blanket and straightening the pillows. Veronica’s lower lip tucks between her teeth and it’s a good thing she doesn’t glance my way because she’d catch me staring. Instead, her gaze lands back on the tree. “Next year I’ll get you one that’s a better fit for the space. Fuller and at least two feet taller.”
A tingle starts in my core and spreads to my limbs. “Next year?”
She must pick up on the unmistakable pleasure in my voice because she straightens and is all business once again. “Yes, I have a contact—a former White Glove designer—who relocated to a Christmas tree farm in Vermont. My clients always love the Noble firs we get direct from them.”
