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I give in to the desire and let my palm skim the small of her back, my fingers trailing over the soft cashmere of her hunter green sweater. “I can’t wait.”
Veronica’s eyes fall shut for a beat longer than a blink as she releases a breath, but then seems to catch herself. “I need to get these hung.” She adjusts the thick garland draped across her arms and scurries away toward the sliding glass door at the far end of the room.
“Need a hand?” I call after her.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it,” she answers quickly over her shoulder and my bliss evaporates faster than raindrops from a sun shower on a blistering hot sidewalk on a scorching August afternoon.
Veronica couldn’t wait to put distance between us and I bet she’d put miles rather than yards if she could. I curse myself for giving in to my urge to touch her, but the desire is like a hex, the universe’s way of once more playing with my heart after I let it wither for years, telling myself there were other, more important things to do than love someone again.
With a long sigh, I turn on my heel and head toward the east wing of the apartment. There I’ll find the one person I shouldn’t bother at the moment, but who’s also the only one in my life who will tell me to my face if I’ve gone completely mad.
CHAPTER7
VERONICA
“Need a hand?”
The question is the same, but the voice is different. It draws me from my wayward thoughts—and the perfectly arranged bouquet I was fussing over while my mind ran wild—to find Kendall Hillstone at my side. There are pictures of her sprinkled throughout the penthouse, but they don’t do her justice. She’s beautiful with creamy, flawless skin and Garrett’s smoke-gray eyes. Her hair, pulled up in a low, casual bun, is the same chestnut hue as his, minus the gray around his temples, that is.
“You sound just like your father.”
Her smile widens, and I remember my manners. “I’m sorry. I mean, Merry Christmas Eve…and congratulations. You must be excited about your special day.”
She leans in and, in a conspiratorial whisper, says, “To be honest, I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“Really?”
She lays a gentle hand on my arm as if we’re old friends. “My dad’s going to all this trouble to make everything perfect, and I understand why. I also appreciate it, really, I do. But I don’t need all this fuss…” She waves a hand around, but then seems to catch herself. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out quite like I meant it. Thank you for all of your work. Veronica Charles, right?”
The interested way she confirms my name gives me the impression Kendall isn’t going around introducing herself to all the vendors here setting up for the event. Just me. The jury’s still out on whether that’s a good thing.
“Yes. Kendall, right?” I say, squirreling away the warring debate in my mind so I can focus on Garrett’s daughter.
“The one and only.” She does a little bow and I notice the pink high-top Converse she’s rocking. I have a pair just like it in my closet.
“I have your bouquet. Would you like to see it?” I ask, remembering a second too late that she could probably care less.
Her eyebrow quirks up, and it makes me think of Garrett and the delicious looks he gives me, like I’m a feast and he’s starving. I swallow hard and hope that by sticking to the official reason I’m here, I might not confess the fact I’m falling for her dad when she’s only a few years younger than me.
Thankfully, she takes it easy on me. “Sure.”
I head toward the far corner of the massive, pristine kitchen. The one section Chef Tomas hasn’t taken over where I stashed a few boxes of the last-minute items. I set the two sprigs of mistletoe I prepared, each tied with a red ribbon, on the counter and reach for the vase holding her bouquet.
“Is this mistletoe?” she asks, picking up the felt version and turning it over in her hand.
“It’s supposed to be. It’s…a private joke.”
“Oh.”
Before she can ask questions, I draw out the vase with her bouquet, a muted, understated clutch with tallow berries and silver dusty miller.
“Veronica, it’s gorgeous!” She sets down the mistletoe and plucks the bouquet right from the water, ignoring the water drops from the stems that drip onto her cream romper.
I covertly slip the two sprigs back into the box and smile at her pleasure. “I’ll still need to wrap the base with a ribbon before it’s ready to use but…” I trail off, as her engagement ring, a shimmering pearl, catches my eye. “Your ring, it’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” She lifts her hand so I can examine it more closely. The luster is iridescent, morphing in the light from ivory to silver to champagne. The ring is understated, elegant, and, most of all, unique. I barely know Kendall Hillstone, but her engagement ring seems to fit her well.
“It’s unconventional, I know,” she says, adjusting it on her finger. “But from the day I met Justin, we forged our own path, made things work our way. We’re polar opposites in some ways, but so alike in others, it’s uncanny.”
