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“Your eyes aren’t as bright as today,” he murmurs, though it seems he’s talking more to himself than me.
“Just tired,” I reply, matching his soft tone.
Kingsley furrows his brow as a fierce look overtakes his features. It’s like he’s already livid over whatever made me lose sleep. Crazy, I know. Why would he care?
“Something else. Something deeper,” he says, those dark brown eyes peering straight into my soul. “You’re… sad.”
I blink a few times, unsure what to say in response. How does he know? What does he mean, my eyes aren’t as bright today? I didn’t think Kingsley cared about details like that or about me at all.
It’s too much. He’s getting too close to the grief sitting heavy in my soul today. I’m already on the verge of tears, and I’d never forgive myself for crying in front of my first big client and ruining the holiday party I’ve worked so hard to plan.
“Nothing to worry about,” I assure him, smiling at Kingsley while taking a few steps back. I can think more clearly now I’m not surrounded by his warmth and his leather and spice scent. “Just one of those days.”
“It’s only eight. How much could have happened to make itone of those days?” He moves closer, those intense eyes never leaving mine.
“Why does it matter?” I ask, taking another step back.
We continue our dance of retreating and advancing until my back is pressed against the wall.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Do you always answer a question with a question?”
He’s leaning over me now, one hand spread on the wall next to my head. I’m not scared or intimidated. I’m… safe. It’s like Kingsley is creating a smaller space, a safe haven for me to share my secrets. The world doesn’t seem so big and scary when it’s only us here at this moment.
“Do you?” Kingsley whispers, his breath tickling my cheeks and lips.
“Only when I want to avoid the answer,” I tell him truthfully, a tiny smile curling up one corner of my lips.
Kingsley doesn’t smile. Not that I expect him to, but this look is different. More serious, if that’s possible. Like I’m a puzzle he doesn’t know how to even begin solving.
“I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Theory confirmed. But more importantly… why does he want to fix it? Fixme?
“There’s nothing to fix.” I sigh, looking away from him. “I miss my grandma,” I murmur. “She passed away over the summer. Christmas was our favorite time of year, and…” I trail off, mortified when my voice cracks.
The first tear falls, and in the next second, I’m wrapped up in Kingsley’s arms.
Having all his strength and power this close is overwhelming at first. I rest my head on the hard planes of his chest while he cradles the back of my neck, massaging me there in light, calming touches.
“I-I’m sorry,” I choke out. “So un-un-unprofessional.”
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, nuzzling into the top of my head. I have no idea where the sweet gesture came from, but it makes me cry even harder. Kingsley holds me through it all, his expensive shirt and tie soaking up my tears.
He somehow senses when I’m all cried out and takes a step back to give me some breathing room. I sniffle and wipe my face, awkward and unsure how to proceed.
“So, um, the hot chocolate is probably lukewarm chocolate at best,” I say, looking at the forgotten drink caddies on the side table.
“Get them all,” Kingsley says easily.
“All eight kinds of hot chocolate? I was planning on three, maybe four.”
The usually dismissive and apathetic Kingsley shrugs, and I think he’s grinning. It’s a little out of practice, but it makes my heart flip all the same. He’s trying.
“So rent a bigger table and feature all eight. ‘Tis the season, right?”
“Um, yes?” I tilt my head to the side, scanning Kingsley up and down to ensure it’s him and not a body double.
