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“It’s fine.”
That sharp stab of pain was already fading, but the reminder of being alone in this world didn’t. A year later, and sometimes the loss of his father remained as sharp as the day he was taken from him.
“It’s not,” Brooklyn argued on a low murmur.
He gently squeezed her fingers.
“Let it go, Brook,” he quietly ordered.
She studied him, those dark eyes roaming over his face. Finally, she nodded and shifted her attention back to Cole.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But you’re no one’s dirty secret. Don’t say that again or I might reconsider my stance on pacifism.”
Surprise momentarily struck him in the chest, pilfering his breath and any response he had. Not that he did have one. He could only stare at her deceptively delicate profile. What did she mean by him not being a dirty secret? Did she...?
Mentally, he shook his head.Stop projecting, he silently ordered himself. She hadn’t even saidhersecret butno one’s. Small difference, but so huge. Because one claimed him as hers, and the other... Well, the other meant he belonged to no one, just as she’d said.
Jerking his gaze from her, he murmured, “I wasn’t aware you had a position on nonviolence. All those true-crime shows you watch are terribly misleading, then.”
She turned back to him, her eyes narrowed behind her stylish blue frames.
“I’ll have you know they’re very educational as well as entertaining,” she snapped.
Patrick slowly nodded. “Good to know,” he said, then glanced at a silent Cole. “Cole, she finds shows about offing your spouse educational. You heard it right there. So if I disappear before this annulment goes through, don’t believe that I left town for a job no one’s ever heard of. Nor did I leave her for another woman. You’re my witness.”
Her growl echoed through the room, and despite the reason they sat here in an attorney’s office, he smirked.
And because he couldn’t help himself—and that little growl she gave was both cute and arousing—he added with a cocked eyebrow, “I think I should have my will drawn up while we’re here. She gets nothing in the case of my untimely death. Especially if there’s a home invasion and she makes it out alive while I’m murdered.”
“We don’t even live together, numbskull,” she sniped.
“Semantics.”
“Uh.” Cole coughed into his fist, but he couldn’t completely hide the smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ll make a note of that, Patrick. As enjoyable—and maybe a tiny bit disturbing—as this has been, I need to end our meeting. Yulefest starts tonight, and I have to head over to the town hall to handle a few last-minute things. Is there anything else you need to discuss with me?”
“No, I think that’s it,” Brooklyn said.
Patrick shook his head and rose along with Brooklyn and Cole. The attorney rounded his desk, hand outstretched. Brooklyn, then Patrick, shook it, thanking Cole for his help. Moments later they left the office and stood outside the brick building with its white scrolled sign. Cole’s office stood on a corner lot off Main Street. But this road, like the rest of Rose Bend, proudly wore all the holiday decorations as did most of the town. White and multicolored lights, poinsettias and garland wrapped around every iron lamppost, over most of the awnings, and were strung across the street from building to building. Huge wreaths and red bows hung over the streets, forming multiple decorative arches. Not even the telephone poles missed out, adorned with garland, tiny toys and more lights.
At this time of year, Rose Bend transformed into a cross between a winter wonderland and Santa’s workshop.
He loved it.
Christmas in his hometown was downright magical. And yes, he did feel slightly foolish even thinking that at his big age of thirty-three, but given the cheer of Rose Bend’s annual, monthlong holiday festival, and the way the entire town threw itself into celebrating this time of year, he could be forgiven his temporary flight of fancy.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Brooklyn said, her breath a cloudy puff on the cold December air.
She slipped her hands into her gloves and settled earmuffs over her head. The sight of them never failed to drag a spurt of humor out of her. The overtly feminine headwear with its purple band and puffs of white fur so contrasted her no-nonsense personality. He loved the contrast.
Shit, he just loved her.
He smothered a sigh and tried to let the air that practically crackled with anticipation and the festivity of the season replace the tiny kernel of resentment that burrowed under his ribs.
Not resentment of her. He couldn’t blame her for not loving him, for not even seeing him as anything but her friend and employee. Just as he couldn’t help loving her, being bitter at her would be hypocritical.
No, all his resentment was self-directed. Because if his father had taught him anything it was the futility of wanting someone who didn’t want you back. Patrick had believed he’d learned that lesson as an unwilling pupil. But apparently, he’d failed. And epically.
“No,” he replied to her statement. “Not too—whoa.” He just managed to brace himself as Brooklyn’s body collided with his own. On pure reflex and instinct, his arms rose and wrapped around her even as she gripped the back of his coat and held him close. “Sweetheart, what’s this? What’s wrong?”
