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“I’m not sure an hour would be enough.” Or a week. Or maybe even a year. “That’s nuts.”
“I’ve got a weird job. It’s one of the benefits, I guess.” Plucking my hand from his body, he gives it a quick squeeze and adds, “Pretty girls feeling me up, I mean.”
Annnd my face is on fire. This is going to be so weird.
* * *
Noel
It’s official.This isn’t me chatting Misty up like I chat up everybody else. Nope. This is the real deal. I’m into her. And it’s not just because she put her little icicles all over my wicked-hot washboards, either.
That’s not new. Since getting voted hardest abs in the league, I’ve got bunnies hustling for a feel after every game. The way I reacted toherhand pressed against me, though? That was definitely new. Different. I wasn’t counting down the seconds until I could give her a polite smile and move on. No. The only reason I broke off that touchy-feely bit of fun was because Not-So-Little Noel was about to make a scene.
Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be opposed to a private meet-and-greet at some point. But not until I get a sense of whether Misty’s feeling me the way I’m feeling her. And if it does happen, it sure as hell isn’t going to be in the middle of a Christmas tree farm in broad daylight.
Which is why I hoist our tree over my shoulder and head for the Jeep, keeping the showing off to the bare minimum of what my ego demands.
Back at the lot, we hand the tree off to a couple kids from the family-run business. I whip off my T-shirt and yank on my dress shirt and jacket while they bale the tree and then I help tie it to the roof, double-checking the knots.
“Noel, these guys are pros. Seriously, that tree isn’t coming off.”
These “pros” are probably fifteen.
I check it again, then head in with her to the warming shed to settle up.
Two steps inside, I stop in awe. It’s a Christmas wonderland. Fresh garlands and wreaths scent the air, draped around a cozy space packed with handmade ornaments, candies, and preserves, and more holiday-themed kits and decorations than I’ve ever seen in one place. And to the right, there’s a blinged-out tree with a few wrapped gifts beneath and an easy chair with a posted sign saying that Santa is on break.
“I could fill in.” I lean closer, dropping my voice to a low rumble. “Let you sit on my lap and tell me all the things you want.”
I’m getting dangerously addicted to those eye rolls. Especially when they come with that hot blush.
Leading me over to the hot cider and cookie bar, she fills a couple small paper cups with the scalding cider. “It’s not just about the tree when we come here.” She hands me a sugar cookie on a paper napkin and looks around with a reverence that tells me more than words about what this place means to her. “This is how you do it. You eat your cookie and walk around the shop until your cider is cool enough to drink. Stormy and I got to choose one new ornament a year and then spent the rest of our time picking which caramel to buy for the ride home.”
I take a bite of my cookie and let the warmth of the cider seep into my hands, imagining Misty as a cute little kid with her family here. And then imagining something else.
“My parents would have loved this place.” I never volunteer information about them. Don’t like to invite conversation about them. But for some reason, standing here with this girl I barely know, I do. I can.
Misty blows on her cider, her eyes soft as they meet mine. “They were big on the holidays?”
I’m hit with the ache in my chest that usually has me running for a distraction, and… for the first time in years, I don’t want to escape it. I want to dig into the memories of my mom with flour on her face, laughing while she iced cookies for my team. I want to hold on to the echoes of my dad tearing a recipe out of his French cooking magazine and reading the ingredients off like it was a novel that had him hooked.
I rub at my chest and breathe, let myself feel it all.
“Oh yeah. Holidays were huge in the Nichols’ house. Christmas most of all. The lights would go up the day after Thanksgiving. We had Advent calendars and those little North Pole villages with the trains and moving parts. Christmas music piping through the house. It was great.” And then they were gone and there was nothing. Not even the memories, because I’d do anything to avoid them. But not now.
“You okay?” she asks gently. “We can go.”
I shake my head. “No way. It’s nice to do this. I’ve missed it.”
Her smile spreads, and she wraps her hand around my arm, pulling me along. “Good, because you haven’t even seen the gingerbread house bar yet.”
“That good?”
“You know the Lego store, with the zillion bins of every piece in every color you can imagine?”
“Come back to my place and I’ll show you my Lego Death Star.”
She gives a little bounce, ignoring my cheesy line. “Think that, but with candy! We’re totally building one when we get to my parents’ place.”
