“Oh.” Amelia peers around the kitchen doorway. Her face is flushed, and there’s a look of panic as she steps out, still in her pajamas and her socks pulled up just below her knees. “Adam…hey…hi.”
Her friend’s laughter sounds around us, making her flush deepen. I bet I could make her color a lot more if I told her I could fuck her in ways that would make Lucifer blush.
“Call you later,” she blusters into the phone before very quickly hanging up.
Eyes darting around us, she inhales sharply when they settle on the tree beside me. “That was your errand?”
Sucking her lip into her mouth, she looks up at me from beneath her thick lashes, and before I can steel myself, she takes a run at me. Jumping into my arms, she wraps hers around my shoulders. Warmth courses through me, spreading through my chest in a way that has me dropping the bag I was still holding so that I can hoist her up my body.
Walking her into the sitting room, I put her down on her feet, noticing how her arms tighten around me before her fingertips find the hair at my nape. Her glistening hazel gaze widens on mine, and I can’t be certain of whether it’s my heart drumming wildly or hers. Maybe it’s both in unison.
I swallow down the urge to crush my lips to hers, pulling away slightly so I can spin Amelia around. My hands grasp her hips as I turn us about the room, her back to my front.
“Tell me where you want it.” My rasp has her tilting her head to the side to look up at me with a deep ruddy blush working its way up her neck to her cheeks. “The tree. Where do you want it?”
Once she’s found the perfect spot, I set it in situ, cutting the netting off so that the branches fall and fill the space between the window and fireplace.
“It’s so perfect. So beautiful.”
Like you. The words are on the tip of my tongue. I have to bite down on my lip to stop them from rolling free.
“I thought you didn’t do Christmas?” Amelia starts pulling the decorations from the bag. “More lights?”
“What was it you said yesterday about twinkle lights making the magic even better?”
“Huh, you were listening.” An awed smile makes her odd dimple crease.
So fucking beautiful.
“I’m good at that,” I tell her as I unravel the string of lights. “I don’t get to have much fun, and yesterday was actually great.”
“And here I was thinking you’re the miserable Grinch.” A giggle escapes her as she grabs the end of the lights and disappears around the tree. “Can you wind this around the top?”
“Sure.” I do as Amelia asked and follow the rest of her instructions on the lights, making sure they’re evenly wound and woven through the branches.
Once she’s happy with the placement of the lighting, she threads a few ornaments on the tips of her fingers and rounds the tree, disappearing as she asks, “How come you don’t get to have fun?”
“My job. Mostly.”
Peeking around the shrubbery, she widens her eyes in question. They’re a most beguiling shade of amber-speckled green that makes my breath stick in my lungs.
“I’m CFO of a…ummm…” Aware of how people’s perception of me changes when I tell them about my job, I pull back. I don’t want Amelia to be like other women that instantly think of my bank balance. And as I tell her about my career, I wait for her attitude to change. “I’m CFO of my family’s global fund.”
“I can see why you lack fun—it sounds intense. Every time Seb’s had to work on a banking app, he gets all weird. Like the joy is sucked right out of him, so it makes sense that I’m the most fun you’ve had.” Amelia’s expression sobers as she catches herself. “I meant yesterday with me.”
“You are definitely a contagious ball of festive spirit. And a much-needed breath of fresh air actually,” I admit as relief sets in over her reaction.
It’s the most frank I’ve allowed myself to be with anyone since my last relationship. Still, I can’t allow myself to lose touch with how that ended and why.
Following Amelia’s lead, I thread some ornaments onto my fingers and follow her around the tree while she continues asking me about my life. It’s surprising how easy it is to talk to her about my career as I normally shy away from talking about myself to anyone.
“It’s why I’m here. The investor I’m trying to close a deal with left London early. Apparently his wife had a Christmas party at their estate and…”
“A Christmas party, huh?” Raising her brows, she stares at me as though I’m missing something.
“Wait, is that why you’re here? Because you worked his wife’s party?”
“I planned it,” she corrects me.
“So we’re both stranded at the office.”
“Do you ever leave the office?” Air quoting the office part, she then adds, “I mean, you talk so much about work…but there has to be more to you, right? Or maybe your parents were distant like mine?”
“No, if you ask my sister she’ll probably tell you that Mom is still way too hands-on and Dad is just Dad. Not to mention our grandma.”
Expecting her to feel awkward about my reply, I’m taken aback when she asks, “So why don’t you talk about them?”
“After what you told me about yours, I didn’t want to be an insensitive prick.”
“I don’t think that at all.” She twirls to face me, her hand touching my chest to steady herself.
“But you do think I’m a Grinch.”
“You said you don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“Our family celebrates Hanukkah.”
“Oh! That’s kind of cool, but you know, in my opinion, everyone should celebrate Christmas. I know it’s a Christian thing, but to me it’s actually about love. Spending time with the people you care for the most and spoiling them. It’s all about getting fat and getting happy!”
“And lucky,” I add with a low chuckle, admiring the fresh flush that colors her cheeks.
“Lucky?”
“To be here, decorating a Christmas tree, with you…and the fresh scent of lebkuchen. They’re my favorite.”
“Gingerbread?”
“Yeah, ginger is kind of my thing right now.”
I twirl a long loose strand of auburn hair between my forefinger and thumb, and her eyes flit down between us as she bites her lip and goes back to decorating with a sigh.
4
Amelia
With Michael Bublé’s Christmas album playing softly in the background, I sink onto my queen-sized bed and grab my Kindle from the bedside cabinet. Nothing beats unwinding with a good book and a cup of hot cocoa. I’m a few chapters into my small-town romance, and the heroine has just got her first glimpse of the hero, dressed in a Santa suit. My mind automatically goes to thoughts of Adam dressed in the red-and-white ensemble. I’ve never fantasized about St. Nick before, but hot damn. I wouldn’t kick him out of my sleigh.
I jump when my phone buzzes beside me, and as I reach for it, I’m surprised to see it’s a text from Adam.
Adam: Who hides in a bakery at Christmas?