Page 27 of Wrapped Up with the Three Scrooges

Ronan

Iguided Emery through the crowded market, my hand hovering near the small of her back without actually touching her. The gesture was protective, professional—at least that’s what I told myself. But every time she darted forward to examine something sparkly or festive, the absence of that almost-contact left me feeling oddly deprived.

“Oh my God, look at these!” She stopped at a stall and gently touched the string of a hand-painted ornament. “They’re gorgeous.”

The childlike wonder in her expression stirred something in my chest I’d buried a long time ago—right alongside the memory of my grandmother’s kitchen filled with the scent of gingerbread and my grandfather’s deep laugh as he snuck me extra cookies when she wasn’t looking.

“They’re just ornaments.” I stepped closer to peer over her shoulder.

“Just ornaments?” She spun to face me, close enough that I caught the hint of vanilla in her perfume. “Each one tells a story. Look at this one.” She pointed to a delicate glass sphere with a winter scene inside. “Someone took the time to paint that tiny little house, those microscopic footprints in the snow. That’s not just an ornament, that’s magic.”

The same care and attention to detail I’d put into my window display. She’d seen that too, had understood what it meant without me having to explain.

“You really meant it?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “About my window?”

Her eyes softened as she looked up at me. “Of course I did. I picked it because it was beautiful in its own way. Like you. I mean, like your management style. Precise. Thoughtful. Unexpectedly artistic.”

The way she stumbled over her words, trying to backtrack, made something warm unfurl in my chest. “Unexpectedly artistic?” I stepped closer, enjoying how her breath hitched. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Definitely flattered.” She bit her lip like she wished she could take it back.

The gesture drew my attention to her mouth, and I was transfixed by the way her teeth worried at the soft pink flesh. The urge to reach out, to brush my thumb across that lower lip and ease the tension there, was almost overwhelming. I forced my hands to stay at my sides, even as every instinct screamed at me to close what little distance remained between us.

How had this woman so easily walked into Wrap It Up and completely wrapped me, Levi, and Max up? She was attractive, sure, but there was something else about her that had me wanting to throw myself into her orbit.

A nearby vendor called out about hot chocolate, and Emery’s eyes lit up again. Before I could stop myself, I was steeringher toward the stall. “Two, please,” I told the vendor, ignoring Emery’s protests about paying me back.

“With extra whipped cream,” I added, remembering how my grandmother always said proper hot chocolate needed a cloud on top. “And crushed candy cane.”

Emery’s eyebrows shot up. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a whipped cream and peppermint kind of guy.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” I handed her a steaming cup, our fingers brushing. The jolt I felt had nothing to do with the heat of the drink.

“I’d like to.” She quickly raised the cup to her lips, leaving a dot of whipped cream on her nose.

Without thinking, I reached out and wiped it away with my thumb. She froze, eyes wide, and I realized what I’d done.

“Sorry.” I wrapped both hands around my cup. “Force of habit.” It wasn’t, and we both knew it.

“Right.” She stared at me, seeming to see right through my carefully constructed walls. “Because you often go around wiping whipped cream off people’s noses?”

“Only the ones who pick my window displays.” I surprised myself with my playful tone. When was the last time I’d flirted with a woman? It felt like it had been forever, and I felt a little rusty.

Her answering smile was bright enough to rival all the market’s twinkling lights combined. “Lucky me then.”

We loaded up on market food and I led Emery to one of the wooden picnic tables. Her eyes had grown comically wide when I’d insisted on getting one of everything like she’d joked about earlier. We had an array of street tacos, pierogies, and pizza pockets in the shape of candy canes.

“You really didn’t have to get all this.” She eyed the food with barely concealed hunger.

“Eat.” I pushed a container toward her. “Before it gets cold.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, diving into a taco with such enthusiasm that sauce dripped down her chin. “So, what are your plans for Christmas? Big family gathering? Fancy party?”

The question hit hard, memories of my grandmother’s sugar cookies and my grandfather’s awful Christmas sweaters flooding back. “No,” I said shortly, stabbing a pierogi with more force than necessary. “Staying home. Probably ordering Chinese takeout with Max and Levi like we do every year.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head, studying me with those perceptive eyes that seemed to see straight through my defenses. “That sounds...”

“It’s fine.” I shrugged, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Haven’t really celebrated since I was sixteen. After my grandparents passed, no one seemed to want to carry on the family traditions.”

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