Page 24 of Feels Like Home

“You got acoat?”

I nod my head, his hand still to mycheek.

Hesmiles.

“Ready,then?”

“Oh yeah,” I reply, my body swaying towardhis.

“To shop,” he says, his mouth a mere breath away from mine. I can smell the spices from the pumpkin bread andcoffee.

Delicious.

“Yup.”

“I think we need to get out of here before I do something I promised myself I wouldn’t. Especially with you in myshirt.”

I nod, though I feel like making a few bad decisions wouldn’t be such a terribleidea.

“You want itback?”

“I’m thinking you make it look way better than I everdid.”

He obviously hasn’t looked in a mirrorlately.

Thirty minutes later we’re parking at the mall, the parking lot crowded from all the other last minuteshoppers.

As we walk through the parking lot, our arms brush against each other. Having left my coat in his pickup so I wouldn’t sweat inside the mall, I wrap my arms around myself to keep myselfwarm.

Andy notices and wraps an arm around me, pulling me inclose.

“Cold?”

“Well, it’s twenty degrees out andflurrying.”

“I take that as a yes?” he asks, smiling down atme.

I don’t know how to respond, the look in his eyes alone warmingme.

I bite my lip and look away, focused on getting into the mall without slipping and falling on a patch ofice.

He rubs a strong hand up and down my arm once then squeezes me closer. I wrap an arm around his waist to make it less awkward walking and almost whimper when we reach the entrance, knowing there’s no reason to be doing the walk/cuddleanymore.

It only takes us a couple hours to finish his shopping. As we were shopping for his mom, he mentioned that she raised him by herself. It made me fall for him just a little harder watching him shop for her. He knew the things she liked and wanted so much to get her things that would make herhappy.

I also picked up a few more items to stick in Bri’s stocking and give to my friends and Emma, especially for all the extra work she’s been puttingin.

When we were finished shopping, we stood on the upper level of the mall, watching the poor Santa fighting kids who don’t want to sit on his lap, while their parents, desperate for a picture, stood by trying to encourage their child to sitstill.

“Poor schmuck. I wonder how many times he’s had a little boy or girl pee onhim?”

I snort. “Probably more than he would care to admit. When Bri was three, she was determined to sit on Santa’s lap. We waited in line for over an hour, and when her turn came, she crawled up there happily. Other kids kicked and screamed, but she was so excited. She sat on his lap for about ten seconds before I watched her eyes narrow at him. Her tiny little hand reached up, and she poked at Santa’s beard before she tugged and pulled. The beard came off, and when she released her hold, it slapped the poor guy in the face, all cock-eyed. Then she pointed right at him and yelled, “You a fakewer!” in her cute little three-year-oldvoice.”

“No way,” he says, eyestwinkling.

“Oh, yeah. She was so mad that she had been swindled.” I giggle, remembering the look of horror on the Santa’s face as well as the elves’. “The kids still in line started screaming, and we had several parents walk up to us and thank us — very sarcastically, mind you. Although a few of them I think were genuinely thankful that they no longer had to worry about standing in that dreaded lineagain.”

“Oh, man,” he chortles, leaning over the railing that overlooks the center of the mall where Santa is sitting. “I think I love your daughter. That’s the best thing I’ve everheard.”

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