Page 101 of Catching the Mistletoe

“Come on!”

I scrambled out of bed, dragged on a robe, and hurried to the kitchen, Mack right behind me. “Man, I love Christmas.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

“Har har.”

As Mack poured the freshly ground beans into the coffeemaker, the rich, earthy smell filled the small kitchen. I sat at the dining table, my chin resting on my hands, and watched him. I loved to watch him. The way his hands were strong and steady, the way he moved with such ease, the way he knew I was totally perving on him.

“What?”

I smiled. “Nothing. Just enjoying the view.”

He shot me a cute look. “Is that a fact?”

“Yep.”

The moment he put the coffee in front of me, I started feeling antsy. We surely weren’t going to sit here and drink all this coffee before opening one single present? It was too much for me to bear. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?”

I shoved to my feet. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Seriously? You’re like a kid on... oh.”

“Exactly!” I hurried over to the Christmas tree, smiling at the stack of presents under it. I’d really gone to town this year. Mack followed me, bringing our coffees and putting them on the mantle above the fireplace. “Here you go!”

He eyed the present with amusement. I really was acting like a kid. “What is it?”

“Open it!”

He sat down on the coffee table, his movements deliberately slow as he carefully removed the bow and peeled back the paper.

“Oh, my fucking god! Hurry up already.”

Chuckling, he pulled the paper off. Then went quiet, tracing over the embossed initials on the front of his vintage whittling kit.

“It’s a whittling kit.”

“I can see that.”

“Do you like it?”

He raised his eyes to mine and my heart stuttered. “Yes.”

“I’m so glad.” There was a lump in my throat as I leaned down to kiss him. I’d wanted, so desperately, to make this Christmas super special. It was his first proper family Christmas, after all. “Now...” I turned back to the tree, ready to grab another present to give him.

“No.”

“What? I just want to—”

“No. It’s your turn.”

“Oh, okay.”

“That one.” He pointed to a longish, flat present tucked in under the tree near the trunk.

Pulling my robe tighter around me, I sank to the floor and grabbed the gift, the wrapping paper crinkling under my fingers as I pulled it into my lap. Unwrapping it, I let out a gasp. It was a handcrafted wooden sign. The words‘The Dovecote’were beautifully carved into the wood, the letters flowing elegantly. “Did you... did you make this?”

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