Page 42 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

But this flirtation wasn’t going anywhere, and he was stirring up trouble, so he stepped back. “One of the guys in our group, he was the popular kid in school. He was friends with everyone. The rest of us pretty much just hung out with each other.” He watched her for a moment as she set an ornament on a branch and then leaned back to make sure she liked the placement.

She took it off and set it somewhere else. He was about to tell her not to take it so seriously. It wasn’t like they were having a real Christmas, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want her to be anything other than who she was.

The heat from the fire gave her skin a pink glow, and she looked so pretty and fresh. He figured they were around the same age, but she had a wonder about her that turned his jadedness on its ass. He’d seen the worst of things through his clients—domestic violence, toxic families… You name it, he’d dealt with it.

She set the last snowflake on the mostly barren tree. “I didn’t make nearly enough.”

“You made plenty. I just picked a massive tree.”

“I see what you did there.” She grinned. “You flipped the script.”

“You catch on quick.”

She examined their work. “It needs color. Between the white popcorn and white snowflakes, we really need to spruce this baby up.”

“Ah, shit. I forgot the marshmallows. Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay. We’ll make hot cocoa and eat them instead.”

“But to make it up to you, I’ve got another idea.” In the utility closet just past the kitchen, he found his dad’s tackle box. He hadn’t used it. Not once.

He just didn’t come out here enough. He’d have to do something about that.

Popping the latch, he opened it. Looking at his dad’s flies sent him spiraling back in time to the weekend they’d gone camping, and a storm hit out of nowhere. They’d stood across a ravine, watching jagged bolts of lightning. The sky above them was blue, but that ominous black cloud moved swiftly toward them.

In a calm voice, his dad had said it was time to pitch a tent. They wound up playing cards while hail pelted their nylon shelter.

That was his dad. Calm, kind…all while being a partner in a law firm. And, as far as he knew, his dad had never compromised his integrity or his morals for the sake of the firm.

Booker sat on a bucket of salt and closed his eyes.

And he saw his dad’s gentle smile.I love you, Dad.

But I really wish you’d told me the truth. Given me a chance to look into your eyes and get answers to my questions.

When he was little, his dad would carry him on his shoulders. On hikes, he’d grip his dad’s hair with one hand and reach for branches with the other. He could feel it so keenly, the rocking of his hips, the pure contentment of being on his dad’s solid shoulders. He could see the sun-dappled leaves.

Damn. He wished he’d never brought it up with Hellcat, because it was on the surface now, and he couldn’t ignore it.

He missed his dad, for sure.

A hand touched his knee, and his eyes flew open.

Hellcat knelt beside him. “Was that your dad’s?”

The dusty box had to be over twenty years old. “Yeah. He loved fly fishing.” He unlocked the lid and flipped it open. “And he was obsessed with making lures.”

“I see that. They’re absolutely gorgeous.” She reached out, her fingers hovering over one of the compartments. She gave him a questioning look.

“Of course.” He forced a laugh. “They’re not sacred.” Though, to him, they kind of were.

She picked one up. “What is this?” Her fingers brushed the dark gray feathers. The iridescence shimmered in the overhead light.

“That’s starling skin.”

“What?” She dropped it back into the box.

He bit back his laughter. “Here.” He picked up another one and offered it to her. “This was one of his prized possessions.” She hesitated to touch it, but he gave her an encouraging nod. This one had black feathers laced with lines of neon purple.

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