Page 65 of Sweet Poison

A lump forms in my throat, catching me off guard. “Of course, Isabella,” I say, my voice quieter now. I take the napkin, scribble my name across it, and hand it back to her.

Her eyes light up like I’ve just given her the greatest gift. “Thank you, mister. You’re the bestest!” Isabella clutches the napkin eagerly, then skips away with a little hop in her step. But just before she gets back to her mom, she turns around, grinning at Willow. “You’re real pretty, too! A real-life princess.” she exclaims, her high-pitched voice like a burst of sunshine in the air.

I watch her disappear toward her family, then turn to find Willow looking at me, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Frowning, I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“That was so sweet,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as if forgetting I’m sitting right across from her. “You can be so sweet, Madden Hunt, when you want to be. Not a grinch at all…”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

I gesture for Lincoln to come over. He catches my signal, strolling across the restaurant with his usual cocky swagger. But as he gets close, I notice a hint of a smile on his face.

“Boss,” he says with a casual nod, extending a hand toward Willow. “Hello, beautiful. I’m Lincoln. Nice to meet?—”

Nope.

Fuck, no.

“Don’t look at her,” I cut the asshole off, while trying to suppress the raging psycho that wells up inside me whenever another man approaches her. The fuck is he looking at her like that for? I catch Willow’s eye, and see her smile brightening, which only makes my anger and irritation burn hotter.

She’s kind to everyone, I know that. She has a smile for anyone she meets—but it annoys the fuck out of me when she gives that smile to men who aren’t me.

Lincoln raises an eyebrow, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. I shift my focus back to him. “Make yourself useful, yeah?”

The fucker rolls his eyes. “Aren’t I always?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

I ignore his sarcastic remark and ask. “Find out which room that little girl, Isabella, is staying in,” I say, my tone serious. “And make sure her room is filled with presents on Christmas morning.”

Lincoln’s expression changes from mocking to one of surprise and respect. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, then adds with a teasing grin, “Can I ask who you traded personalities with during this holiday season? Shit, I barely recognize you, man.”

“I heard I might not be a grinch after all.” I wink at Willow and watch her blush while her eyes seem surprised and filled with genuine joy.

“Will do, boss.” Lincoln nods, clearly amused, before heading off.

“Can I tell you something, Madden?” she asks softly, her voice full of hesitation.

Leaning back, I give her my full attention, leaning in just slightly. “Anything, Willow.”

She takes a slow breath, almost like she’s gathering the courage to say something that means a lot to her. “I was hesitant to come here, to leave my family during Christmas week, but this place… it feels like home. Seriously. It’s like it breathes magic into everyone who stays here. And it’s done that for me. I don’t feel as sad about being away from home anymore,” whispers almost shyly.

Feels like home…

Something tugs at my heartstrings.

I’ve always hated Christmas with a passion. The noise. The forced joy. The hypocrisy.But this year, it doesn’t feel so grating. At least, not anymore. Not with her here.

Maybe Christmas is more than just about the festive crap and feasts. Maybe Christmas is about more than just me. Maybe it’s about this warmth in my chest, the kind of feeling that settles deep and makes everything else seem… softer. Less ugly.

Before I can respond, our waitress returns, balancing our plates and drinks with ease. The rich, mouth-watering aroma of thefeijoadaand themoquecafills the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation. She sets the dishes down in front of us, and I watch as Willow’s smile grows wide.

Fuck, even something as simple as food makes her smile like she’s just been given the world.

How does someone like her even exist? The answer will always be a mystery to me.

“Here you go,” our waitress says with a smile, placing Willow'sCaipirinhagently beside her. The glass glistens with fresh lime and ice, and I see the excitement in Willow’s eyes as she reaches for it, licking her lips in anticipation.

I shift in my seat, trying to adjust my pants discreetly. The sight of her soft, wet and pink lips has my imagination growing wild.

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