Page 13 of Christmas Cove

“About that,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I have something that may change your mind.”

Curious what he could be up to, she opened the door a bit wider. His smirk and a playful glint in his eye had her cheeks burning. “What could you possibly—”

Leo stepped aside and revealed a narrow pine tree about six feet tall. “Ta-da,” he said. “It bothered me that you were so disappointed last night, and I thought perhaps this would help it feel more like Christmas here for you.”

The gesture amazed her. “No one has ever gotten me a Christmas tree before. I don’t know what to say.”

He motioned to bring it inside, and she allowed him to pass before overthinking the situation. Leo brought it to a corner in the living area near the stone fireplace and fluffed the branches. “This should rest for a while before we decorate it.”

“We?” she said and shut the door to the cool morning air.

“Why not? I assume you didn’t pack all your own decorations on the off chance you would have a bare tree in need of decking?” Leo didn’t see her shake her head, and he continued, “Now, can you get dressed in something warm? I have somewhere I’d like to show you.”

“I don’t understand. You know I’m leaving today, right?” she said.

“We’ll see,” he said. “Eggs?”

America stopped at the bedroom door and thought she had misheard him.

“Over medium? Toast?” he added.

“With butter,” she said and entered her room. It seemed someone else was planning her day for once, and she was too curious about this man to put a stop to it. But her controlling, organized brain was going to have a meltdown later, she was sure.

Out in the kitchen, a pan thundered against the iron stove top, and porcelain dishes clinked against the stone counter. While he busied himself with eggs, America rummaged through her suitcase and pulled out a pair of jeans and a white tank. In the bathroom, she threw on the clothes and pulled her hair up into a loose bun. Stray curls framed her face and helped to hide the indentations left behind by the trim of her sleeping mask where it had pressed against her cheek.

During college, when her late-night study sessions had made for unbearable mornings, she had perfected the five-minute-face. There was nothing a little bronzer and mascara couldn’t do. Adding some crimson lip stain, she was ready for the day. She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. “Not bad.”

Through the wall, she heard a muffled ding of the toaster. America reached for her socks and boots and held them in one hand. She searched the bedside table for her phone and lamented that, due to the mysterious something bad that Leo had alluded to the previous evening, it would do her no good while in Christmas Cove.

She opened the door and remembered her sweater. Stumbling back in, she grabbed the white cable-knit turtleneck and headed out again. She stood poised at the doorjamb. Leo stared at her from the kitchen. His smirk turned to a chuckle as he saw her recover from her near fall, and she followed suit with a little giggle of her own.

“Everything all right?” he said with a remnant of his amusement still in his throat.

“Yep!” she said and made her way to a barstool at the counter.

“It sounded like wrangling cats in there.”

“More like squirrels,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I said, what do you know about wrangling cats?” Her boots hit the counter, and she pulled on her socks as Leo buttered her toast and plated it. The eggs slid from the pan and landed on top of the toast. He placed a cut strawberry on the side of the plate and slid the whole thing across the marble to her. Her mouth watered.

“This looks delicious,” she said. “Aren’t you going to eat, too?”

“I ate hours ago,” Leo said. “Plus, I’m trying to get us out of here quicker. So, I figured me making you breakfast while you got dressed would help move things along.”

“Are we in a hurry?”

“Kind of. I want to beat the fog.”

America had a mouthful and nodded as she chewed. Leo busied himself with cleaning the breakfast mess as she finished eating. He shot a smile at her between tasks, and she averted her gaze to the crumb littered plate.

“Thank you, even if your motivations are on the selfish side,” America joked once she finished her last bite. “Wherever did you learn to make eggs and toast the right way?”

“Years of trial and error.”

“Really? Self-taught, I can appreciate that in a man. You made them just the way I like it. Breakfast was absolutely delicious. Thank you.”

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