Page 42 of Falling for Mr. Wright

Chapter Twelve

Ryan stepped into the five-star restaurant, checked his coat, and headed straight for the bar.

Leave it to Logan to pick a fancy waterfront establishment way across town. At least it had parking.

He adjusted his red tie and scanned the main room filled with diners in suits and dresses, looking for a sign of Sarah and Logan. Man, he should never have agreed to this.

He zigzagged through the main room, taking in the glorious Christmas tree in the center with its twinkling lights and brightly colored red and green glass ornaments.

His breath caught, realizing Sarah was standing alone in front of it, looking as sexy as hell in a sleeveless red dress and matching red stilettos, her long hair stick-straight and falling well past her shoulders.

His heart beat against his chest. Andthatsight was exactly why he was here.

Yeah, he was a glutton for punishment, that much was true. However, after the kiss they’d shared on Monday, sitting on the sidelines wasn’t an option. He’d show up, sit through dinner, and pray for a Hail Mary.

Stopping behind her, he tapped her bare shoulder, the sensation of her skin sending electricity up his arm. “Hey.”

She turned and greeted him with a huge smile. “Ryan! You’re here. Finally.”

He kissed her cheek, feeling a little awkward. “Where’s Logan?”

“He’s at the bar.” She nodded to her left. “With your date. I guess she’s an expert in ordering holiday cocktails. Something about having been a part-time bartender during graduate school.”

“Great skill to have.”

Sarah adjusted her purse strap. “She’s cute.”

“Cute and can order cocktails. I like her already,” he attempted a joke that only got a blank stare. “Um…how was your week?”

She shrugged. “You didn’t miss anything.”

His muscles stiffened. Only her not calling this date off. How was it that they started out the week with her straddling his lap while he palmed her breasts? In no universe did he want to see the week finish off with her on a date with his best friend, but here they were.

From what he could tell, Sarah seemed fine with it.

She turned back to the tree, touching one of its branches with her fingertips. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It really is.” He pointed to the floor. “Although, I bet those boxes are empty.”

“Actually, you’re wrong. There are gifts inside them. One of the waiters told me that they put new ones out every evening and pick restaurant patrons to give them to.” She picked up a small box and handed it to him. “Maybe you could smuggle this out and give it to your Secret Santa.”

“That’s an idea.” He shook the box. Whatever was inside wasn’t making any noise. It was probably a gift certificate to the restaurant.

“I’m sure Hillary will love it.”

“Hillary’s not my Secret Sa—” he started to say before catching Sarah’s wicked grin. “I’m on to you, now.” He returned the present to the tree. “I’m not going to tell you who it is.”

“Maybe not tonight, but I’ve got a little more time to get it out of you.” She pointed at the tree. “You know, I’ve never had a real Christmas tree.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “My mom didn’t really want to deal with the hassle, and my father wouldn’t fight her on it. We had an artificial one that my dad would drag down from the attic every year. Now, my Grandma Leonard—she was a different story. She always had a real Douglas fir. She’d make my grandpa take her to pick it out shortly after Thanksgiving. My two little brothers and I would help her decorate it by making popcorn strings and homemade decorations.” Her hand rested on one of the glass bulbs. “Our ornaments were of the cheap colored construction paper and bright markers kind. Definitely not breakable.”

“The best kind.” Ryan smiled down at her, ignoring the patrons passing them on the way to the bar. Right now it was just him and Sarah. He didn’t give a damn about anyone else, and certainly not the fact that Logan and Corrine were twenty feet away. It probably made him an asshole, but he didn’t care. “Does your grandmother still get her tree?” he asked.

“No. She passed away when I was thirteen. Whenever I’m near a real tree, I think of her and the last year we decorated at her house.” She leaned in, inhaling. “It smells like her home at Christmas—at least how I remember it.”

Ryan’s heart squeezed. “We might have to do something about getting you a real tree this year.”

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