Page 85 of The Last Kind of Kiss
“Sounds easier said than done.”
“It was. It took a lot of trial and error, but I’m a pretty good antianxiety bodyguard now, right?”
A slow-burning warmth razes through my chest, and it’s not from the insanely high heater. It slithers from the contact point of our palms, up my arm, between my ribs, and right into the center of my heart, where not even the freezing cold can penetrate it.
“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”
An hour or so passes before we make it into town, and the road is far less imposing when it’s bordered by streetlamps dressed in red and green ribbon. Snow continues to fall in a quilt that covers every inch of pine-covered land, sparkling underneath the waning moon. Starkly colored petals bloom beneath December’s wintry beauty, and ice glistens like diamonds over once-running water.
Convenience stores and houses alike are decked in full holiday finery, ranging from multicolored Christmas lights to inflatable Santas to full-scale nativity scenes. Garlands hang off every rooftop and awning, and a few matching wreaths welcome the locals and the out-of-towners into the lit-up heart of Big Bear. Paper snowflake cutouts are plastered to heavily condensed windows, and little rows of life-sized candy canes run the length of gravel-laid pathways. There’s even a gigantic Christmas tree in the center of town square, looming over its residents with high-powered twinkle lights and a star that could probably be used as a distress signal from miles away.
Bristol’s family’s log cabin is nestled on the outskirts of town,overlooking a giant lake. The farther we get from the hub of the festivities, the quieter the road becomes. A copse of trees is waiting for us as we round the corner, and they stretch into a withered, lakeside forest that goes on for about a mile. The silhouette of the cabin comes into view—peeking out amongst a thicketed underbrush and an outcrop of rocks that have fallen victim to the opalescent snowscape—and a plume of smoke ascends from the brick chimney, intermingling in the glacial atmosphere. It’s beautiful here—untouched by civilization and the consumerism of Christmas—a hidden paradise carved out by powdered sugar and an alcove of giant pines.
This vacation with Bristol and his family is exactly what the doctor ordered.
Bristol’s motherdoesnotregulate her strength when she squishes me into a hug, rocking me from side to side. “Oh, Lila! It’s so good to finally meet you!” she exclaims, squeezing me like I’m a life-sized chew toy.
“It’s…so…good…to…finally…meet…you…too!” I wheeze.
Bristol’s father—a tall, bushy-haired man—wags his head warmheartedly. “Cecilia, you’re going to break the poor girl’s spine.”
Cecilia instantly loosens her grip, happiness clinging to the wrinkles bracketing a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry! You’re just—oh, look at you! You’re even more beautiful than Bristol mentioned!”
Bristol, schlepping our luggage through the foyer in his insulated flannel, shakes off the shavings of fallen snow in his hair, doing his best to deadpan his response—and failing miserably. “Mom, you’re not supposed totellher that,” he mock-chastises.
“Hush, Bristol! How could you keep this timeless beauty from us?”
I’ve barely passed the threshold, and I already feel so at home here. I wasn’t expecting to be treated so…I don’t know. It’s stupid of me, but I guess I expected them to still hold some favoritism for Summit. I was worried they might think I’m trying to replace her, and that’s the last thing I’deverwant to do.
“Thank you for letting me stay in your home,” I chime in. “It’s beautiful.”
Cecilia—even given her significantly smaller stature—snatches my purse from me and ferries me into the living room, beams of moonlight refracting through their massive skylight.
“You’re welcome any time, Lila. Please, make yourself at home. Bristol will show you to the guest room, and dinner will be served in about an hour. Do you have any dietary restrictions? Is turkey alright with you?” she rambles on, barely allowing me the chance to breathe.
I’m about to respond when Bristol swoops me up in his arms, shouts over his shoulder, “Everything sounds great!” and carries me up the staircase surprisingly quickly. I loop my arms around his neck and brace for our bumpy ascension.
Giggle after giggle bubbles out of me, and the minute we make it to the guest room, I’m immediately transported into the luxurious, rustic display of an aspen-log canopy bed, a shag rug that probably costs more than my entire apartment, a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks an acre of pines, and an antler chandelier than hangs elegantly from the vaulted ceiling. The room isgorgeous.
“Wow,” I breathe, letting Bristol lower me to my feet, so in awe of the foreign beauty that I forget to pick my jaw up from the hardwood floor.
“You like it?” Bristol asks.
“I love it.”
He nuzzles his nose into my neck, tickling the delicate skinnow pockmarked with goose bumps. “Then you’ll love it even more when you feel how soft the sheets are.”
“Mr. Brenner, are you propositioning me?” I faux gasp, squirming from the stunted breath that beats against my throat, one intentional—or unintentional—slip away from reverting to the petal-softness of his expert lips.
“Me? Oh, I wouldnever,” he rumbles.
“That’s too bad. Rolling around in the sheets is my favorite pastime.”
“Angel, we can spend the entire night rolling around in the sheets, though I doubt either of us will get any sleep.”
I give a half-hearted shrug. “A sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
“Then get your cute little ass unpacked and come downstairs for dinner,” he says, lightly patting me on the butt.
