Page 49 of Stay this Christmas
I laughed, trying to picture my sister in a city as big as Houston. It wouldn’t be pretty. “Georgia is not a fan of cities. Crowds make her cranky.”
“Do you visit your mom much?”
“When I can. She remarried a few years ago. Keith. Seems like a good guy.”
I honestly didn’t know much about my step-dad. We didn’t talk a lot when I visited. Big fisherman. Did something in the oil industry. Made my mom happy. I only really cared about the last one.
“That’s sweet. I like stories of people finding love again like that. It kind of gives me hope, you know?”
She laughed, but it turned strained at the end, like she’d said more than she’d meant to. Her eyes met mine, so close as we worked together at the kitchen counter. Although, in that moment, I couldn’t have told you what I was supposed to be doing.
A hundred questions came to mind. Why wouldn’t she have hope for finding love? Was she not over the guy from her list? She’d said they hadn’t been serious, but I couldn’t expect heartfelt confidences from her yet. Rather than voice those questions and sound like a jealous madman, I opted for humor. Kind of.
“I don’t know about love, but I’m sure if you go back to the MMA classes, you’ll wind up with a date.”
Okay, a humorous jealous madman.
Her laughter gave me a completely undeserved hope.
“He wasnotinto me.”
I stared her down, knowing full well he had been. “If I hadn’t been there, he would have asked you out.”
Still thought that said plenty about his lack of professionalism, but hardly the point.
“Pretty sure he’s not my type.”
“What is your type?”
Her sea-blue eyes stared into mine so long, I started to think I stood half a chance. I tilted closer to her on instinct, but she shifted away to get another handful of flour. She dusted it over the countertop, not looking at me.
“I want stability. A sensible guy with a steady job who knows what he wants out of life. Someone reliable and dependable.”
Impossible not to see she’d described my exact opposite. Her answer sounded a little too rehearsed to me, like a thing she told herself rather than a thing she truly felt. The kind of thing you say to talk yourself out of what you really want.
Or maybe that was still the jealous madman talking.
“Sounds like you’re describing a used car.”
She made an irritated sound, rolling out the dough so hard, she tore it down the middle. Pressing it back together, she scowled at the mess beneath her fingers. “Reliable cars make more sense than impractical sports cars.”
Now we were getting somewhere.
“What about someone who makes youfeel? Someone who makes your heart race and your breath stall in your chest? Someone who makes everyone else fade away in comparison?”
We stood way too close now, breathing in the same air as my challenge crackled around us. How easy it would be to run my fingers in her hair, draw her close, and convince her with a kiss.
“I had that once,” she said softly. “It didn’t go so well.”
“I had it once, too,” I said, my voice low in the stillness. “I’ve never missed anything more.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, her eyes glued to mine. I’d said too much already, but the fact she still stood here with me had to count for something. Once again, I fought my impulsive default that longed to touch her, hold her, kiss her, and instead forced myself to wait. Forced myself to let her choose me.
The timer buzzed on the oven, and we startled apart, the moment shattering like her conspicuously missing snow globe. She turned away to pull the cookies from the oven, and I swore under my breath, cursing out the cookies and their terrible timing. Cursing out the years apart that left us uncertain around each other. Mostly, I cursed myself out for not taking the opportunity to be with her when I’d held it in my hands.
She turned back to me with the tray of golden-brown cookies and a strained smile on her lips. “Are you ready to frost them?”
“You know it.”
