Page 77 of The Mistletoe Bluff
“And I’ve never seen someone look as beautiful in flannel pajamas as you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. His touch combined with those words made my heart stutter, and he smiled like he knew the effect he was having on me.
Oliver leaned forward, giving my lips the barest caress with his.
It was everything.
And it was not enough.
He grinned as he pulled away, leaving me breathless.
“What’s next?” I managed to squeak.
He bent down and lifted a box which emitted a loud rattling noise when he jostled it. “First, we’re going to finish decorating the tree.”
My heart swelled at the same time my stomach plummeted to the floor. Decorating Christmas trees was something I had grown to hate because I was always forced to do it alone since neither of my parents were ever around. It was one of the reasons why I didn’t get my own tree.
I had told Oliver that. I had told him it wasn’t fun to decorate alone.
He could have finished decorating the tree himself, but he had waited for this moment—with me.
This man kept rewriting my most painful memories and turning them into something beautiful again. I swallowed down the lump in my throat as he opened the noisy box and winced. Curious, I peeked inside. The ornaments were a tangled mess, all the metal hooks bent together to create a shining, glittery mass.
Oliver pushed his glasses up his nose, his ears turning red. “They didn’t look like that when I put them in there.”
I bit my lip to hold back a laugh and started working on untangling them. When we finished, we lovingly—and by that, I mean haphazardly—placed the ornaments on the tree, teasing and taunting each other over what went where, then stepped back to admire our handiwork.
“It’s rather ugly,” Oliver said.
I burst out laughing. “Nowyou see it. I’m proud of you, Oliver. Admitting is the first step to getting help,” I teased, and he pinched my arm.
Through my giggles, I asked, “What’s next?”
Oliver shoved the empty box into the hall closet before responding. “We could bake cookies or watch some Christmas movies,” he offered, “or play a game. We always did something different every year.”
I quirked a brow. “What kind of game?”
He pointed at his assortment of video game consoles in the cabinet beneath his TV.
I gasped. “Oliver Lewis. Are you a secret gamer nerd?”
He pushed up his glasses again. “Not a secret nerd. A proud one.”
Ugh. Oliver was hot enough as it was. How is it possible for him to get even hotter?
I nodded at the stack of games. “Pick one.”
His brows rose. “You want to play video games with me?”
“More than anything.” I paused, relishing the way he looked at me now, like I had just given him the world’s best gift. “Just know I’ll probably be terrible.”
Oliver’s smile was sweet. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll go easy on you.”
Maya
Icannot believe you hustled me,” Oliver said, exasperated after losing his tenth game ofMario Kartin a row. I folded a crisp twenty-dollar bill into the pocket of my pajamas with a sly smile.That’ll teach you to underestimate me.
“I did say I’dprobablybe terrible.”
His scowl made me giggle.
