Page 18 of A Cowboy Home for Christmas
I clap my hands. “Come on, girls. It’s time to get ready for bed.”
“Awe.”
“Drats.”
“Don’t awe and drats me. You want to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for tomorrows events. Come on, teeth and bed.”
Upstairs, the three of us brush our teeth and change into the matching Christmas pyjamas we picked out together. Striped green and red pants with an elf-designed long-sleeved top.
I read them a Christmas book, and by the last page, they’re both sleeping. Together. In one bed. Most mornings I find Lark curled up in Clara’s bed. Even when they fall asleep in their own beds.
I close my bedroom door, and only then realize how exhausted I am. And how guilty I feel. My gaze lands on the closed bathroom door. I owe Barker a real apology. I let my emotions consume me, and took them out on him. It wasn’t fair.
My hand lingers on the cool doorknob. I take a deep breath and knock on the bathroom door before I push it open.
Empty.
I cross the room and raise my fist to his bedroom door. My heart strums in my chest. Maybe it’s more than an apology driving me across the room. Am I ready for a conversation with him? And not any ol’ conversation, but the one that defines our future?
My hand falls back to my side.
Am I ready?
I retreat back to my room and shut the door. I rub my hands over my face with a frustrated sigh. He’s likely still downstairs with his family anyway, and that’s for the best.
Needing a douse of fresh air, I open one of the french doors to the balcony. A breeze of cool southern air wraps around me like a cozy blanket, or the strong arms of a certain cowboy. The exact cowboy leaning against the railing not ten feet from me. His silhouette outlines his broad shoulders and strong limbs. Every inch of my body longs for him. Longs for his kiss, his touch, but most of all, the man I’ve fallen deeply in love with. Not that I know what that fully entails. And I should backtrack to my room.
I don’t.
I rest my arms on the railing beside him, and stare into the winter’s night sky. We stand silent for a long time. It’s not awkward, or boring. It’s a companionable silence. A perfect silence. One we’ve mastered over the years. But sometimes our silence was because we were afraid to talk. Fear of the emotions and truths we may have wanted to disclose. As much as I enjoy our silence, I want more. I want to freely talk without worrying what I might say. I want him to know I’m glad he’s back. I especially want him to know nothing I said earlier is true.
“I know you’re not like him. Not in the way I accused you of being.”
He nods ever so slightly without facing me. “Thank you.”
Silence chases us again. That dreaded silence when no one is around. We can laugh and talk at the tree farm while my daughters lap around us. Or while hanging up decorations. But the second it’s just the two of us, we close up like snapdragons.
Stop pretending. His mama’s words echo in my head.
Laughter bubbles up my chest.
He shifts to look at me. “What did I miss?”
“Look at us. We can finally say what we want, do what we want, and we stand here in silence. Just the way we always have.”
He chuckles. “Old habits are hard to break.”
“We need to break them, and stop pretending we don’t want to.”
He faces me and leans his hip on the railing. “I’m game.”
I push off the railing and straighten. “Alright. I’ll go first.” I lick my lips. “I’m disappointed that our first kiss was that hot mess earlier.”
His lips rise into a crooked smirk, and I can feel his mouth on mine. “I’m not. That’ll be something we laugh about for years to come.”
“I’m not going to laugh about that. I’m mortified that I tried to have anger sex with you.”
“If it wasn’t going to be our first time, I might’ve enjoyed a little anger sex.”
