Page 63 of The Bright Side of Christmas
I stare at him, warmth moving through me with ease as I realize for the millionth time that Adam notices and catalogs everything. I knew this, of course, from the way he can always tell if I’m tired or if I’m uncomfortable or if there’s something I secretly want but don’t want to burden others with, but this is more. This involves understanding who I am as a person and what matters to me, and making decisions with that in mind.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper in awe, unable to stop the words from tumbling free. He holds my gaze, then lifts a hand to cup my cheek before brushing a thumb over the skin there.
“For you, I hope,” he says in the same quiet tone.
“I feel like I owe you the biggest thank you known to man. You endured my family,andyou took on one of their tasks so I wouldn’t have to. The amount of brownie points you just earned is astronomical.”
“Mmm, I think you can find some ways to express your gratitude later.”
A flicker of heat moves through me at his words, and an idea sparks in my mind. A wild one, but one I like a heck of a lot.
“Yeah, definitely. Do you want to see my favorite place ever?”
He lifts an eyebrow, then nods, and I step back, grabbing his hand and moving toward the giant, well-kept red barn off in thedistance. When we get there, the padlock is already off, so I open the doors and step in, reaching to flick the lights on. It’s notwarmin here, but it’s much warmer than it is outside. Locking the door behind us, I pull Adam through the spare decoration and sleigh barn.
Every corner of this place is filled with unused decorations that have adorned the farm in years past, either because they need to be fixed or cleaned up over the upcoming summer, or because they don’t fit Mom’s vision for this year. Some will get pulled out on the last weekend before Christmas when extra decorations go up for “Santa’s arrival.” That weekend, the sleigh comes out for photos with Santa, and someone dresses up as the big jolly man to take last-minute holiday wishes.
Adam looks around in awe, eyes stopping on different corners that house decor for other holidays as well, such as big eggs for the yearly egg hunt and Halloween decorations for the pumpkin patch that Madden convinced our parents to add two years ago.
I tip my chin toward the red sleigh in the middle. “When I was a kid, I thought my dad was a sleigh mechanic, that his job was to fix up Santa’s sleigh. I still don’t know how my parents did it, balancing everything so my brothers and I still believed while running all of this.”
Sometimes I think it’s a miracle that they managed not to spill the beans about Santa and his elves while pulling off all of this behind the scenes. I’m sure they were run ragged running this place and trying to make all of the memories for three kids, but they made it all look so seamless and effortless.
“I can see where you get it,” Adam says, looking around in awe before his eyes land on me. “What’s the sleigh doing in here? Shouldn’t it be out for the decorations?” I had told him earlier about the small “North Pole Village” that my parents set up, where customers pay for their trees. It features a shop witha wide selection of decorations, a hot cocoa shack, and food available on weekends, as well as crafts and activities for kids.
I shake my head. “Santa comes to the farm twice: once the Sunday after Thanksgiving and a second time on the Sunday before Christmas to get last-minute wishes. If it were there all the time, it wouldn’t be as magical, you know?”
He takes me in, and it’s as if he’s seeing a part of me that I don’t think he could have understood without my taking him here. But I still have my idea brewing in my mind, so I tip my head toward the sleigh.
“Come on,” I say, moving toward the bright red sleigh. My pulse is beating at the wicked idea that came into my mind. I’m not sure Adam will go for it, but I figure it can’t hurt. Adam climbs into the sleigh and then offers me a hand to pull me up to sit next to each other. I lay my head on his shoulder, and he slides his arm behind me, pulling me into his side.
“Thank you for today,” I murmur. “I know this isn’t your thing. I hope it’s not…hard for you.” I bite my lip as a bolt of guilt rolls through me, but for not the first time since we’ve gotten together, I push that aside and allow myself to be selfish. If Adam wants to be with me for any length of time, this—the holidays, Christmas cheer, the family farm—is a big part of me; we won’t be able to tiptoe around it.
I’m a bit shocked at how easy it’s getting to be selfish, to put my own wants and needs, if not first, then at least not at the very bottom of my priority list.
He shakes his head. “No. It’s not. It’s…it’s getting easier with you. It’s not as consuming. I’m trying not to see it as a reminder of what I haven’t accomplished anymore.” He gives me a small, shy smile, and it sends butterflies swarming in my chest. “I’m trying to see those awards the way you did.” I push on his shoulder gently.
“As you should! You should be screaming from the rooftops about what an amazing songwriter you are, Adam.”
He stares at me for a long moment before he speaks again, lower and quieter than before.
“I actually think I had a breakthrough. I’ve been working more on that song, and I think it’s actually…something.”
I give him an excited smile. “I’d love to hear it.”
A blush burns on his cheeks, and it’s so damn sweet, yet so out of character for him. But I’m starting to wonder if it really is, or if beneath his gruff exterior lies a boy who wants to feel appreciated and celebrated for his accomplishments. He’s spent so much time in a world where his talent was just one of hundreds that he might not see it for what it really is: phenomenal.
“When you’re ready, of course.”
“Maybe when it’s done. I don’t want to get too excited. I might still get stuck.”
I reach out and grab his hand, twining his fingers with my own, and shrug. “Then we’ll just have to get stuck in a snowstorm and have sex until you’re inspired again.”
A deep laugh fills the barn, and he bends, reaching with his free hand to grab my chin to tip it up before pressing his lips to mine. He probably intends for it to be a soft kiss to my lips, but I reach for his neck, bringing his head to mine and holding it there. I pour everything into him with it—my gratitude, the softness in my chest that I won’t name just yet, the need that’s slowly brewing in my belly. He instantly catches on, smiling into the kiss and taking over. He puts a hand to my hip and nips at my lower lip before sliding his tongue between them to taste me, and I mewl into it when I taste him, all cinnamon and coffee and everything right in my life right now.
Slowly, with a hint of nervousness, my hand moves between us, cupping his cock through his thick jeans. His hips move up on instinct, and I grin.
“Wren,” he says in warning.
