Page 65 of About Last Christmas
I smile, liking the idea that he wants to start a tradition—and I get to be part of it. “Okay.”
Leo pulls upHome Aloneon a streaming service, and we begin putting together the tree. He ends up getting a stepladder because the thing is twelve feet tall. There aren’t nearly enough ornaments or decorations for trimming the monstrosity, but it’s cute he tried. With Kevin McCallister’s antics as our soundtrack, we work as one, arranging the tree. He leaves the lights unplugged, so we can have the full effect once the final ornament has been hung. Leo slips on the last bulb from the box and steps back, joining me in assessing our work. He slings an arm around my shoulder. It’s a totalbromove, but I savor his touch anyway.
“Ready to plug it in?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure that was the last of the ornaments.”
Ornament. Oh snap. “Wait. I almost forgot.” I step out from under his touch. “I brought you something.” Nervous about his reaction, I don’t look at him but grab my purse from the sofa. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s nothing jaw-dropping or anything.” I withdraw the tissue-papered gift and hand it to him.
He accepts with a surprised smile and unwraps it.
“It’s a sled.” I rush to fill the silence. “Obviously not a real one. It’s an ornament.” Remember my goal of not making a fool out of myself tonight? I doused it with kerosene and lit the match with my stupid tongue. “I made it at the senior party.” The painted brown popsicle sticks and hot-glued pipe cleaners for the rails now look ridiculously cheesy. Why did I think this was a good idea?
He turns it over and reads my Sharpied script, “Leo’s Maiden Voyage.” His gaze darts to mine with a grin splitting his face. “It’s our sled.”
The way he says “our” makes my heart jump, like soaring over the ridges on Killer Hill.
“You even snapped the rail.” He chuckles low at the mangled pipe cleaner.
“I’m nothing if not detail-oriented.”
He grabs my hand, sliding the ornament ribbon over one of my fingers and around one of his. “Let’s put it on there together. Another tradition.” His free hand settles on the small of my back, guiding me forward.
“Where at?” I ask softly.
“Front and center.” He raises our joined hands, and we hang the sled on the bough.
We’re so close I can note the curl of his lashes and a small scar near his cheekbone.
“Now it’s finally ready.” He steps behind the tree and plugs it in. The bright white lights illuminate the space.
Leo rejoins my side, and I smile at him. “Beautiful.”
“Very beautiful.” His smoldering gaze makes my skin burn. “Thank you for my gift.”
“It was either that or a pipe cleaner elf.”
“In honor of how we met.” If his voice rumbles any deeper, I will melt into a Greta-shaped puddle. He catches my hands inhis and tugs me to him. “Why are you like this?” His lips brush my temple.
My breath shallows. His nearness. His touch. It’s unraveling my knotted defenses. “Like what?”
He eases back, and his thumb glides along my lower lip, his gaze tracking the movement. “This perfect.” His eyes darken with intent, and I react with a small nod, giving him the go-ahead.
His mouth is on mine, hungry, tender, and so very scorching. He anchors me against him, gripping my waist, even as my arms twine around his neck.
The fire crackles behind us, but it’s no match for the flames of heat igniting my body. His lips skim my throat, and the scratch of his late-day stubble against my soft skin pulls my pleasured sigh. I’m instantly embarrassed, but my reaction only encourages him to up the intensity with every sip of breath.
In the glow of the Christmas tree lights, Leo Mathis kisses me thoroughly.
I’ve imagined him holding me over a hundred times, but nothing prepared me for this moment. The heat of his left palm through my clothes, the press of his strong arms around me, the tangling of his fingers in my hair, I memorize it all. But it’s not until he murmurs my name against my lips that I realize he wants this. Wants me.
Could this really be happening? Could I have a future with Leo? Something warm unfurls in my chest, and it feels a lot like hope.
We move in delicious waves of give and take until I can almost hear Fletcher Thomas at the edges of my mind.
Leo never stays.
Shut up, Fletcher. I don’t care. I don’t care if Leo leaves. I want this moment. I need it. I kiss the man harder. Fiercer, as if in spite. Leo instantly responds, matching my fervor. Yetthe chanting echoes louder, and the truth is getting bolder, like wearing an ugly Christmas sweater at a black-tie event, itchy and an overall bad idea.
I know me. I can’t justnot care. Which has always been my downfall.
