Page 39 of Hensley Manor
“Do we have time before we have to meet everyone for the ornament making?” I asked.
Ian checked the clock on the mantel above the fireplace. “We do.”
“Good.”
I pulled him to me and captured his lips. His arms came around my waist, and he walked us backward to the bed. I’d lost count of the times Ian had fucked me—made love to me. No amount would ever be enough, though.
If thiswasa dream…I never wanted to wake up.
Chapter Nine
“What are you cooking?” I leaned against the counter and watched Ian measure out flour and add it to whatever he was making in the stand mixer.
“Banana bread.” Ian tossed me a smile over his shoulder. “Want to help?”
“Sure.” I moved closer. “What can I do?”
“See those bananas?” He nodded to them, as his hands were full. “Peel them and mash them up in that bowl. Using a fork helps.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ian shook his head, a smile lingering in the corner of his mouth.
It was the day before Christmas Eve and so much had to be done. More decorating, baking, and finalizing the plans for entertainment and catering. A string quartet had been hired to perform at the party; two violins, a viola, and a cello. They were coming over this evening to look around the room and set up their space.
The Christmas tree would also be chosen today. Ian had asked me to go along with him and pick it out.
“You’re smiling.” Ian studied me. “I do believe the holiday spirit is rubbing off on you, Mr. Wiley.”
“Whatever.” I mashed up a banana in a glass bowl, feeling my face heat. He was right, though. I was truly kind of excited.
For so many years, I had dreaded Christmas and hated everything to do with it. But Ian was gradually reminding me of why it used to be my favorite time of year. Before the accident that took my family, before all the pain, I had loved Christmas. Loved the lights, the music, and even the corny as fuck decorations.
I’d lost my way.
Ian was helping me find it again.
Later, after the banana bread was made and we changed into warm clothes, Ian and I set off into the surrounding woods. A tree farm wasn’t too far away from the manor, and it was tradition to choose one from the lot each year. Other men came with us to help cut the tree and haul it back on a trailer.
“Everything’s so quiet,” I said, peering up at the overcast sky. The trees blocked most of my view, apart from a few glimpses between branches. Snow crunched underfoot and more fell around us. Soundless.
“I think it’s peaceful,” Ian said, before inhaling and releasing the breath on a slow exhale. “I love the smell of snow.”
“I’m more into the smell of pine.”
A soft smile touched his lips, and he grabbed my hand.
Reaching the farm, we walked along the rows of trees. I didn’t know what exactly we were looking for; all the trees looked basically the same to me. Ian had his eye on a specific one, though. Suddenly, he stopped to admire one. Much like how I was admiring him.
“This is the one,” he said, his eyes lighting up as he looked at it. “What do you think?”
I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
“It’s, er, nice. Very tall.”
Ian laughed and then taught me what to look for when picking a tree. He pointed out the shape of the base and how the branches were uniform. Not too long or unshapely. It was big, but not unmanageable, and the top of it had a good point.
