Page 58 of Santa's Girl
His hand found mine without even thinking — just curled around it like it belonged there. The parking lot was quiet, and the snow had started falling again, soft flakes drifting under the streetlights like powdered sugar shaken from the sky.
My heart was still thudding from the kiss earlier. My fingers itched to grab his collar and pull him in again. My entire body was already imagining what it would feel like to finallynothold back.
Bear didn’t rush. Didn’t pull me toward the truck.
He just started walking.
So I walked with him.
Down the sidewalk, past decorated storefronts and twinkling garlands, through the quiet of a small town that looked like it had been dressed by a Hallmark movie crew. My boots crunched over salt-dusted pavement. The cold nipped at my nose, but his hand in mine was steady and warm.
We didn’t say much.
Didn’t need to.
My mind was spinning. Wondering. Wanting.
I’m not a promiscuous woman. That’s never been my story. But Bear…
Bear felt like home.
Not the picture-perfect kind with matching throw pillows and chore charts, but the kind where someone seesyou. Where the silence is safe. Where a hand on your back feels like it’s been there for years.
With Huntley, sex was clean. Controlled. Like following a checklist. Good enough, but never more. Never deep. Nevermessy.
Bear?
I could already feel what it would be like with him — heat and hands, breath and bone, calloused fingers dragging across bare skin and a mouth that didn’t ask permission to kiss like it meant something.
And if I didn’t go for it tonight, I might never feel something like this again.
I was already playing out the steps in my mind — how to close the gap, how to kiss him just right, what I’d say if he invited me back?—
But instead, he led me up the wooden steps of a quiet country inn and inside.
Not to a room.
To a table.
Just one. A small table set for two, tucked into a little third-floor nook that overlooked the glowing lights of the main square. We had the whole floor to ourselves — just Bear, me, and the slow fall of snow beyond the window.
My stomach dropped a little.
Hewasn’tthinking what I was thinking.
He was thinkingmore.
My heart twisted as I looked down at the menu and saw the prices. This place was expensive. Like “take-a-deep-breath-before-ordering” expensive.
He’d gone all out. Forme.
I swallowed hard. “I think I’ll just do a salad,” I said, flipping the menu shut, keeping my voice breezy. “Maybe with some grilled chicken?”
Bear raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“I’m not that hungry,” I lied.
Truth was, the moment I saw the prices, I started calculating tip, taxes, whether I should offer to split, and how many resumes I’d sent out this week. Guilt bloomed like a bruise under my ribs. He didn’t need to do all this.
