Page 72 of Santa's Girl
She blinked, caught off guard.
“I mean it,” I said, my voice low. Steady. “I’ve seen you laugh. Seen you mad. Seen you cold, wet, half-drunk, even kissin’ me like the world was ending. But this?” I gestured to her — flushed cheeks, star-bright eyes, hands still half-gesturing in midair. “This is different. You’re on fire.”
Her smile softened. She ducked her head, cheeks pink.
I could tell she wanted to say thank you. But something held her back. That flicker of discomfort I’d seen before — when she looked at the truck, the wine, the damn menu.
She reached for the bottle of merlot — the Napa label I knew she recognized — and poured herself a cautious splash, like she didn’t want to seem ungratefulorgreedy.
And there it was. That hesitation. That guilt.
“I should’ve ordered a salad again,” she muttered, half-joking, swirling her glass.
I leaned back, casual.
“Cook’s uncle owns this place,” I lied, smooth and fast. “He’s a silent partner. Family deal. I called ahead and covered the tab. Didn’t even touch a card.”
Her brow lifted. “Really?”
“Really.”
Truth? I’d prepaid the whole thing over the phone, dropped an envelope at the back door with cash and a tip that’d make anyone blush. But she didn’t need to know that.
I just wanted her toenjoy it.
Let me do this for her. Forus.
Let me give her a night where she could feel wanted without worrying about the cost.
Becauseshe was worth it.
Every damn I was two seconds from asking her back to my place.
After dinner, we just walked through town n the snow.
The town square was quiet, snow drifting down soft under the glow of string lights. Becca’s arm was looped through mine, her laugh still lingering in my ear. That damn merlot had her cheeks flushed, eyes shining, and all I could think about was peeling her out of that tied-up flannel blouse and tasting every inch of that skin I hadn’t had nearly enough of yet.
And then I heard it.
Boots. Fast ones.
“Boss.”
I turned.
Diesel. Out of breath. Jinx right behind him, jaw tight.
No smiles. No jokes. Nobrotherly bullshit.
Just the kind of expression you don’t interrupt a date with unless the world’s about to go sideways.
I stepped toward them. “Talk.”
Diesel lowered his voice. “Bloody Scorpions.Atlanta chapter. Twenty minutes out. No heads-up. Just a request to meet.”
I stiffened. “No advance call?”
“None. Could be posturing. Could be worse. We don’t know what the hell we’re walking into.”
