Page 23 of Blame it on the Mistletoe
“So.” He placed his hand on hers and lowered the light. At the simple contact, acute sexual awareness flowed between them. “Point me in the direction of where the power comes into your house and we should be good to go.”
“You didn’t need to check out my box, did you?”
“I’d never pass up the opportunity to check out your box, angel.” He took the flashlight before she could blind him again. “Now, what direction am I heading?”
Chapter Seven
Ten wet and blustery minutes later, Noah had the generator hooked up and running. It took nine minutes longer than usual because his beautifully independent electrician-in-training insisted on going with him. Not just going with him but taking notes on everything he was doing so she could replicate it in the event of a next time.
Noah almost told her that, night or day, he was simply a swipe on the phone away. But then he took in the crayon drawings and family calendar on the fridge, the handwritten menu on a brightly colored WHAT’SCOOKIN’ chalkboard, and his body started feeling twitchy.
Every detail, from the twinkling lights strung throughout the house to the holiday cards neatly lining the fridge, was a conscious choice in creating a safe and warm family environment. From the outside, the house hadn’t seemed like much. But now that the lights were on, he noted how cozy she’d made her little nest. Everything was freshly painted, including the shutters and cabinets. There was a vase of garden-cut flowers on the counter, several well-kept plants on the windowsill, and every surface was covered in some phase of cookies.
The only thing out of place was Noah. Had Cody not guilted him into coming back to Sweet, Noah wouldn’t be here getting to know the most fascinating woman he’d ever encountered. He’d be back in Austin, disappearing for weeks on end into the seedy underbelly of society, tempting danger at every turn.
He’d watched as better men than he tried and failed at the family thing, leaving behind a world of hurt and disappointment. Not that he was thinking that far ahead. But if he did ever want to give the whole white-picket-fence thing a try, it would be with a woman like Faith.
Only she’d had more than her fair share of disappointment, and he didn’t want to be one more guy to add to her list. So when she waltzed back into the kitchen and tossed him a dry towel, he said, “Let me grab my things and I’ll leave you to your gingerbread men.”
“Bears,” she corrected, her face flushed from their adventure in the elements. “They’re ginger bears. And you don’t have to go just yet. I mean, if you don’t want to. It’s still coming down pretty heavy out there.”
Noah wasn’t interested in “out there” as much as he was in what was happeningin here.Where Faith was not only asking him to stay but asking him while standing in those ever-so-sculpting pajama bottoms. Then there was the still rain-dampened hair and bare feet adding an adorable sweetness to that sexy coed vibe she had going on. Noah knew that staying would only lead to trouble.
But hot damn, trouble had never been so tempting.
“As long as I’m not in the way.”
“Honestly, I could use the company.” Her gaze fell, as if embarrassed to have asked. “Unless you have somewhere to be?”
He couldn’t think of a single place he’d rather be than in this kitchen with the woman who’d consumed his every waking hour. Some of his sleeping ones too, but he didn’t think she’d want to hear about that, so he said, “Why don’t I make something to warm us up while you start on your cookies?”
Noticing the way her limbs sagged with exhaustion, he grabbed two mugs off the drying rack and placed the kettle on the stove. She didn’t seem to mind him rummaging around her kitchen. In fact, his presence seemed to put her at ease.
Head in her cupboard, he asked, “So I assume you don’t want to talk about what upset you tonight.”
“Not ever.”
Finding what he needed, he went to the fridge. “Okay, then, how about we start with the basics? How long have you lived here?”
“Pax and I lived in the top unit of the cute yellow Victorian across the street for about six years and loved it, but it was a one-bedroom.”
Which meant, at some point Faith started sleeping on the couch so her brother could have the bed.
“Mr. Adams owned this place forever, never married, never had kids, and he loved having Pax around. Used to pay him to help with odd chores around the house. But the winters were hard on his arthritis, so last year he decided to retire to Boca Raton with his brother and sold me this house. Dated furniture included,” she said. “He was a bachelor here for over fifty years, so it’s definitely a fixer-upper, and there’s a lot of fixing up still to be done, but we’re getting there.”
Faith patted the table, old and beautiful with hand-carved legs and an oval top, which he’d bet the ranch she’d refurbished herself.
“What?” she asked. “What’s that look for?”
“I’m impressed is all,” he said honestly. Not only had she managed to buy her own home before turning thirty, but she’d done an incredible amount of work on the place. By herself, from the sound of it, and all while raising her kid brother.
A collage of photos on the far wall caught his attention. There must have been twenty pictures of her and Pax—hiking, at the beach, in front of the Alamo. In every snapshot, the two were smiling or laughing, their love for each other contagious.
Noah enjoyed the idea of her making fun memories with her brother. Seeing her riding in some of the photos, he also liked the idea of her on his horse. He found himself smiling.
“Was this taken at the Crossing?” he asked, and when she didn’t answer, he turned to face her. She was frozen in place, her eyes wide and uncertain. “Faith?”
“Where’s your gun?”
