Page 18 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
“It’s okay, girl.”Adam’s hand drops to scratch behind Blanche’s ears, and she actually sighs.“The horse is more scared of you than you are of him.”
The same thing he’d said about the board exam I was freaking out about during one of our video calls.
Adam pats his pockets, searching for something.
“Looking for your phone?”The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.“You didn’t use to be all about the perfect rescue moment.”
He glances up, confused.“I still don’t have social media.”
I tuck that information away for later.
“I’ve got this DAP-infused bandana somewhere at the B&B.Works wonders with anxiety cases.”His hands keep moving, gentle and sure.“Had good results with it at the clinic.I thought I had one on me for LoverBoy when I found him.”
Chuck would’ve already had his phone out, staging the perfect rescue-dad moment for his followers—#BestLifeWithMyRescues—right before telling me, “We should board them at your parents.Indefinitely.”
A shiver wrecks through me.
“Your gloves are wet,” he whispers.Yes, my gloves.Of course, mygloves.
“LoverBoy… The chihuahua.”When I went to get him, I must have gotten those gloves in the snow.Adam tugs them out.Slowly.Deliberately.Each finger unfolded with the kind of care that makes something clinical feel suddenly intimate.And my mouth?Gaping open like a fish.Closing mouth now.There.That’s better.Professional.Composed.Until Adam gives me his full attention.
And having Adam’s full attention?Oh.Someone page help now.
He takes my frozen hands in his, and I inhale sharply at the touch.His calloused thumbs trace slow circles against my palms, and electricity shoots straight up my arms.His touch has my chest both expanding and narrowing at once, like my lungs can’t decide whether to breathe him in or hold perfectly still.His skin is furnace-warm against mine, the heat seeping into my bones, bringing pins-and-needles sensation back to my fingertips.I make a mental note to get better winter gloves.Focus on that.Not on the way his eyes darken to midnight blue, not on how his jaw tightens as if he’s fighting the same losing battle I am.I should know the neuropathy always flares in cold weather, but the shiver racing down my spine has nothing to do with the temperature.
“You’re still cold?”The low rumble of his voice makes my pulse skip, and also race a little too fast.I take a deep breath, counting silently until it steadies.
“Nope.Good.”But his hands don’t drop.And I still don’t move, until the carriage hits a bump and I need to hold on to something.
My hands scramble for balance, finding his thigh.Then...higher.
Oh.Oh.Even through layers of winter clothing, there’s no mistaking that particular anatomy.
I jerk my hand back like I’ve touched a hot stove, my face burning enough to melt snow.But before I can spiral into full mortification, his hand covers mine again where it’s now death-gripping the seat between us.His thumb finds that small strip of exposed skin between his gloves and my coat sleeve, the contact sending electricity straight through me.And is calming me like one of the dogs?
“Oh, you’ll love the town,” Sally says, steering Naughty and Naughtier around a bend where I swear it looks like a Christmas Tree Farm in the distance.“Especially with the Christmas market.Oh, and the tree lighting.And the skating.The waffles.Everything.”She pauses, too casual.“Does that make you want to stay longer, Adam?Such a shame you’re leaving tomorrow.”
The warmth from his touch vanishes and my entire body goes numb.
Leaving.Tomorrow.
The words slam into me like a code blue announcement.My heart stutters.The absolute, perfect irony doesn’t escape me—I ghosted him years ago and now he’s leaving right as I arrive.The universe has a twisted sense of humor that not even my darkest jokes can match.
“Tomorrow?”My voice comes out embarrassingly small, betraying every attempt at nonchalance.I force myself to breathe normally, like I do when I’ve been on my feet for too long and I’m worried about my tachycardia.Like I’m not calculating how many hours that leaves us.Like I’m not wondering if seven years of regret could be undone in less than twenty-four.
Adam nods, giving a look to Sally that has her narrowing her eyes and smiling way too big.
“Yep.”That’s the answer I get.
And that makes no sense.
Because Adam Harrison was the one who argued about going back to hisno-name small-townwhile I babbled on about big city medicine, how one day I’d work for the NIH, helping them with the research they fund because no one else will.Not telling him it was because that research saved my life.
I was the one who left my small-town to escape ghosts I didn’t even realize cling to you no matter where you go.
And I never even worked for the NIH.
He’s leaving for bigger, better things.
