Page 45 of Wrapped Up in Christmas Hope
And coming to Grammy’s for lunch.
Andrew had noticed Morgan when she’d been across a classroom in jeans and a sweatshirt and he’d thought her the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Little had he known how absolutely gorgeous she’d be in her green dress with her hair clipped up and a touch of makeup. Her eyes looked even greener than usual.
The color was that of garland, wreaths, pine trees, and everything Christmas.
She was everything Christmas. Right down to the glossy red lipstick coating her lips. Her kissable lips.
Nope. He’d better not be thinking about kissing Morgan or he’d get tossed out of the church building. Probably by Maybelle. Even his grandma might take hold of his ear and march him out of the building for that one.
Besides, the best thing about his sweet Morgan’s lips was that they were curved in a smile. At him. That alone was worth getting slicked up for church. The woman had an amazing smile and she needed to bring it out more often.
He wanted to make her smile all the time.
“Hi,” he heard himself say even though it made no sense since he’d already said good morning. Not much about the way Morgan made him feel made sense. Because who would have ever thought he’d be sitting in church next to her young son and feeling as happy as a lark? Especially considering his truck had something wrong with it? That’s what he should have said he needed be doing that afternoon. But even if the temperature dropped to arctic, he’d keep riding Big Bertha rather than give up the opportunity to spend the afternoon with Morgan and Greyson.
The song leader went to the podium, made a few announcements, then gave the song number for the first hymnal. Greyson snuggled in between Morgan and him on the pew, glancing up at him and smiling repeatedly as he held his song book over for Andrew to look at as well. Although it triggered different emotions within Andrew, there was such a sweet innocence in the boy’s adoration that made Andrew want to never disappoint him.
If he felt that way after knowing Greyson for such a short time, it was no wonder Morgan was so protective of her son.
“Amazing grace, how sweet...” he began singing, earning another pleased look from Greyson.
He stretched his arm out around the boy, accidentally brushing his hand against Morgan in the process. The dress’s silky green fabric was soft against his knuckles, reminding him of how her skin had felt when he’d almost kissed her at the sew-in.
And making his gaze drop to her holly-berry red lips again.
Yep. His true green Pine Hill blood was coming through, what with his mental descriptions using Christmas terms.
Or maybe, he admitted, it was just Morgan making him think that way, rather than having grown up in this Christmas-loving town.
“I bet you didn’t realize you’d be forced into helping put up Christmas decorations when you said you’d come to lunch today,” Morgan teased as she and Andrew trimmed the seven-foot Blue Spruce tree her grandfather had picked up the day before from Harvey Farms.
“I don’t mind,” he said, clipping another wayward branch and placing it on a growing pile. “I’ve got lots of experience thanks to helping my grandma. She goes all out with lights and yard blow-ups and the like. You’ll have to drive by and show Greyson. He’d like that.”
“I’ll make a point to bring him by one evening to see them.”
“Just this past week she had me up on her roof hanging a strand of lights around her chimney and putting a plastic Santa up there while she was in the yard directing me this way and that. You’d think using more kilowatts than the state of Texas would assure her that she has enough decorations,” he grinned, “but not my Grandma. She’s always having me put up a few more.”
“She’s very lucky to have you.”
“It’s the other way around. I’m the lucky one. My parents were—are—workaholics and I practically lived at my grandparents’ house growing up. It’s thanks to them that I had such a great childhood. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for them.”
Morgan’s gaze cut to his from where she held the clippers next to another branch. “You’re a good person, aren’t you?”
His brow arched. “Not sure how you deduced that from what I just said, but the real question is, why you’re just now figuring it out despite how I keep shouting it from the rooftops?”
Smiling, Morgan shrugged. “I suppose I had a case of selective hearing.”
He paused from clipping the higher branches into shape to look at her, obviously intrigued. “You didn’t want to hear what I was saying?”
“When you were tooting your own horn?” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not really.”
His hazel eyes sparkled. “Whether I’m tooting my own horn or not, you like me.”
Although she’d been the one to tell him that very thing the night before, she gave him her best you’re crazy look. “Who told you that?”
His lips twitched. “A little birdie.”
“Ha. In this town, a little ‘butterfly’ would be more believable.”
