Page 20 of Her Christmas Fix
What happens now, I wonder, then offer what I hope comes across as a casual smile. “I can go back to the?—”
He flashes a smug smile. “I’m not letting you go now. You know that, right?”
Before my heart can gallop out of my chest at the promise I hear in those words, he continues, “Stay in here tonight.”
Tonight. Right. Because this is temporary. We aren’t real, no matter how much I secretly want it to be.
So I curl against him with his arm around my waist, listening to his heartbeat slow. And I let myself fall asleep without worrying about tomorrow.
10
GRIFFIN
I’m standingin the kitchen making coffee the next morning when my phone buzzes with a text that makes my stomach drop. The supplier doesn’t sugarcoat it.
Flooring delayed. Won’t arrive until after the New Year. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Sorry for the inconvenience? I stare at the screen, re-reading the words like they might magically change. The wide-plank composite flooring Monika fell in love with—the one that reminded her of the driftwood her grandmother collected—was supposed to arrive early next week. It’s supposed to be the final element we install before the furniture she ordered is delivered on Christmas Eve.
“Morning.” Her voice is sleep-rough as she walks into the kitchen wearing one of my flannel shirts that hits her mid-thigh. Her hair’s a mess, and there’s a smudge of dried mascara under one eye. She’s never looked more beautiful.
Last night plays through my mind with her beneath me, above me, whispering my name. The way she snuggled against me as she slept like she was meant to be there.
“Hey.” I turn away to pour her coffee while I figure out how to tell her about the delay that’s going to knock her dream off schedule. “Sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.” As she accepts the mug, her fingers brush mine, and the simple touch sends heat through me. “Though someone kept me up pretty late.”
That teasing tone and her sweet smile make me want to set down both our mugs and carry her back to bed.
Instead, I lean against the counter and force myself to deliver the news that feels like a pointed reminder this happy bubble we’re in was never meant to last. “The flooring won’t be here on time.”
Her delicate brows draw together as if she doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “What does that mean?”
“I got a text from the supplier. It’s delayed until after the New Year.” Coffee sloshes over the rim when I set my mug down harder than I mean to. “We won’t be able to have the house ready by Christmas. I’m sorry. I should have had a backup plan. This is par for the course around the holidays, and I knew how important?—”
“Griffin.” She sets her coffee beside mine and moves closer, but I step back. “It’s not?—”
“Don’t make excuses for me.” I shake my head. “ I promised the house would be ready for Christmas, and I’m failing you just like…” I swallow back the words, scrub a hand over my clenched jaw.
“Like what?” Her bright green eyes search mine. “This isn’t your fault.”
“It’s my project.” I grab a dish towel and clean up the spilled coffee like I have a personal vendetta against it. “I should have put contingencies in place for?—”
“Stop.” She catches my wrist and plucks the towel out of my hand. “This isn’t about the flooring, Griffin. What’s really going on?”
It’s hard to think straight when she’s touching me. When she’s so close I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, I lose track of all the reasons I need to keep some distance between us, especially after last night.
I take a step back and force a smile. “How do you feel about spending Christmas here with me?”
Something flickers across her face that I can’t read. She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’d love that, of course. It’s just...” She wraps her arms around herself like she wishes she were wearing something besides my flannel. “You know I wanted to honor my grandmother’s memory by celebrating Christmas in that house. To prove that people like us can have beautiful things.”
And there’s the disappointment she’s trying to hide. I tell myself not to take it personally. She hired me to do a job, and I’m failing at it. One night together doesn’t change our deal. Neither does the fact that I’m falling for her.
“I’ll figure it out.” I turn back to the coffee maker because I need something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for her. “I’ll make some calls and?—”
“Tell me what’s going on.” She places a hand on my arm, her touch burning through my Henley. “I know why this deadline means so much to me. What about you? Is it the money? I’ll still pay you?—”
“At this point, I’d do it for free.” I keep my back to her and consider making something up about professional pride or reminding both of us of the hit my reputation took when I had to put things on hold.
