Page 34 of Tinsel & Timber
Once the last ornamentis hung, the room glows amber with firelight and twinkle lights. The world outside feels like it’s melted away.
She turns to me, smiling. “Not bad for a grump.”
We stand there for a long moment, watching the lights. She sips her coffee, eyes soft, body relaxed. My hand itches to reach for her again.
“Thank you,” she says finally.
“For what?”
“For this. The tree. The company.” Her lips quirk. “For pretending not to notice that half my ornaments are crooked.”
I chuckle. “I noticed.”
“Of course you did.”
She moves a little closer and entwines her fingers with mine. Her voice dips, softer, more intimate. “I don’t think I’ve smiled this much in a long time.”
My throat goes tight. “Then I’ll call that a success.”
She locks eyes with me, and the look there nearly undoes me. It’s open. Unguarded. The kind of look that makes a man forget everything else.
“Graham?” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay tonight?”
I should say no. I should remind her how complicated this is, how quickly the town will notice, and how much I’ve already let myself blur the lines. But the truth is, I don’t want to leave. Not when she’sstanding in the golden light of that tree, looking at me like I belong here.
So I do the only thing that makes sense.
I stay.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of warmth and laughter and soft, stolen kisses. We don’t talk about what happens next. We just exist—two people who fit together in ways that shouldn’t make sense but somehow do.
She cracks a joke about being tied up like the Christmas tree, and finds herself bound with a spare strand of Christmas lights. Bent over the sofa while I fuck her until her legs are shaking an she’s screaming my name. When my release hits, I pull out and coat her back in hot white ropes of cum before untying her and cleaning her up.
Later, as she falls asleep against my chest, I stare at the ceiling, listening to the crackle of the fire and the rhythm of her breathing. My arm is draped around her waist, my hand resting where her heartbeat thrums steady beneath her ribs.
I know I should go.
But I also know I won’t.
Not yet.
Because for the first time in years, I don’t feel like the man guarding the past.
I feel like someone who’s finally found his future.
The next morning, I try ducking out of Mara’s house unnoticed.
Instead, I find Luke Byron on a ladder that’s leaning against his antique colonial home, fiddling with Christmas lights and muttering to himself about being roped into things against his will.
Shit.
“Hey, Graham,” Luke says, sparing me a quick glance. “You look perturbed.”
I can’t help but scowl. “Not funny.”
