Page 46 of All's Fair in Love and Christmas
“I know Sofiya chooses who to promote based on who has the most Christmas spirit. Everyone knows. But I wasn’t going to play along.”
His head tilts just a fraction. I’ve seen him do this before. Usually when he’s considering a new idea. “You weren’t?”
I shake my head. “I hoped you wouldn’t jump through her hoops either and we’d force her to decide on merit alone.”
His smile is crooked. “That would’ve been smart.”
We get caught up in each other’s gazes, and for the first time, Jeremy is the one to look away first. He clears his throat. “Then I brought the pomander balls.”
I remember smelling the citrus and spice on him when Keri deserted me and forced me to ride the elevator with him alone. Glorious torture, if ever there was such a thing. Orange and cloves may forever be my new favorite scent combination.
“Even after you laid down the gauntlet...” My brows do a sort of lift thing of their own accord.
Oh my goodness. Did I just attempt to flirt? My cheeks get even hotter. My internal temperature is set to broil.
I try again. “Even after that, I ... What I’m trying to say is ... um...”
Shoot! I was doing so well there for half a second, too.
“We both have our reasons for wanting this promotion.” He pauses. Watches me.
Mom. I have to get the raise so Mom can receive the care she needs. The actual job—the client-relations and leadership parts—scares me out of my wits. But for Mom, I’ll do anything.
“Let’s make a promise. No matter who Sofiya appoints, therewon’t be any hard feelings on either side.” He holds out his hand. “Deal?”
I slide my palm against his. In a weird sort of reverse, it’s not my hand in his that tingles. It’s the skin not being touched that responds like a starving street beggar holding up his bowl. My arms are on their proverbial knees, imploring for just a caress from his fingertips. My neck whispers a plea to feel his warm breath against it. My face longs to be cradled between his hands. My lips—oh, my lips ache with the need to feel weight upon them. The weight of Jeremy’s kiss.
He holds on to my hand longer than necessary for a simple shake. I risk a look into his face, afraid he can feel my pulse pounding through my fingertips or see my thoughts in my eyes.
His head is tilted again, his clear eyes cloudy as if he’s confused about something. His gaze drops from my eyes to ... my mouth? His grip tightens a fraction, pulling me toward him, but then immediately releases my hand.
He takes a step back and runs his fingers through his hair. “Good. I’m glad we got that settled.”
I barely register his words as I’m staring at the top of his head. Jeremy never runs his fingers through his hair. He’s raised his hand as if he’s meant to a few times, but he always stops himself before his fingers touch a single strand. What does it mean that he didn’t stop himself this time?
My cell vibrates in my pocket. It’s Keri, wondering what’s taking me so long. I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ve got to...” I walk backward a few steps before turning around.
One thing’s for certain: touching Jeremy was a bad idea. Like the key to Pandora’s box twisting and opening the lid. How am I supposed to keep all these feelings stuffed inside now?
19
Stick to the plan. Jeremy had told himself those exact words no less than a dozen times as laughter climbed the air and slipped through the walls of the brick building, taunting him as he plucked away at his keyboard. He’d undone more than he’d accomplished on his design, but he refused to budge from his seat even though everyone else in the office was in the empty lot next door, making snowmen and hitting one another with snowballs in a massive winter war.
Sofiya was normally a stickler for productive hours at work, but today she’d smiled like a benevolent queen and declared a late start to the workday so everyone could play in the fresh snow. Only in December would Sofiya cast her normal standards aside in favor of fun and frivolity.
Another chorus of laughter echoed through the empty room, making Jeremy clench his teeth and fumble his fingers.
Another wrong keystroke. Delete. Delete.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to have a good time or was a workaholic. Those weren’t the reasons he refused to go outside and join the others. He didn’t trust himself. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t trust himself to stick to the plan.
When he’d held Mackenzie’s hand, a shockwave had traveled up his arm. Like an earthquake shaking the ground, something in him had cracked open, dislodging blinders that had been covering his eyes. He didn’t know how else to describe it. How could he look at someone he’d seen almost every day for years and suddenly see her so differently?
But maybe it had been more gradual than he’d realized. Bit by bit as he’d gotten to know her better. So slow that the knowing had snuck up on him unawares until, boom, he couldn’t look away. Step away. Let her go.
Stick to the plan.
He pulled out his wallet and opened the trifold. With cell phone picture galleries, no one really carried around printed photos anymore, but he’d always been a little old-fashioned when it came to sentimentalities. The frayed corner of the wallet-sized photo protruded from a side panel, and he tugged it loose.
