Page 26 of Tied Up In Tinsel
“Yeah?” His voice had a smug edge, but his focus was intent.
Whatever he was doing—it was sorcery. He pressed into the exact spot where the ache burned sharpest, his thumb working in slow, firm circles. It was like he knew precisely where I carried my stress, knew exactly how to unravel it.
“So,” he said casually, his big hands kneading with wicked precision, “this event you’re catering… It’s always this big?”
“Yes,” I managed, trying not to melt completely into the couch. “Every year. People from all over are invited. It’s ironic that I even agreed to do this, because…” I hesitated, taking another sip of cider. “…I hate the holidays.”
His hand faltered for a moment. He looked up at me, dark brows furrowed in disbelief.
“You hate the holidays?”
I swallowed hard, letting the cider warm my throat, trying to steel myself. “Yup. I only participate because of Ruby.”
“Can I ask why?” His voice was softer now, careful.
It was a loaded question. But Brooks had spiked the cider strong enough to loosen my tongue, and sitting this close to him made my filter slide dangerously off-center.
“My parents died a couple weeks before Christmas, a few years ago,” I confessed quietly. “And then in the same season, I caught my ex-husband cheating. With the woman he’s married to now.” I forced a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “So yeah… Christmas has lost its magic for me.”
Brooks’ expression softened, his thumb pausing its work. Sympathy flickered across his features.
“Well, you had me fooled,” he said after a moment. “Why stay here, then? Why not move someplace less… jolly?”
He tapped the foot he’d been massaging and motioned for the other. This time, I didn’t argue. I placed my other foot in his lap, surrendering, because his touch was too damn good to resist.
“I grew up here. In this house, even,” I explained. “There are too many memories to just leave. And I wanted Ruby to have the same kind of upbringing I did. Snowberry Peak really is magical. It’s not the town’s fault I lost my magic.”
His mouth curved slightly, his eyes lingering on me in a way that made my pulse trip. “That magic’s still in you, Annie. Hell, your last name is Cringle.”
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Speaking of magic… you definitely have some with kids, because Ruby is absolutely smitten with you.”
“Oh? Is she now?” His grin turned wicked.
“Totally. I haven’t seen her so open with anyone outside of my brother. You should feel honored she let you into her tea parties. I’ve never been invited to one.”
He pressed a hand over his chest, feigning solemnity. “I am truly honored.” His fingers returned to working the knots in my foot.
“You definitely have her attention,” I said, my voice quieter this time.
His hands slowed, the room thickening with silence. I sipped my cider again, though my focus wasn’t on the drink anymore. My eyes were locked on him—on the way his gaze lifted and held mine, steady, unflinching.
There was something between us, humming low and electric, like a taut wire stretched between two poles. It snapped against my ribs, sent a ticklish ache spiraling low in my belly.
Then his hand slid higher, past my ankle, over the line of my shin. His fingers brushed my skin, gentle and deliberate.
“What about her mom?” His voice was husky now, intimate. “Do I have her attention?”
My breath caught.
God. I was so screwed.
The way he looked at me was with heat and hunger, steady and unashamed. And then he licked his bottom lip, slow, dragging it between his teeth, and my cheeks flushed hot. The warmth slid lower, flooding down to my chest.
“Possibly,” I whispered, betraying myself with honesty.
His hand moved higher still, teasing along my knee, the touch so feather-light it made my skin tingle. He glanced down at where his fingers brushed me, then back up, his eyes dark and questioning. My lips parted without thought.
The air between us was alive.
