Page 59 of The Holiday Grump
“I do.”
He tucked the blanket tightly around me, creating a barrier between our bodies, then lay down again, hugging me from behind. His restraint made me ache more.
“Is it really the worst thing?” I asked softly. “That something might happen between us?”
His breath stirred my hair. “No. But I need you safe. Tell me if you feel sick, dizzy, anything with your heart. Promise me.”
“Okay.”
I didn’t fully understand his concern, but I felt safe. Cared for. Anchored in a way that made my throat tight.
The tears came out of nowhere. I fought the first wave, but the second swamped me.
“Noelle?” His voice rasped at my neck. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I hiccupped. “I’m okay. I’m just…”
But words failed.
He tightened his hold, stroking my hair. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Gradually, the sobs faded. Through blurry eyes, I watched the flames dance behind the glass doors of the fireplace until they melted into darkness, and sleep carried me away.
I wokeup to faint daylight seeping in through the windows. Thank God it was Sunday. I didn’t have to open the store. I was cocooned under a layer of blankets, blissfully warm, but alone.
I rolled over, browsing the room through dipped eyelids, and suddenly jerked wide awake.
Fredrikwashere.
He lay on the rug in front of the fireplace, huddled inside a sleeping bag, fast asleep. Red embers still glowed behind the glass. He must have kept the fire going all night. I didn’t want to wake him, but I had so many questions.
Why wasn’t he sleeping in his bed? Why was his house enormous? Did anyone else live here? Where was the bathroom?
I got up as quietly as I could and tiptoed around hissleeping form. The polished wood floor felt cool even through my fluffy socks. He was lying on top of a woven rug, which must have been both hard and cold. How could anyone sleep like that?
The bathroom I found down the hall was gorgeous, with emerald-green tiles, a subtle chevron-patterned tile floor, and chrome fixtures. Luxurious but in keeping with the house’s historical bones. It reminded me of the first-class lounge on the ship… or Spencer’s family estate. I’d loved that house. In hindsight, I loved the estate more than I’d ever loved Spencer.
Lesson learned. I wasn’t going to be dazzled by possessions ever again.
Still, I loved this mirror. And the fluffy terracotta towel. And everything else.
Compared to Fredrik’s house, the bookstore was a gloomy cave. Which was the real him? The man in threadbare boots surrounded by dusty books, or the one with this quietly spectacular house? Did he come from money? Was he secretly loaded?
I wandered the first floor, careful not to wake him. If he stayed asleep, I could have a quick peek at the rest of the house and figure out what kind of rich he was. Middle-management rich? Richy-rich? Or the worst kind, who called themselves “comfortable”?
Spencer’s mom had dropped that line a few times. The gratitude in her quivering voice was always genuine. She believed everyone who didn’t have a million dollars in their checking account was painfully uncomfortable.
After ten minutes of tiptoeing around the first floor, I concluded the house was half-renovated. The contrastbetween the finished and unfinished rooms wasn’t stark. It seemed he was restoring the house to its original glory.
There was no evidence of a sauna, though.
Once I’d satisfied my curiosity downstairs, I snuck upstairs. I discovered three more not-yet-renovated bedrooms with yellowing wallpaper, and a bathroom that gave me an idea of what the downstairs one might have looked like before. Off-white and boring. It was also freezing.
“Would you like a tour of my underwear drawer?”
Fredrik’s voice made me jump. I slammed the cupboard door. “I… was looking for toilet paper.”
“There’s toilet paper right there.” He pointed at the holder.
