Page 6 of A Crush at Christmas
Though it could be worse.
I could be alone.
Maybe the cyclonic winds intensifying after I uttered my ridiculous suggestion to take a walk on the beach and find palm fronds rather than mistletoe is a greater power’s way of telling me I’m insane for contemplating messing with Emery.
Not that I’ll hurt her. Hearing her articulate she’s a cynic when it comes to romance makes it easier to justify the relentless urge to kiss her senseless.
To see if she remembers how close we came to giving into temptation.
To see if the slow burn attraction that has always simmered between us is as powerful as I think.
Age should make me wiser, but I’m tired. Exhausted. Alone. Riding high professionally, in a major slump personally. And being with Emery, even as friends, always comforts. She has a way about her of seeing beneath my gruff exterior but wanting to hang out regardless.
Go figure.
“Are you okay?” She’s staring at me with concern, and I force a smile.
“Yeah.” I screw up my nose. “Not a fan of storms.”
Her eyes meet mine and I see understanding tinged with pity.
She knows.
But before I can steer her away from a topic I’d rather not discuss with a cyclone howling outside—if ever—she says, “Tom told me about your dad and grandfather. I’m sorry.”
A trite apology I’ve heard countless times before, but coming from Emery, it means something. She understands me. She always has. I just haven’t wanted to admit it until now.
And to my surprise, I want to talk about that fateful day a decade ago, something I haven’t done since, even with my brothers.
“They were experienced fishermen who thought they could brave the elements. Dad grew up hearing Gramps’ tall tales about riding massive waves in storms, about the adrenaline rush of steering a boat through the worst tropical cyclone this region has ever seen, and he wanted to experience that rush for himself…” I trail off, swallowing the lump of emotion lodged in my throat. “It didn’t occur to them they’d never make it and that they’d be leaving behind the four of us.”
I shake my head. I loved Dad and Gramps, but their selfishness is unfathomable. I had to raise Linc, Kai, and Walker as best I could while holding down a job as a commercial pilot. I’d flown Australian routes only when fellow graduates were flying the world. I resented them for that—Dad and Gramps, not my brothers—and it added to my guilt of hating them while grieving their loss because I loved them too.
“Hey,” she says, moving closer to snag my hand. “I don’t know your brothers, but Tom says they’re good guys.”
Her other hand presses against my cheek. “Just like you.”
I lean into her palm, my chest constricting. Where’s an oxygen mask dropping from the ceiling when you need one?
I’m well aware I shouldn’t ruin this poignant moment.
It’s wrong on so many levels.
But I’ve listened to common sense my entire life.
Screw that.
So I do the one thing I shouldn’t.
I kiss her.
7
EMERY
The moment Weston’s lips meet mine, I wonder if the roof has caved in and rendered me unconscious, because that’s the only explanation for my blackout.
At least, that’s what it feels like: being oblivious to everything but the mind-blowing explosion of heat that makes me sway towards him. I can’t think, can’t compute, as his tongue touches mine and then I’m gone. Powerless to stop this madness despite every self-preservation instinct insisting I should.
