Page 12 of The Grinch and His Curvy Christmas Miracle
Too intimate.
Too much like I am pretending I belong in a life that is not mine.
Too much like he might walk back in and see me wrapped in his scent and…
Nope.
Right on cue, the shower turns on down the narrow hallway.
Fantastic.Now my imagination gets to join the meltdown.
I stare at the ceiling. The firelight flickers across the wall. My suitcase sits open like it knows I am helpless.
I am not sleeping.
Not like this.
Not while Ryder Pierce personally rewires my heartbeat byexisting.
I slip out of the bed quietly, padding across the room in my fuzzy socks. The storm rattles the windows. The fire pops. The whole cabin feels smaller with him showering in the next room.
I kneel beside my suitcase, fingers digging for the little tin of cocoa mix I packed.
My hand closes around it, then something shifts.
My twinkle lights spill out across the floor.
Of course my emotional support fairy lights would expose me at the worst possible moment.
I scoop them up fast, cheeks heating.
I should put them back.
I should hide every trace of Christmas cheer.
This man seems to hate Christmas.
He’s the type who probably snarls at candy canes.
A full-time rival to the Grinch.
But the room feels dim.
Hollow.
Too much like every lonely holiday I have ever had.
And it is Christmas Eve.
I pick the smallest strand.
Tiny golden bulbs.
Battery powered.
Just a soft little glow.
Not enough to invade his space… hopefully.
