Page 15 of Christmas Crisis
“A nickname?”
“Uh-huh.”
“My very own nickname? From my very own Panda. I’m honored.”
Miranda’s lips twitched as she rolled her eyes. “Thor is a god, right? Larger than life? Kind of like you?”
“You think I’m godlike? Wow. Thanks.”
She flicked my arm. “Just large. With much more of a mouth on you than I thought when we first met, clearly.”
“It takes me a minute, but I’m warmed up now.”
“I gathered,” she replied, her tone so low and rich it drew my eyes to her briefly as she continued. “You need a nickname appropriate for your general”—her hand waved at me in a circle—“largeness. But you also have to atone forPanda.”
A huff worked its way from my throat. “I’m listening.”
She paused dramatically. “From this moment forthwith, I dub you ‘Bear,’ or when we are in formal settings, ‘Leo-Bear.’”
“Leo-Bear?”
“Yep. Turnabout is fair play. If I’m a bear, then you are too. And not a cool one, either. Just a plain old boring one. You don’t get to be a Kodiak or a polar or a grizzly.”
“Generic ‘Bear’ is not the insult you think it is. I can live with it.”
“We’ll see.” She smiled and crossed her arms.
“Panda?”
“Yes, Bear?”
I smiled. “Just checking.”
I carried Miranda’s suitcaseinto the guest room, pointing out where I kept the extra towels in case she wanted to shower. But she said she was tired after the long drive, so we both retreated to our beds almost immediately.
It wasn’t until I woke up in the morning and heard Miranda moving around that it struck me how unusual this situation was. Not bad, just unfamiliar. I’d never had a woman stay over during the six years I’d lived in this apartment. James had crashed in the guest room plenty of times, but having Miranda in my space felt different.
As I pulled on joggers and a sweatshirt, the sound of water running in the hallway bathroom startled me. When was the last time I even turned on that shower?
From our time in Coleman Creek, I knew Miranda was a coffee drinker, and I’d seen her eat all kinds of breakfast foods. I had six near-expired eggs in the fridge. Before whisking them up to scramble, I put four slices of sourdough in the toaster.
I was scrolling through options on the TV when the water turned off. A moment later, Miranda appeared in the hallway wrapped in a towel, directly in my line of sight.
Our gazes caught and held. I took in her long hair, which she’d brushed away from her face. Wet tendrils strayed across the apples of her pink-flushed cheeks. I registered the curve of her shoulder, as perfect as a painting. Just like the rest of her. The towel hitting at mid-thigh emphasized the sculpted muscles of her long legs. The slender fingers of her hand trembled slightly where she held the knotted towel between her breasts.
I knew it was impolite to stare, that I should cast my eyes away so she could retreat. But I couldn’t. I felt compelled to study the striking woman before me, drawn to her in a way I couldn’t articulate.
As our silent conversation stretched into seconds, she bit her lip, peering at me from beneath her lashes. A visible swallow worked its way down her throat. Looking at her eyes again, I saw her pupils widen. In her expression, a question lingered.Hopefully, she didn’t think…?
Shit! What the fuck was I doing? Staring at her like a creep.
I smiled in a way I wanted to seem friendly without being dismissive as I turned back to the TV.
“Hope you’re hungry,” I said. “I’m making breakfast.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Her voice stuttered. There was confusion there, but no detectable anger or embarrassment. I heard herdamp footsteps as she entered the guest bedroom, then thesnickof the door shutting.
I exhaled.
