Page 40 of Seeds of Christmas
My throat is so tight I can barely breathe. “Carter?—”
He remembers my handwriting.
“I’m sorry,” he says simply.
“You weren’t a waste of time,” I say quietly.
“Smart and kind.” His smile is crooked, boyish, devastating. “I’m going to prove you right. Just watch.”
“I’m watching.”
“Good.” He leans against the doorframe. “Because I’m planning to be extremely impressive tomorrow. I might even organize something. With labels.”
“Now you’re just showing off.”
“Absolutely I am.” His grin widens. “Good night, Rhi.”
“Good night, Carter.”
This time I don’t look back.
If I look back, I might not leave.
And that would be a very bad idea.
Probably.
Back in my room,I go through my nighttime routine on complete autopilot.
Wash face. The water is too hot, but I don’t adjust it.
Brush teeth.
Set out clothes for tomorrow. Thermal leggings. Base layer. The blue fleece that doesn’t make me look completely shapeless.
But my mind is somewhere else entirely.
It’s on the way Carter’s eyes crinkled when he laughed.
On the way his voice went soft when he talked about his brother.
On the way he looked at me like I was something worth looking at—not despite my double and triple checking and my inability to relax, but somehow because of them.
He’s nothing like I expected.
He’s sweet and kind and funny and he’s in so much pain he doesn’t know what to do with it.
He uses charm like armor, just like I use work as a shield.
I get into bed and stare at the ceiling.
This is bad.
This is so, so bad.
Because charming Carter, I could resist. Charming Carter was just a pretty face and an easy smile and a guy who didn’t remember my name.
But this Carter—the one who tips delivery people generously and listens when I talk about Christmas cupcakes and lets hiswalls down just enough to show me the hurt underneath—this Carter is impossible to protect myself against.
