Page 81 of The Christmas Catch
However, Ali was far more focused on Morgan’s breath in her ear. Her arms that were still wrapped around her waist.
Until they weren’t. When Morgan stepped back, Ali wanted to turn and grab her. She wanted to fix Morgan’s arms around her and demand she never let her go.
But again, boundaries.
New York.
Glass half empty.
But fuck, she wanted to top up the glass. Fill it to the brim. She wanted Morgan to fill her more than anything in the world.
Morgan stood beside her. “Hold the icing in the palm of your hand, squeeze with your fingers, and do it consistently and with confidence. It’s the same with most things in life you want to get good at.”
Ali glanced left, watched as Morgan ran her tongue along her top lip, then returned to the roof. A flash of Morgan as she came pressed into the front of her mind. Then it was gone. She took a deep breath.
Confidence and consistency. She could do this. She squeezed. Another splodge. It wasn’t going to be a masterpiece, but it wouldn’t be naked, either.
The word ‘naked’ lodged in her brain then, as she recalled Morgan this morning. Naked in bed beside her. Why was she saying it couldn’t happen again?
Because of a non-existent future.
“Two splodges already. You’re a natural.”
Ali snorted, but produced another splodge.
Morgan reached over and retrieved a pink-and-white-filled icing bag, cut the bag around the nozzle, and piped neat, uniform swirls across her roof.
“Did your mum teach you this?”
Morgan shook her head and paused. “My nan. She taught my mum, and then she taught my sister and me. It was one of her Christmas traditions.” She swept her arm around the kitchen. “Everything you see and smell in this house all stems from her. She was the Christmas queen, and she was the one who always had to bake her own gingerbread.”
Warmth swept up Ali. She loved that Morgan was so connected to her family.
“Nobody in my family bakes. It’s a badge of honour. But we keep the local bakeries in business.”
“In that case, we’re going to make some gingerbread stars and gingerbread people for you to take home, too. You can splodge until you can splodge no more. Your family will be amazed.”
“They’ll also think I’m lying.”
Morgan walked to the baking drawers and pulled out some cutters in the shape of stars and people. “I’ll tell them, and they’ll have to believe me.”
“You forget my sister knows you.”
An arrow of happiness pierced Ali’s heart. That was the thing here, wasn’t it? It was a crying shame this couldn’t work, because they didn’t just have a mutual attraction and chemistry. They had history. Foundation to build on. They were a solid gingerbread house that simply needed decoration. Ali stared at Morgan, then shook her head. Morgan already decorated the world just fine.
More than fine.
Morgan narrowed her eyes. “What? Do I have something on my nose?”
A shake of Ali’s head. “Nope. I was just thinking, this is not how I expected my Christmas Eve would go. Baking gingerbread. With you. Here. Not after everything.” She glanced down at the piping bag in her hand. “Who knew I could feel so much contentment being a shit baker?” Her hand shook as she spoke. “You know what? Ignore me. I’m a bit addled from all the travelling, and the lack of food. Plus, walking back into the pub was overwhelming. As is being here with you.”
What on earth was she saying?
She fully expected Morgan to take a step back. Literally and metaphorically. They’d spent a few days together, had one hot night, Ali had brushed her off and now she was redrawing their boundaries every five seconds? Even she knew she was acting a little crazy.
But Morgan didn’t move. Instead, she reached out a hand and placed it on Ali’s arm.
That was all. Just one tiny touch. But it was enough to make Ali’s pulse sprint. Enough for her cheeks to heat to nuclear. Enough for every nerve ending she had to fling itself open, waiting for more.
