Page 12 of The Christmas Blueprint

Really? Killian remembered that she liked to sing? He liked her voice?

Slow your roll. You aren’t in middle school anymore.

It was hard to know where to look because she craved to stare at him.

“Anyway, I’m back,” he said, stating the obvious. Again.

“Ta-daaa.” Sophia couldn’t help it. She did jazz hands, something Riley often did facetiously. “My question, not to be rude, is why.”

“Believe it or not, I’m here for work.”

His answer was so unexpected that she couldn’t even form her next question. She turned and stared at him, lips moving, no words.

“I’m the new Bear Creek city planner. Ta-daaa.” He jazz-handed her right back.

Chapter Four

“No!” Sophia blinkedat him in horror.

“That’s what I wanted to say initially.” He grinned at her, and for the first time ever, the flash of dimple didn’t make her heart skip a beat. “It’s a bit of a downgrade. I’m still wrapping my head around…well, a lot of things,” he said self-deprecatingly. “But I’m here. For a year. And this—” he swept his arms out to encompass the building “—is my first baby.”

Shock washed through her like a summer plunge in Bear Creek. And then anger.

“Not a chance,” she said. She’d dreamed about what the old mill could become for years. She’d made her stand and she wasn’t backing down. “The grain storage facility of the Applegate Mill is my baby.”

“Paternity suit so fast, Gonzales?”

He’d always been quick. Disturbingly so. And she already felt protective of the building because he saw space as a problem to solve. She saw options, opportunities.

“No way,” she scoffed. “You don’t want to be the city planner of Bear Creek. It’s not even a city.” Sophia dredged up one of his old insults.

“Still true.” He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her, or at least tried to. Killian was tall—six three or six four, so he’d perfected that look of superior scorn touched with humor by middle school. But at five eleven and favoring footwear with chunky heels, she nearly looked him in the eye. “But here I am, slumming.” His mouth quirked. “Part-time and short-term contract. That should launch another ta-daaaa probably.”

So many emotions ripped through her, and she snatched at astonishment. “You live in Seattle. You work at a prestigious architecture firm inSeattle.”

A strong emotion skittered across his face, but she soldiered on. “You have so many things to do, so many things to see,” she mocked, using his words against him. “And with all your degrees and internships, why would you ever take anything part-time in a small town? Andrew Killian Flanagan charging down the ladder of success. I don’t believe it.”

The anger coursing through her was a little scary, but it felt so good to not feel hollow so she let it rip.

“And now you deign to come home like it’s a gift to us and want to tell me and Riley and the rest of Bear Creek how we should build for the future before you jump in your truck again and zoom off?”

“Ouch, Gonzales.” He looked at her speculatively. She saw a muscle tick in his jaw, and he drew in a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes before speaking again. “Haven’t been called Andrew in a while. Still pissed I wouldn’t be in your dunk tank for the Applegate Crush?” With both hands—yes, both—he moved his index and middle fingers in a simulation of walking. “Time marches on. Gotta flow with that river.”

It was ridiculous to be so pissed at him. This was Riley’s brother. Enrique’s best friend. His eulogy at the funeral had finally broken the dam that had held back her tears when she’d tried to be so strong for so many who grieved.

“Then jump back in,” she said. “Because I’ve got big plans for this space. Phoenix rising and all that jazz.” She flung out her hands and again jazzed her fingers with enough drama to make her mom proud.

She barely recognized herself. She was never mean. But there was a deep pit inside of herself that rejoiced a little. And another, analytical part that was stunned by her performance and shamed. And Killian, like always, took none of it seriously. His expression—quizzical, slightly amused like this was a game, ruffling the feathers of the country bumpkin—morphed to mortification.

“My gosh, Soph, I am so sorry.” He took a quick step forward and pulled her into a tight hug. “So, so sorry. I am such a jerk. Please forgive me.”

For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about. He was so tall. Hard. His body was still that of an athlete even fifteen years beyond high school. And his forest scent and warmth and strength filled her with a longing that left her shaking. She slid her arms under his and wrapped them around his lean waist and clung. She tilted her head so that it was in the crook of his neck. She breathed him in, and a sense of peace and belonging swirled inside of her and settled. It felt so good to be held. The painful spear of ice lodged in her heart for so long melted a little.

She had a mad impulse to press a kiss to his neck. She shut that down—barely—and instead closed her eyes and for the first time in so long, let herself relax and connect.

Sure, her mother had hugged her after Enrique had died. And Riley was physical with quick hard hugs, and constant offers of help and support, but Sophia had still felt so alone, a once cherished doll high on the shelf, watching others live and love and tease.

“This feels good,” she breathed.

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