Page 38 of Her Purr-fect Christmas Mate

There was a reason he kept his own rooms so bare. He didn’t need the distraction. Why escape into a book when the real world was always waiting once you reached the last page?

He had one goal in life, and he couldn’t afford to let anything into his life that gave him a hope of doing something else with it.

Mordecai blinked.Where did that come from?

His dragon shrugged, as lost as he was.

And across the room, Peony ran her fingers across the spines of a row of books. No longer shadowy and anonymous, but warmly lit and welcoming.Not only stories,he realized.Whole worlds. And not only for escaping into. For sharing.

This was what he was taking away from her. And in exchange for what? An apartment so impersonal her first impression of it was that it smelled dead. He could buy her a new house—he would have to because, even if she didn’t hate his apartment, it was a bachelor’s rooms, not…

Not a home. Not afamilyhome.

Stillness washed through him, a cool chill that he wasn’t sure was fear or awe. A family. He hadn’t even considered… Peony was around thirty. She’d said she was waiting for her mate for her life to begin. Were children part of that life? Would she want—

“Come and help me with these, would you?” Peony called from across the room.

He came back to himself with a start. Those were all questions for later. After—

Christmas.

Dear god.

“These are all the remaining orders that haven’t been picked up yet,” Peony explained when he reached the counter. She worried her bottom lip, eyes flicking to the blinds that were still covering the windows. “I know some of our regulars will be in today to pick up books without ordering, but we don’t have the staff to cover the deskandtake these orders around. I can’t ask anyone to come in after last night.” Her features tightened briefly, then her usual problem-solving expression was back as though it had never left. Mordecai’s chest twisted. “Though… I suppose…”

She cast her eye out over the store and dashed away, returning a few minutes later with another armload of books. “Help me wrap these? I might not be able to open the store, but Icantake an educated guess about what our regularly last-minute customers might need, and do a home delivery.”

Thirty minutes later, they were back in his car. Peony had a stack of books wrapped in festive paper bags on her lap and was peering at a list of addresses on her phone.

“Okay. First up…” She rattled off an address.

Mordecai dutifully plugged it into the GPS. “We could have walked,” he pointed out.

“And risk your ankle again?” She grinned at him. “Besides, these are only the first deliveries. Not all our customers are local. Some of our regulars come from all across the city. Mrs. Nevis here is always telling me stories about when the Hypatia was still—” She broke off.

“Still…?” Mordecai prompted her.

Peony swallowed. A sense of confusion shivered down the connection between them, and Mordecai frowned.

“Still, you know. Properly running. People living in grand apartments upstairs, all the boarded-up shops downstairs still in use. Mrs. Nevis’s grandmother used to take her to high teas at the restaurant when she was a little girl, but that must have been sixty or seventy years ago. She said there used to be a ballroom, too.”

“And a swimming pool,” Mordecai said absently. “The Riviera with central air and no sand to get between your toes.”

“What?” Peony stared at him, eyes wide. “How do you know about that?”

He cursed himself silently. “My grandmother.”

She didn’t say anything. He cursed himself again. This was a tactic he often used—leaving a silence so deep and empty that your opponent rushed to fill it—and here he was, falling for it.

“My grandmother used to live in the Hypatia,” he explained, jaw tight. “A long time ago.”

“Huh.” Peony looked out the window, her expression troubled.She’s figuring it out,he thought and didn’t understand why the thought made him feel so hopeless. “I guess I’ll meet her tomorrow? And you’ll meet my family. They’re a few hours away. I usually drive down Christmas Eve, but I don’t know if you’d prefer to split the day or do one family each year or—”

“I think it would be best if we got my family visit over as soon as possible.”

Peony stared at him, mouth still open from him cutting her off. She closed it. Swallowed. He watched her digest the sharpness of his words. “That bad?” she asked, sympathetically. “If it helps, my family are going to love you.”

Shit.“I didn’t mean— My grandmother isn’t the pleasantest company. Particularly around Christmas. It’ll be no reflection on you.”

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