Page 38 of Christmas in Vines

The way she was looking at me made my inside liquid. And if she wasn’t careful—I might fall for her.

Who am I kidding—I already am.

ChapterTwelve

Willow

“Is that right?” Tyler asked.

Something hot flared in his gaze, but as I ignored my own visceral reaction to the pure want in his gaze and pretended my belly wasn’t flooded with the same lust, I reminded myself what hadn’t changed.

He is not here for good.

He’ll be gone in a few days when the job ends.

It’s just a fling.

“Yes,” I replied honestly. “I know it’s corny but—”

His hands slid up my back, “No, it’s not. I just never had any woman tell me she liked those things. It’s cute and honest, but you made a tactical error.”

“How?”

His knuckle skimmed my cheek, and his gaze was tenderly wicked. “Now I know, for sure, how to make you blush.”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” I told him. “But… what made your opinion on Christmas shift so suddenly? What was the eureka moment?”

Tyler’s hand slipped under my parka, under my shirt and below my thermal to touch my skin and damn if I didn’t shiver. “I saw this older couple, possibly in their sixties, skating with their hands clasped. It seemed as if they’d done that for a long time, possibly years to be so in sync. I thought if… I wondered about what they’d have seen in those years, you know, the ups and downs that brought them closer and… I dunno—it just struck me.”

“The holidays tend to bring out those emotions,” I said. “It reminds people of what they’ve got to be thankful for and if someone is by your side for over thirty years, you can be sure that is something to be grateful for.”

His thumbs were making small circles on my skin. “You ever thought about that? Having someone by your side for ten, twenty years, fifty even?”

“I have,” I replied, finding the thick curls at the base of his head to dig my fingers into. “But not much recently.”

“Are you a dreamer, Willow?” he asked. “You know, for the perfect guy, flying in on his white horse?”

I wrinkled my nose. “If by horse you mean a decent vehicle, has a good job and has morals and virtues, yes. I don’t need some hotshot, rich guy and a castle in Beverly Hills to be happy. I don’t need to be jet around the world or eat at a Michelin place every night of the week. To be honest, I’d rather have a picnic in the back of a truck with greasy pizza and pink wine while having a true, honest, conversation. That’s not to say my standards are low—”

“No,” he stopped me. “I get it. You prefer who a person is instead of what they have.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, but… being private isn’t that much of a turn off either.”

He laughed. “So…it’s two days to Christmas Eve. What are my next challenges?”

“Tomorrow night, you and I are serving a homeless shelter,” I said. “It’s a shelter my family funds and they cook meals for the homeless every week, but they do a grand dinner for Christmas. I serve there every year.”

Lips curling, Tyler pulled me in for a kiss. “Sure…baby.”

* * *

When I stepped into my dad’s office later the next morning to get the shelter’s phone number—I had misplaced mine—I found my uncle Herman digging through the file cabinet. I don’t think he heard the door opening because he was mumbling to himself and plucking papers out.

I stood there, wondering what he was doing and watched as he went to the copy machine and got it copying. I stepped in then. “Uncle? What are you—”

He whirled around and dropped the file. “Willow. Oh, my goodness, you startled me.”

“Sorry,” I said while scooping the folder up and looking at the name. “Victoria Hummel—common shareholder. Uncle, why are you looking up our shareholders?”

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