Page 48 of Miles & Mistletoe

Frowning, Ian moved closer until our chests almost touched. He stared down into my eyes, bending lower. Just when I thought he was about to kiss me, he angled his body to the side, bending lower to take the suitcases from my hands. I had no choice but to move out of the doorway as he pulled my suitcases inside and shut the door behind me.

“Hi,” he said after setting by bags to the side.

“Hi?” I chided. “Hi? That’s all you have to say?!”

“I actually have a lot mor—”

“Hi. Ha! How about, I’m an ass! Let’s start there.”

“I could—”

“Or, how about, Stacia, I’m sorry for ever believing that you could betray me like that.”

“I could certainly say that as w—”

“Or, what about, I’m sorry for completely ruining your Christmas, your favorite day of the year because I knew you’d really wanted for us to spend it together because we’ve become more than just friends.”

“Yes, that would be a fitting—”

“Oh, and don’t forget to throw in I’m sorry, Stacia, for making your fear you would lose your job over the baseless claims of a narcissistic ex who happened to be a philandering, shady businessman, involved in God knows what! An ex, by the way, whom I ended things with once I found out he was married! But you wouldn’t listen to any of that. Nooo … Ian Zerlinger doesn’t listen to a peon like—”

“I’m sorry for—”

“No! No, you don’t get to come here with your Christmas lights, and candles, and your good looks and smelling amazingly and just apologize!” I insisted. The hurt and anger I’d been feeling was finally coming out and Ian Zerlinger would hear what I had to say. Every word of it.

“I also brought the last few containers of Zerlinger’s spiked eggnog for the season,” he stated as he moved to my mid-sized refrigerator, pulling out a carton of what’d become my favorite holiday drink.

“How many did you bring?” I asked, just a little of the wind behind my sails being knocked out.

“Three.”

I bit my bottom lip, pondering.

“I also brought something else.”

I narrowed my eyes on him in his navy blue sweater and dark jeans. I especially loved it when he wore jeans.

“What?” I asked defensively, putting my hands on my hips.

He moved from my tiny kitchen to my living room space, picking up a gift wrapped box I hadn’t noticed on my glass coffee table.

I inhaled sharply when I saw the beautifully painted mug Ian removed from the box. On the mug was the scenery of snowfall in the Berkshires.

“It isn’t quite dry yet, but I promised you a mug, made and painted with my bare hands.”

I swallowed. He had promised. The night before we left I asked him to make one of his works just for me. It was totally a joke when I’d asked, but he’d agreed without hesitating.

“You’re still an ass,” I murmured, taking a step forward and then another.

“I know,” he agreed, causing me to smile. “And I’m sorry.”

I didn’t say anything at first. But then the question that’d been paramount in my mind spilled from my lips. “How could you believe that I would do such a thing?”

Sighing, he ran a hand over his bald head. I groaned inwardly at how sexy even his damn bald head was to me.

“I didn’t believe it.”

“But you did. You told me never to even say your name. Discarding me like yesterday’s trash.” I snapped my lip shut just before they began quivering with the tears I refused to let fall.

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