Page 54 of It Must Be Love

I walked into her apartment and felt a rush of homecoming. Ann had said it was a hovel and Kara didn't like leaving her son here. It was not a hovel. It was small, yes, but cozy as hell and had a lived-in feel to it. It was comfortable. No interior designer had decided to put a priceless piece of art somewhere to make sure you could never walk around your home without wondering what you were going to break.

Her living room, kitchen, and dining area were open-plan. The couch was electric blue and whimsical. The coffee table was low and simple. A big vase of fresh flowers sat atop it. There were two armchairs that looked ridiculously comfortable, facing a television that was mounted on the wall. There were colorful cushions everywhere and mismatched blankets. The floor was fake hardwood, and she'd added rugs with abstract designs to demarcate the living space from the dining. I remembered the dining table; it seated four and had leaves that expanded it to seat ten. It was the table from her father's house. The one I'd eaten at. The chairs were not the same. These were also in light blue and were made of molded plastic and had metal legs. The table was set for two. The candles were tea lamps nestled in cute metal reindeers. On top of dark blue cloth napkins, she'd put a sprig of pine and cinnamon tied together with a brown string. Two wine glasses, one for white and one for red. The silverware was also familiar. Her father's.

"I love your place," I blurted out as I set the wine bottles on a kitchen counter.

"Thank you." She opened the oven, checked something, and closed it. She was doing her usual I won't look at you eye dance.

The kitchen wasn't new by any means, but again, it had that comfortable people cook here feel to it. And the smell of a roast made me hungry.

I pulled out the two bottles of white and two of champagne. "These need to go in the fridge."

"How much wine did you bring?" she asked aghast. "How much wine do you think we're going to drink?"

I grinned. "In case we don't like something, we can—"

"Oh my god, this is…this is my favorite Cab Franc." She finally looked at me, and I loved how her eyes danced with pleasure. "How did you know?"

"I have my ways," I said in a mock Eastern European accent.

She pulled out a cold bottle of champagne from her fridge as I put the bottles I brought inside. It wasn't a big fridge, but again, it was stocked with vegetables, fruits, and condiments that indicated a cook lived in this house. And to my delight, in the middle of it all stood a classic French yule log cake.

"Tell me it's got chestnut filling," I pleaded.

"It does." There was laughter in her voice.

I leaned against a kitchen counter as she expertly opened the champagne and filled two glasses.

"Merry Christmas." She looked at me with a big smile and my heart actually stuttered. She was beautiful!

I clinked my glass against hers. "Merry Christmas, Naya, and thank you for taking pity on my lonely ass and sharing your Christmas Eve with me."

She flushed, and her eyes darted down to her champagne glass.

"Naya?"

"Yeah." She was about to move further into the kitchen when I grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Can you please look at me when you talk to me?" I requested gently.

"Why?" She didn't raise her eyes.

"Because I want to see your beautiful eyes."

Now she did; a flash of panic settled in them. "What?"

"You have fucking gorgeous gray eyes. I used to notice them following me around when I used to come to your father's house."

She swallowed. "I guess my crush on you was a little hard to miss."

"I was flattered."

She scoffed. "Please, don't lie."

"Why would I lie?" It hurt that even a small thing like this wasn't something she could accept from me without thinking I had an ulterior motive.

"I don't know." Her eyes were back on the floor.

"Please, look at me. I hate that you look down, look away. Why?"

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