Page 8 of Peppermint Bark

I felt my cheeks redden as I gave a faint eye roll.

She smirked.

I tilted my head half an inch to look up at Alexander, still crowding my space. He wore a smug grin, as if the entire nonverbal conversation had broadcast over my face. The jerk knew he’d won, and he was gloating.

Saving face, I stepped backwards and pivoted to wash my hands. Above the sink, I winced at my reflection: clumped mascara, worn-off lipstick, stringy hair. The perfect look for close contact with the sexiest man alive.

In the mirror’s reflection, his gaze started at my boots, paused over my hips, and slid up my spine. I pulled a paper towel and moved out of his way, watching as he stepped to the sink.

He rolled up his sleeves to reveal his short fingernails, the taut muscles of his veined forearms, and the glimmer of an expensive gold watch, the kind that costs more than my annual salary.

And no ring.

I don’t know why I noticed that.

After a quick dry, he turned to his father’s hospital bed.

His shoulders tightened and nostrils flared.

I should look away. Give him privacy.

His bottom lip retreated slightly behind his teeth.

I shouldn’t be here.

I should wait in the hall.

His hand rubbed his neck, tugging at his collar.

I knew I should leave.

But I didn’t.

I stepped closer to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder … but at the last second, I followed my gut and slid my hand into his.

His palm flinched, startled fingers contracting. Abort mission!

But when I tried to retreat, his fingertips tightened, realigning my hand to interlace our fingers. His pulse raced where our wrists touched.

I couldn’t explain why I reached for him. Maybe it was because Mallory had done it for me. Maybe it was the stillness of the hospital. Maybe it was the impropriety of being alone with him. All I knew was that he needed comfort.

His coarse voice pierced the silence. “Is he …?”

“He’ll have scarring and mobility issues, and need cardiac rehab.” But this wasn’t just any patient; this was his dad, my Bruce. “Already, he’s not as pale.”

“This is … better?” he blinked, assessing his father’s complexion.

“He was making jokes before, flirting with your mom as usual.” His lip lifted as his thumb traced a circle on the back of my hand. “He’s on morphine to make breathing and sleeping easier, but I bet he’ll be back on the slopes outskiing us next year.”

Alexander snickered. “He’ll never outski me.”

“Just me, I guess.”

His neck swiveled.

On the phone, my proximity to his dad had been explained by the ribbon cutting. In the hallway, I’d been a staff member gatekeeping his access. But with this look, it felt like he was seeing me for the first time. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. “He took you skiing?”

“Yeah, we stayed at the cabin. I slept in your bed up in the attic.”

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