Page 63 of Christmas in Paradise

“Why haven’t you told me this? How long have you been baking?” I prop myself onto the table and watch him rifle through the boxes. “Is that why you were wearing an apron the other night? Because you’d been baking?”

“Ah ha!” he holds up something from one of the boxes, then goes back to searching the other boxes. “I was wearing an apron because I’d made dinner, but yes, I’d also been baking.”

“Youmade dinner? Why didn’t you tell me?” I swing my legs back and forth, thoroughly enjoying watching him at work, along with all the bending over his search requires.

“You didn’t ask. Why did you assume Mom had made it?” He glances over his shoulder, and I raise an eyebrow, because we both know the answer to that question.

He laughs and goes back to his search. His long sleeves cover his tattoo, which I haven’t thought much about because he’s never in short sleeves. But I’m reminded of it now, maybe because his shirt stretches tight across his shoulders. Which is an incredibly good look for him.

And an excellent view for me.

“Now answer the rest of my questions.”

Seb pulls something from a box, then stands and turns around. His gaze falls on me and a hunger fills his eyes that makes my pulse spike. He walks slowly back to the table I’m sitting on without breaking eye contact.

Despite my racing pulse, my breath slows. Time has a way of going still when I’m with Seb. The world falls away. There’s just us right now and the undeniable force that draws us together.

In the words of Darth Vader,it is useless to resist.

When Seb gets to the table, he stands so close that my arm brushes his. The one with the tattoo. “Remind me what your question was.”

“When did you learn to bake and why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask, breathing in the smell of his soap mixed with the sharp tint of the metal that fills his shop.

“That’s two questions.”

“I’ve never been good at math.”

Seb laughs and leans across me to grab wire cutters hanging on the pegboard to the side of the table. His face is so close, I see a spot he missed shaving. I resist running my thumb over it, but I can’t stop the memory of kissing him when he was unshaven. His stubble rough against my skin at the same time his lips were soft and gentle.

“I learned from my Aunt Heidi. I spent time with her at the Garden when she ran it. She was a great cook, but an even better baker. Her grandma—my Granny Sparks’s mom—was the original Britta at Breakfast at Britta’s.” While Seb talks, he picks up a strand of miniature Christmas lights, cuts them in half.

“And that Britta is Granny Nielsen? The one whose house Georgia renovated first on her show.” I’ve been trying to keep everyone in the family straight, but it’s hard when half of them go by Granny or Britta. Or both.

“You got it. I’m impressed.” Seb cocks a grin at me. “The Nielsen-Thomsen-Sparks family tree isn’t easy to keep straight.”

I grin back, pleased with myself, but my thoughts turn quickly back to Heidi. “Evie’s told me about Heidi. She wishes she would have known her before the Alzheimer’s.”

Adam’s mom has early onset Alzheimer’s and isn’t doing well. The bits and pieces I hear about what she was like before she got sick make me think I would have liked her.

Seb pulls in his lips and nods. “Yeah. She was amazing. It’s hard to see her the way she is now—withdrawn and kind of lost. She was always the center of things.” Seb focuses hard on the wire he’s stripping, using more force than he probably needs to.

Then he sets down the wire cutters and faces me with the smirk and the intense look that convinced me to get on the back of his bike almost six months ago. His arm presses against my thigh, and even through layers of clothes, I feel the heat of him.

“As for your other question.” His eyes dance between light and dark as he tips his head to the side. “I suppose I didn’t get around to telling you I like to bake because we didn’t do a lot of talking when you were here before.”

A pang of regret shoots through me, reminding me I shouldn’t have kept Charly from him, but it passes quickly when I don’t see any hurt of judgment in Seb’s eyes.

He runs the tip of his tongue over the inside of his lip, then bites back a smile. I feel my own lips tug into a grin as my eyes drop to his mouth.

I don’t know what I want more right now: to give into temptation and kiss him or enjoy the excitement and anticipation building between us a little longer.

Charly’s squeals travel from the front of the store to us, interrupting the moment like a sudden rainstorm in the heat of summer. It’s a welcome relief, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the heat.

“So what are you doing to my moose rack?” I scoot further back on the table, putting space between Seb and me.

His mouth pulls to the side in a conspiratorial grin.

Because I am sure that we both know resistance is futile. Now might not be the time, but wewillrevisit the chemistry we shared last summer. The anticipation that idea brings is equal to seeing wrapped presents under the tree weeks before Christmas morning, and I am very much looking forward to whenever our unwrapping happens.

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