Page 85 of Christmas in Paradise

Because what do we do with that, other than acknowledge it? But at least we’re at a point where he’s okay being honest about his reason. At least he’s aware of it. That’s something.

“Now you,” he says, rolling his shoulders back, shaking off the vulnerability pressing in on both of us. “Tell me about your Christmases.”

I’m only too happy to change the subject, so I launch into my own family traditions: opening pajamas on Christmas Eve, going to church, driving around Wichita to see the best Christmas lights.

I tell him about Christmases when Evie was with us—those were usually my favorite. We talk about our favorite gifts we ever got. Mine was Heelies. I skated everywhere for months. Seb’s was one of his dad’s medals.

We talk until we crest the last hill and Florence’s lights greet us.

That’s when I ask, “What hotel are we staying at?”

“Um, well…” Seb slides his hand from mine and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s actually more of a bed-and-breakfast, anniversary, honeymoon, kind of place.”

“Oh.” That could be awkward. “They’re okay with kids though? Charly will have her own bed?”

His mouth pulls into a frown. “They don’t usually allow kids, but I begged. And because it’s kind of a romantic place, only one bed per room.”

“Oh.” The thought of staying at aromantichotel with Seb reduces my vocabulary to that word.

But I quickly come to my senses. We have two rooms, and he’s obviously gone to a lot of trouble just to get us those rooms. “That’s fine. She can sleep with me. Totally fine.”

It’s fine. Everything isfine.I’m not thinking about every Christmas Hallmark movie ever with a snowstorm, an inn, and only one bed. That doesn’t happen in real life.

No matter how much I may be impulsively wishing for that very thing right now.

I knew I shouldn’t have held Seb’s hand. I know better. Hand holding is the gateway drug to full-blown kissing. Or, worse, full-blown attachment. You think it’s no big deal, but then when you try to quit, you want more. You want commitment. You want a hand to hold all the time.

And, if you have a hand to hold all the time, there are always lips that come with it. An entire face even, willing to kiss and be kissed.

“What’s this place called anyway?” I ask to prove everything is fine. I’m not thinking about the million-to-one possibility of having to share a bed with him, or the hand holding and kissing that could happen in that bed.

I’mnot.

Seb lets out a nervous laugh. “You’re not going to like it. Especially after your squirrel ordeal.”

“Are we staying at a hotel for squirrels?” I’m only half joking. He’s got me nervous. For so many reasons that have nothing to do with squirrels.

Seb laughs harder. “No. It’s not that bad.” He turns down a narrow street and parks in front of a large brick house and points at the snow-covered sign.

I can barely read the name, but when I do, all I can say is, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Chapter 27

Sebastian

One of the hazards of being an electrician is getting shocked on a fairly regular basis. Not the kind of shocked that knocks you on your feet. The kind that buzzes through your body so fast, it’s already gone before you realize what’s happened. It doesn’t hurt, just surprises.

Honestly, I like it. It’s a reminder that I’m surrounded by electricity, an invisible force so powerful, once scientists learned to harness it, it changed the world.

Even though we’ve been holding hands for over an hour, when I tell Hope we’re staying at a romantic inn, a similar force is palpable in the cab of my truck. It pulsates between us for the last few miles of our drive, tempting us closer together, even as we try to keep our distance. We make small talk, pretending we’re not dancing around the live wire of attraction, acting like we don’t know how much we want each other.

So when we pull up to the bed-and-breakfast and Hope sees the name, it’s like someone has flipped off the main breaker powering the tension between us, giving us both some relief.

“Mistletoe Inn?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Really.”

“I asked if they’re a squirrel gang safehouse, and they said no. But I checked Yelp reviews too. No mention of any squirrel problems.” I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

“I hope you’re right.” Hope drags a hand through her hair, which is all back in place, but the memory of the squirrels there is still fresh.

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