Page 87 of Christmas in Paradise

When she turns, I drop my hands and nod to Uncle Rad. “Sorry. Didn’t want you to step on her.”

My fingers tingle where they held her, and she holds me tight in her startling blue eyes.

“We should go to bed,” she says with a heavy breath, then her cheeks go red. “I mean, we should go to sleep… somewhere… not in the same bed.”

“Of course! We should sleep. It’s late. We’ve got to be up early tomorrow.” Words come out fast—too fast—but I stay planted in front of her.

Uncle Rad sits between us, panting and looking back and forth, like she’s waiting for something to happen. She shifts her front paws, then her hindquarters; wags her tail across the wood floor—once, twice—then gives up and drops onto her belly.

“Guess I’d better get her into bed too.” I smile, then swallow hard. Because it’s hard not to notice the bed-shaped, mistletoe-covered, elephant in the room.

I turn quickly and head for the door. “I’ll take her out to do her business while you… do what you need to get ready to go to,” I swallow again. “Sleep.”

“Okay. That works.” She wraps her hand around the post closest to her. “But where are you going to sleep?”

My eyes dart involuntarily to the bed, and heat rushes to my cheeks again as I force my gaze to the plush rug in front of the fire.

“There.” I point to the faux fur rug that looks like it’s seen better days. “I’ll turn on the fire, and it’ll be like camping. Better because I won’t freeze.”

And, if I curl up like Charly, I’ll almost fit.

But I don’t say that part out loud.

“I’m sorry.” Hope scrunches her nose—an expression so cute I want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go every time she does it.

“It’s fine.” I smile. “Go to bed. I’ll be back in a bit.”

I tug Uncle Rad out the door and take a deep breath, which slows my pulse but doesn’t cool my blood.

Snow is coming down hard when I take Uncle Rad out. Luckily, she goes quick. I suppose she doesn’t want to stay outside any longer than I do.

When we go back in, I hang out in the library room, looking at books I’ve got no interest in. But I want to give Hope time to get into bed and fall asleep. The sooner she does that, the sooner I can crash on the floor and try to pretend she’s not three feet away.

I wait fifteen minutes, but when my eyes begin to drift shut, I head back to the room.

The lights are out, but the fire is on in the gas fireplace. In the glow of the flames, I see a pillow and thick blanket on top of the rug.

I glance at the bed where there’s a Hope-shaped form under the covers that slowly rises and falls with deep breaths. On the other side of the bed, Charly has thrown off the quilt and her thumb hangs loosely from her mouth.

I walk to her side and cover her again.

Minutes later, after changing into sweatpants, I climb into my makeshift bed. If I stretch out my feet, they hit the wall. But if I curl onto my side, my knees hang off the rug and hit the wood floor. And then there’s the thoughts I’m having about Hope being in the bed next to me that make me even more uncomfortable.

I’m shifting side to side, trying to find a comfortable spot when I hear Hope whisper my name.

“Seb?”

“Yeah?” I whisper back, holding my breath.

“There’s a lot of mistletoe in here.”

A quick, loud laugh escapes, and I clamp my mouth shut.

“So. Much,” I reply when I can do it quietly.

A long pause follows, and I wonder if Hope has drifted to sleep.

But then she whispers, “Charly really likes you.”

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