Page 88 of Christmas in Paradise

I smile at the ceiling and sink into my bed. The rug isn’t soft enough for me not to feel the hard floor underneath me, but there’s no place I’d rather be right now.

“I like her too.”

“Good,” she says.

Another long pause, then she says, “Maybe we could all spend more time together.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.”

The sounds of heavy breathing follow, interspersed with Charly’s tiny snores.

I didn’t know kids snored.

One more thing I’ve learned in the past few weeks. I add it to my growing list of things I never knew I wanted to know but that now make my life a little fuller.

Chapter 28

Hope

Sleeping in the same bed with Charly is like trying to sleep during a wrestling match. Like, curling up with a blanket in the middle of the mat while two people are grappling. She repositions her little body all night long trying to gain ground against her opponent: me.

At some point I must have fallen asleep because I wake up in the morning with her feet in my face and the rest of her body stretched across the entire bed.

Honestly, though, I could have slept through all of that—I’ve done it before.

The thing that really kept me awake is knowing Seb is only feet away, wondering if he’s as hyper aware as I am how close we are. Wondering if he’s as tempted to curl up with me as I am to lie next to him, press my body against his back, and slide my arm around his waist.

And not just because I saw his dark outline as he pulled off his T-shirt. The shifting light of the flames in the fireplace emphasized the definition in his shoulders, biceps, and obliques, highlighting each one. The logs in the fire snapped and crackled their approval with such intensity, I couldn’t have looked away even if I’d wanted to.

(Okay, they didn’t really do that. It’s a gas fireplace; the logs are fake. The snapping and crackling was my brain exploding).

The real reason I couldn’t sleep, aside from shirtless-Seb-fueled adrenaline rushing through my veins, is sweet-Seb-fueled gratitude washing over me.

He took care of Charly all day yesterday, teaching her the Danish folk dance, making her ebelskiver, not freaking out over the butter. So. Much. Butter. And that was all before he insisted on driving me here, to pick up mistletoe. A job I could have done by myself, but he insisted he didn’t want me driving through the canyon in a snowstorm.

I didn’t fight him too hard on that. I know I could have done it, but he said he wanted to spend the time with meandCharly.

If he was slowly stepping out of his comfort zone before, I feel like yesterday he got shot out of it in one of those circus cannons.

The best part, though, is that he’s not dashing to get back inside that comfort zone.

And that’s what makes me want to wrap my arms around him and never let go.

But first, mistletoe.

I’ve got to get to the florist by seven am, which means getting myself and Charly ready before then. So I slip out of bed and tiptoe toward the bathroom, quietly stepping around Seb on the floor, so I don’t wake him.

“Morning,” he says sleepily, making me jump. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I take a breath to slow my racing heart. “I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?”

Seb stands and shakes his head, stretching his arms over his head. This is the closest view I’ve had of his tattoo. It’s even more intricate up close. “Nah. I didn’t sleep much. How about you?”

I tear my eyes away from the tree covering his bicep, but they get snagged on his chest. It’s only inches away, and even more distracting close up. And all I can do is shake my head in answer to his question.

“Charly’s still asleep,” he says, looking over my shoulder.

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