Page 90 of Christmas in Paradise

Then there are the doctors for her eyes, her asthma, and her developmental delays.

Those are all the worries occupying my brain when I get back to the inn. I walk through the door, wave to Margene, and down the hall to my room, propelled by my spinning thoughts. My steps are heavy as I go down my mental checklist of all the things I have to get done today, starting with getting Charly dressed and fed.

I don’t have time to be stuck in a hotel room in Florence fighting an undeniable attraction to the man I’m stuck there with. I never would have wished it if I thought this kind of thingactuallyhappened.

To be honest, I’m a little bitter about the whole situation. I know this one bed trope plays funny in books and movies, but I’m not laughing living it. I’m just stressed. That’s all. Stressed and not laughing.

When I’m almost to my room, the door opens, and Charly bounds out with Uncle Rad.

“Wait for me, Charly!” Seb calls from inside, then appears a second later.

“Mommy!” Charly sees me and runs with her arms out, letting go of Uncle Rad’s leash that Seb rushes to grab.

I know I took out her buns last night—she hates to sleep with them—but she’s got two uneven ones on the sides of her head. The buns bounce, coming a little more undone with each step she takes.

By the time she throws her arms around me, Charly’s hair is flying all over without a bun in sight. “Sebby did buns,” she says into my neck before pulling away. “See?”

She pats her head, but her smile falls when she can’t feel her buns. “Where they go? I wost dem.”

Seb reaches us, and Charly looks up at him with her finger pointed to her head. “Where my buns?”

He looks down, and his whole chest falls. “They came out already? It took me forever to do those things! I had to watch a YouTube video, like, a thousand times.”

“I’m sorry, baby. We can fix them later.” I stand and smile at Seb. “I can’t believe you did her hair.”

I don’t say a word about the fact that Charly’s sweater is on over her overalls, which will make it impossible for her to go potty, something she is finally so close to getting.

“I figured it would save you time, plus she was ready for breakfast. I wasn’t sure what the protocol there was. Whether she could go in pajamas or what.” He sways side to side, letting Charly swing his arm back and forth while Uncle Rad tugs at the leash in his other hand. “Did you get the mistletoe?”

“Mission accomplished.”

“I hungry!” Charly stops the swinging and picks up both her legs to hang from Seb’s hand.

“Well done.” He tips to the side with Charly’s weight, but quickly recovers his balance and holds her in the air. One-handed. Like it takes no effort at all.

I’ve seen plenty of pictures of shirtless men doing bicep curls, holding a fifty-pound weight, lifting it like it’s nothing. I’m not denying those pictures aren’t nice to look at. They are.

They’re just not as nice as the view I’ve got right now of Seb dead lifting my little girl. His muscles strain against the long-sleeve shirt clinging to them, their outline visible in his sleeve. Somehow imagining them is sexier than seeing them.

“Let’s go get some pancakes, monkey!” Seb lowers Charly to the floor, then takes her hand.

But his eyes stay on me.

Because, apparently, I’m staring at him.

Or studying.

Studying is a better word for what I’m doing. Because I thought I had Seb all figured out. But he keeps surprising me, and every time he does, I have to recalculate who he is and then what I think we could be together.

But I think I’ve finally found the answer.

Good.

Reallygood.

That’s what I think we could be together.

I take Charly’s other hand, and the three of us walk toward the stairs. Charly chatters about what Uncle Rad will eat for breakfast and Seb nods, even slipping in a joke about the puppy eating little girl toes like she tried to this morning.

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