Page 28 of Home for Christmas in July

“Comfy?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I take a contented sip of my drink.

“Look up,” he suggests, tipping his head back.

I do the same. The sky is already a dark purple. A silver sliver of a crescent moon hangs over the shadow of the mountains. And the stars. The sky is an explosion of bright pinpricks. There’s not much light pollution in town, but this display is next level.

Awe flows through me, filling my chest. “Wow,” I breathe.

“This is my favorite thing about the cabin.”

“I can see why.”

We sit side by side, our throats open to the sky and soak in the celestial display. His shoulder is pressed up against my bare arm and an image flashes in my mind. We’re sitting in Regent’s Park in London, a picnic blanket spread out on the ground, Nick’s arm draped over my shoulder as I snuggle into his side, staring out at another panoramic view.

“This reminds me of watching the sunset from Primrose Hill,” he says in a low voice.

A shiver runs along my spine. “I was just remembering that night.”

I feel his gaze slide away from the stars and toward me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I leave unsaid the rest of that memory. I wonder if it’s playing out in his mind, too. That night, when I met him after he got off work and we had a sunset picnic in a spot famous for its romantic vibe ended exactly how we both knew it would.

I wriggle slightly so we’re no longer touching and reach for the wine bottle. I top off my glass, and then his. He raises the glass toward me then takes a sip without moving his eyes away from my face. Based on the heat in his gaze, he’s also thinking about the first time we slept together.

Is his face moving closer to mine? Yes, he’s definitely leaning toward me. My pulse flutters. Why am I thinking about his mouth covering mine, the pressure of his lips, the salty taste of his tongue?

I gulp my wine and blurt, “So, what’s the third thing?”

He freezes. “What?”

“The third thing. What is it—something to do better tomorrow?”

The intensity in his eyes fades, and he pulls back. “Oh. Yeah. What’s one thing you’re going to do to make tomorrow a brighter day?”

The moment successfully interrupted, I relax, too. “I’m going to let you join my scavenger hunt so you don’t have to pretend to fish.”

He laughs. “Very charitable.”

“And what will you do to make tomorrow a brighter day?”

“What am I going to do?” He takes a drink while he considers the question. Then he snaps his fingers. “Got it.”

I raise my eyebrows in a question.

“I’m gonna raid Merry’s herb garden out back and make my famous herb frittata for breakfast.”

Relieved at being on less fraught footing, I give him a skeptical look. “It’s famous, huh?”

“Maybe not internationally famous. Locally famous.”

I purse my lips. “I’m a good judge of frittatas, you know. Hope you can back up this claim.”

“Oh, I can. It’ll be a match for anything you’ve tried in the past.”

Our easy banter pushes the earlier weirdness out of my mind. “Talk to me about these herbs.”

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