Page 48 of Her Holiday Heartthrobs

“A story?”

This time, I give her my patentedyou-know-what-I’m-talking-aboutlook. I’ve been in business too long to not have a few tricks up my sleeve. “If you don’t want people to know you’ve read their texts, there’s a setting for that.”

More color fills her cheeks. “Right. The frog—toad actually. But, I suppose that’s neither here nor there.”

Paige waves her hand to dismiss whatever lecture I see brewing.

“Okay, well, it’s not a very interesting story, and I’m sure Dad could have told it better, but I was six. My best friend and I were picking berries in her backyard—or down the creek in a neighbor’s backyard—and on the way back, I fell in the muddy water.” She shrugs. “After we climbed out, that toad jumped out of my shorts. Bebe’s mom took that picture.”

“How often did that kind of thing happen to you as a child?”

She shrugs again as if it was nothing abnormal. “Capturing amphibious creatures in my pants? Just the one time. Exploring the neighborhood wildlands as a kid…Dad called me his little tree nymph.”

“How many times did you come back a mess? Leaves and twigs in your hair? Dirt under your fingernails?” I hadn’t been allowed to get dirty like that until I joined the football team. It made for a tame childhood. Or as tame as it could have been for a high-energy, nervous boy.

Now, I’ve got the smile from her that I want to see. “Yes. All of the above. Although, sometimes, I had flowers in my hair. Or I was soaked from playing in the snow.”

A wistful look crosses her face. She must be thinking about Paxton. “You do the same things with your son?”

Paige sits up straight and pins the mother of all mom looks. “Henry told you?”

“Was it supposed to be a secret?”

She chews on her lip for a second, staring at me. What is going through her mind? Why has she not talked about him at all? Where’s the father? How much of this would she answer if I actually asked her?

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

We pull into a lot with a high-end Christmas store, and I help her out of the car. When I keep us hovering there, her nostrils flare, pupils dilate. I grin down at her, enjoying the reaction to my proximity.

“You don’t ever talk about him. Most moms I know can’t help but talk about their kids.” Granted, they’re all older than Paige.

“Most moms don’t get prominent positions in the companies they work for. Especially not young ones.” That stubbornness returns and she’s so fucking hard to resist.

“I suppose you may be right. I’ll have to keep that in mind at the next quarterly review.”

Her eyes glitter at me, and I swear she’s fighting a smile. I escort her through the glass doors and pause at the giant animatronic Santa Clause beside an equally big Frosty the Snowman blowup. I tap my finger against my mouth as I look them over.

Paige watches me with obvious horror.

“What? Not something you think would look good in our lobby?”

“No.” And she doesn’t offer me a single explanation.

“I thought the kids might be into this stuff. Look at the reindeer.”

With a huff, she marches off into the store. I follow, needing to jog to catch up. She sidesteps me when I put my hand at her back, weaving into a narrow archway of lights. The spread creates glowing sparkles through her hair and across her pale face. Her arms cross as she ignores me, stepping out of the arch the moment I step in.

I catch her at the next display and trap her against me. “I was not calling you a kid.”

Her brow raises at me. She might be one of the youngest managers in my office, but that certainly doesn’t make her a kid.

“Believe me. I do not see you as a kid.” I press us more tightly together, smiling when her jaw clenches and that fire threatens to burn this place down. “Does it feel like I see you that way?”

Her chin lifts defiantly, as if daring me to kiss her right there to prove it, and fuck, I want to. Instead, I wait, noting every little bit of her that softens the longer we stand like this.

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