Page 203 of Accidentally Under Your Tree

"No, I won't spill. Actually, here." He stepped even closer. A shiver ran down my spine as his strong fingers plunged into the hair at the nape of my neck. He placed the cup on my lower lip and eased my head back.

My senses were full of his firm grip, and creamy chocolate, and the focus of his eyes on my mouth.

It was over as quickly as it started.

I swallowed the liquid. Overwhelmed and bereft.

He'd taken steps away. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths. My breathing a match for his. I didn't have to press my hand to his chest to know that our hearts beat at the same pace. We were trapped in the same maze, twists and turns and dead ends separated us. But we were pulled toward the same center.

His eyes raked over me. The way his eyes drew over the curves of my body was as if, instead of a loose-fitting sweater and jeans, I was wearing nothing at all.

When he met my gaze again, the force of his need pushed the air from my lungs. Then he lifted the cup he'd just held to my lips. Without breaking eye contact, he put it to his mouth, tilted his head back, and drank.

A little over an hour later, glitter littered the floor, and they'd announced the winner of the contest. But I struggled to break from the loop of Will and that damn cup of hot chocolate.

Nothing that erotic had happened in the basement of the Methodist Church before.

Once again, I found myself to be the only person standing next to "our" tree. But in truth, it was Mom's and Rose's accomplishment.

It was stunning.

The longer I looked at it, the more I appreciated the depth and thought they'd put into it. Heavily interspersed feathers cascaded from top to bottom making the tree looked like it might take flight. The white elements were heavier in the lower branches and grew blacker as they ascended. There was even a dancer twirling on a mirror lake tucked near the trunk. Rose's handmade topper, depicting a delicate ballerina draped in white tulle and feathers, of course, with the same ballerina done in black emerging ominously from behind her. The display was opulent and ridiculous.

It was possibly my favorite tree they'd ever done.

I recognized Rose's footfalls descending the stairs. My shoulders tensed, and I breathed through my pursed lips to force my tight chest to loosen. Every time she had ignored me in the past dug little divots out of my heart. But something had shifted in the past twenty-four hours.

It hurt to hope.

"Hey," she mumbled, but it bounced off the cinderblock walls and tile floor.

"Hi," I answered.

"What are you doing?"

Shrugging one shoulder, I looked back to her tree. "Appreciating…"

Saying the wordartfelt pretentious, even if that was exactly what she and Mom had created.

Rose crossed her arms over her chest, standing a few feet to my left. She took in the bulbs and feathers with a more critical eye than mine. "We were a bit heavy-handed—"

"It's perfect," I cut her off. "You were robbed."

We both looked at the winning Christmas tree, with its Santa's Train theme. Shay, Lawrence, and their mom had done an excellent job. It was wholesome and sweet.

"I do love to win, but I'd rather make this," Rose gestured to her creation with the flick of a wrist, "than that."

"They did a good job."

"It's cute," she acknowledged.

I fixed my gaze pointedly on the black swan prima donna sitting atop the tree. She stared back with disdain and judgment. "And it's not even a little frightening to small children."

She chuckled. "So, like, what even is the point, then?"

I laughed. "Seriously. Now this," I pointed up to the tree, "some kid is going to remember."

"This is core memory material."

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