Page 75 of The Christmas Romance Wish

Hand in hand, we walk back to the house.

When we get inside, despite my many layers, my clothing is soggy. “I think I’m going to shower and find something warm and dry to wear.”

“We can throw your clothes in the washing machine. In the meantime, there’s a present under the tree for you.”

The bah humbugs wake up, reminded of the velvet box I spotted last night. “For me? But it’s not Christmas.”

Alex winks and says, “Go take a peek.”

A flat rectangular box sits under the tree. The label has my name with a heart around it.

He says, “Technically, it’s from the Wild Warriors team.”

I tear into the paper and pull out a dark blue sweatshirt with the Wild Warriors crossed hatchets with flames burning above in a campfire-style logo emblazoned across the front. Squishing it up to my face, I say, “I love it. Thank you.”

“Shaylin stashed it in my Jeep when we were at the church yesterday.”

“She’s a true Mrs. Claus.”

“But will she be the future Mrs. Pearce?” Alex waggles his eyebrows.

“I take it they have a past.”

“It would seem that way.”

With my new sweatshirt in hand, I go upstairs and shower then put it on with a pair of leggings. When I get back downstairs, Alex has the fire blazing in the hearth.

Surrounded by a mixing bowl and an assortment of ingredients, he studies a piece of paper on the counter. Looking up, his gaze drops from the hoodie to my leggings and a half smile appears where there’d been a half frown.

“Seeing you in that Wild Warriors hoodie makes me even more wild about you.”

But I’m not entirely convinced it’s the hoodie alone. He seems to be a leggings guy.

I move next to Alex and peer over his shoulder, breathing in his woodsy scent along with cinnamon and spice.

Pointing to a recipe, he says, “This is well out of my range, but it’s Christmas Eve and we need cookies. Do you think this means to whip the butter and then add it to the sugar or mix them all together?”

I skim it and explain the process.

“See? This is why we complement each other,” he says.

“Because I’m a woman and belong in the kitchen?” My voice sounds shrill with accusation.

Lines crease his forehead. “No, because you said you make your own pizza dough. It’s not a stretch to imagine that you can also make cookie dough. Plus, you said gingerbread is your favorite kind.”

Feeling insecure, I put up my defenses. “I can do lots of things.”

“I’m well aware.” Alex pauses like he wants to say something then measures the sugar.

“I can open my own jars.”

“Never doubted it.”

“If I had a car, I’d be able to change the oil and a tire.”

“That’s important.”

“I’m equipped to defend myself as necessary.” I subtly lock my fingers around his wrist as if preparing to take him down with a jiu-jitsu sweep.

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