Page 27 of Inherited Holiday

They did get me my truck, and I was grateful for it nonetheless. They ended up ruining the sentiment after they reminded me that I was Nicholas Saint Clair and needed to start working for one of their businesses. I could be making more money with them than I was with my handyman work. It wasn’t about the money, though. It never was, yet they didn’t understand that. They didn’t even try to understand me.

I tried not to focus on any of that, wanting to make this day special for Noelle. We finally approached a small clearing where the snow continued to rise beneath our feet. The look on her face the second she saw that I’d turned part of the woods into a winter wonderland was the only gift I needed that Christmas.

“Nicholas, I can’t believe you did this,” she whispered, completely caught off guard.

Her eyes shifted from all the colorful lights strung around the trees to the makeshift Christmas trees surrounding us that I decorated. I themed it using her favorite gingerbread house and bright colors in the lights and decor. It was the life-size gingerbread house I built with my own two hands that really knocked her on her ass. The painting and design took me the most time, but the actual carpentry and build only took me a few days.

I watched her walk around the open space, grazing her bare fingers along the wood with a smile across her face. She twirled around as the snow fell down on us.

“I can’t believe you did this for me.”

I shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “I had some free time.”

“This is the sweetest and kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. Truly.”

Her eyes rimmed with happy tears when she looked deep into my gaze.

They say the smallest decisions could change your life forever. I’d always remember this moment for the rest of my life.

I told her to look up.

She did.

Right there above our heads was the blue mistletoe I hung.

“You don’t see the blue one that often.” She stated what I was thinking when I bought it.

I nodded, waiting for I don’t know what.

A signal?

A sign?

I wasn’t really sure.

When you’re sixteen, how much do you really know?

This kiss would hold me over until I could do it again every year. I didn’t intend to start this tradition between us, but I guess you could say this was where it began for us.

I kissed her under the mistletoe every year, knowing how special that was.

This would become the only tradition I ever cared for. I wish I could describe the intensity I felt with her at that moment. Only I couldn’t do it justice. I couldn’t put into words what felt so right.

I leaned in and kissed her.

Her lips parted a bit, and I opened mine too. However, it was over before it even began.

A tree branch breaking broke our trancelike state, and we pulled away from one another. Her hair was a mess of waves, she smelled like cinnamon, and it was doing all sorts of things to my head.

How the hell did she smell this good all the time?

Neither one of us said a word about what just happened. Instead, we completely blew it off. For the next hour, we ate the snacks I left in the picnic basket earlier that day in the gingerbread house. We sat on an extra-soft blanket I spent way too much time trying to find. Christmas lights were all around us, and as much as I hated to admit it, it was magical.

Like Hallmark.

Stuff you’d seen in a holiday rom-com movie.

Even with that, I didn’t give a shit.

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