Page 20 of Boats, Moats, & Root Beer Floats

I reached down and flicked it free. “You’ll have to show me later.”

His Adam's Apple bobbed. “I can do that.”

Smiling, I turned back to decorate the garland as Covin passed me holly until I was satisfied. Then he helped me down. I tried to disguise my shaking legs but failed.

“I’ve been pushing too hard, huh?” He reached out and tucked a wayward spiral curl behind my ear.

“A bit?” I admitted. “My artist's ass isn’t made for exercise.”

“I don’t know. You managed to high foot it down to the village pretty damn fast yesterday when you ran from me.” He dropped his hands and took a step back, giving me space.

I hated it. I wanted him back, closer.

Swallowing, I reached for him like he had for me, but it was too late. He’d already turned away.

“Covin,” I whispered, my breath lodged in my throat.

He stopped, and after a moment, he held out a hand, not looking at me. “Ready to deal with the stairs? I promise you can starfish on the floor all you like and nap while I do the tower.”

“Deal.” I yawned as I took his hand, covering the tears that sprang to my eyes as exhaustion, not a reaction to his compassion to a woman he’d met mere days ago, took a hold.

The ex-who-would-not-be-named-ever-again would never have made that offer. He would have shoved my ass up those stairs with a body shaming comment revolving around my fitness or lack thereof, then made decorating an utter hell I never wanted to repeat.

We broke up shortly before he got involved in a low income building scheme that he was bought out when the original budget failed by an anonymous benefactor who heroed theproject the moment it began to topple off its not-so-strong foundations and set it right again.

With the influx of excess capital and a bonus he never earned I suspect each contributor was paid out in an effort to let the new project owner slide in and take over seamlessly, the ex became worse. We broke up shortly afterward. The last time I saw him, he was dating a pair of twins with matching plastic boobs and waistlines that were better suited to an out of proportion toy store doll.

All that to say…it made Dustman’s offer of starfishing on the tower floor seem really damn sweet.

“Okay,” I whispered again, taking his offered hand.

His fingers closed firmly around mine, and he led me up the stairs at a more sedate pace this time, still carrying the remaining garlands and bag of tinsel, bows and baubles. I grabbed a dangling end of greenery, determined to do something. He huffed a laugh at my efforts, but said nothing derogatory.

Something warm bloomed in my chest that had the edge of cinnamon and gingerbread and none of the sharp tines of holly.

Maybe this Christmas would be that much different to my last one that ended in so many tears.

CHAPTER EIGHT

COVIN

Lindy offered little resistance as I led her up to the top of my tower. Some part of that seemed ass about, but I didn’t stop to think it through. All I wanted was this woman I’d been craving for the better part of two days. A woman I hadn’t known existed before then but now she was in my life I had no intention of her leaving it.

The remainder of my time in the castle looming without her after Christmas seemed long and lonely and bereft without her colorful presence. Even Al stayed away from the tower stairwell, and I was grateful not to have to tell him to find another room to play in or tins to stack for the time being.

The joke about the ghostly threesome notwithstanding, I had no intention of sharing Lindy with anyone, whether that someone had been dead for two hundred years, or not.

A ghost not getting any action was not my problem tonight.

By the time we reached the top of the stairwell, Lindy’s feet dragged. I placed the bags of forestry by the side of the doorway, toed it open with my boot and scooped an arm under her leg.

Her exhaustion showed when she didn’t bat at me, only offering a soft protest as she knotted her hands in my shirt and pressed her cheek to my shoulder.

Damn if I don’t want to kiss you silly right now.

But that wasn’t the plan, if I had one of those at all.

Instead of doing any of that, I placed her gently on a pile of rugs I used for when my middle aged knees decided the Scottish winter was too fucking cold and put on their old man hats and ached like a bitch. She sank into the nest I fluffed around her gratefully, making a little hood as she disappeared beneath a pile of fluff.

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