Page 31 of The Greatest Gift

Nakul studies me for a moment, his gaze searching mine. “Addicted?” he snorts.

“Maddeningly. If my sisters want more time with my daughter, I’m not going to tell them no.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Let me at least wine and dine you first and by that, I mean nachos and cheap beer.”

Before I can respond, Stevie calls out, “I’m done!” waving her empty bowl in triumph. Nakul chuckles, walking over to help her down from the booster seat. She surprisingly didn’t spill anything on her shirt but there’s a lovely dollop of yogurt on the floor from her waving her bowl.

Stevie darts off into the living room, no doubt searching for the loudest toy possible. Nakul catches me in a surprise kiss before whispering, “I’ll see you tonight.” Then he leaves me with my wild child as I have to decide which sister to enlist tonight.

Regardless of which one I choose, they’re going to ask about my relationship with Nakul and I’ll deflect as I have been for the past two weeks. There are only days before Christmas but I’m still not ready. It’s almost as if I’m waiting for this perfect bubble to explode and leave me with nothing.

Tonight, though.

Tonight, I’m going to tell him how I truly feel.

Nakul

The day passes by like molasses as I try to focus on anything other than tonight. Without the need to go anywhere, I spend most of my time at the Windsor Creek shops, this time looking for the perfect present for Judd. I grab that stuffed elephant for Stevie and then check in with my boss to make sure he knows that we’re winding down for the holiday.

By the time I step into the lobby of my motel, it feels both too small and too big at the same time. The anticipation is almost too much—I’m nervous, excited, and giddy all at once. Another night with Judd beneath me, moments we can spend together and not have to be quiet tugs at my fantasies.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel pulls me out of my thoughts and when I look up, I see his car pulling in. A smile immediately tugs at my lips and the tension in my chest eases.

Judd steps out, and for a moment, I’m struck by how good he looks in the evening light. His sweater hugs his frame perfectly, and there’s a nervous energy about him that mirrors my own. When he spots me through the glass doors, his face lights up with a shy smile that makes my heart stutter.

I push open the door and step out to meet him, my breath visible in the crisp night air. Before I can say a word, he closes the distance between us, his hands sliding up to my shoulders as his lips meet mine in a kiss that’s soft and tentative, but full of promise.

“Hey,” he mumbles when we pull apart, his eyes searching mine.

“Hey,” I reply, my voice low and steady despite the fluttering in my chest. His hand slips into mine as we head upstairs to my room, the memory of our first kiss in this room raging through my head. I had thought it was over at that point. I thought I had ruined everything and now, I can’t imagine not having taken that step.

I settle on the mattress, having planned everything as I pull him into my side. Judd is about to protest when I flick on the crappy television at the end of the room. “Come on,” I say, tugging on his hand. “I’m not watching this alone.”

“You’re impossible,” he replies, leaning against my side.

I reach over to grab the bowl of kettle popcorn and the two cans of root beer I’d stashed by the pillows. “Ta-da,” I announce, holding them up.

Judd raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Where did you even get that?”

“The vending machine downstairs,” I muse. “It’s surprisingly well-stocked. Cost me almost as much as dinner the other night, though.”

That gets him to laugh. “Well, thank you for your noble sacrifice.”

“Anything for you,” I tease, nudging the bowl into his lap. He shakes his head, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he digs into the popcorn.

I hit play on the remote and the movie starts with an overly festive jingle, complete with snowflakes falling across the screen and a montage of small-town charm. It’s exactly the kind of ridiculous, over-the-top Christmas movie that Judd would probably hate. But when I glance at him, he’s already smirking, his eyes alight with curiosity.

“Don’t tell me you picked this on purpose,” he says, popping a kernel into his mouth.

“I absolutely did,” I reply, deadpan. “You’re welcome.”

The movie is... as terrible as expected. The plot revolves around a big-city executive returning to her small hometown, where she promptly falls for the local handyman while rediscovering the true meaning of Christmas.

The dialogue is painfully predictable, the acting is borderline cringe-worthy, and the fake snow looks like soap suds. But instead of rolling his eyes or checking out, Judd surprises me by leaning into it.

“Did she just fall for him because he chopped wood?” he asks, feigning disbelief.

“Clearly, that’s all it takes,” I laugh, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “Don’t underestimate the power of flannel.”

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