Page 47 of Pining for Christmas

“For god’s sake.” Then, as though he’s pulling teeth, Reid grits out: “I spy… with my little eye… something beginning with ‘F’.”

Empty scrubland rushes past the highway, dotted with barns. The dark clouds are getting thicker overhead, gathering in moody clumps.

This is the best day of my life. Reid Merryweather, grumpy boss and ultimate stern hottie, said the I Spy rhyme.

“Farmhouse?”Be cool, Noelle. Be cool.“Fields?”

Reid grunts. His jaw is tight as he nods.

And this is fine. This is normal.

This is a totally normal thing to get butterflies about.

My turn. “I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘T.’”

“Trees.”

“Uh-huh.”

Cows. Barns. Sky. It’s not a long game, and we run out of things to spy pretty fast. But I’ve never seen my boss this mellow before, the whisper of a smile playing around his stern mouth, and I don’t want it to be over yet. Don’t want to go back to taut silence.

“How about Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

Reid frowns out at the highway, flexing his fingers on the wheel. “I don’t know that one.”

“It’s fun, I promise.” Let’s hope so, anyway. “I say the names of three famous people, and you say who you’d fuck, marry and kill.”

The look he gives me is so sour. Finally, Reid breaks eye contact and stares out at the road. “Go on, then.”

I name a Hollywood starlet, a supermodel, and a famous singer.

“Kill, kill and kill.”

Reid jumps when I burst out laughing.

“Oh my god.” He’s so grumpy, all his man-feathers ruffled up as he glares over at me, but I can’t stop wheezing with laughter. “You can’t kill them all, you psycho.”

“Why not?” His shoulders are tense, climbing up. “I don’t want to fuck or marry any of them, and there’s no ‘leave them alone’ option.”

Wiping away a tear, I slump back giggling. “Okay, okay. Um…”

I name three famous men. A billionaire, a rock star and a football player. You never know, right? Maybe I was presumptuous.

But Reid side-eyes me and says, “Kill, kill and kill.”

Hereallydoesn’t get this game.

But I kind of love it. Now that I’m faced with the prospect, I don’t want to hear that Reid Merryweather would fuck another woman.Ora man. Don’t like picturing him with anyone but me.

Tragic, I know. Especially since he didn’t call me last night, even when I put myself out there like that. Made it so painfully obvious that Ialwayswant him to call, always want to hear his low voice, even after a whole day together. Because even though I moan about spending all of my time at work, I miss him terribly when we’re apart.

“Forget that one. Let’s play truth or dare.” Wriggling in my seat, I try to stretch out my stiff legs. Two hours down, two hours to go until we reach Aspen Ridge—though at least the scenery is getting prettier, dusted with a fine layer of white. “You know this one, right?”

Reid harrumphs. He’s slowed the car since we hit snow. “Seems self-explanatory.”

“Right. So… truth or dare?”

“I’m driving,” Reid says flatly. Always such a bundle of joy.

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