Page 64 of Pining for Christmas

“Because it’s embarrassing,” he confesses at last, glancing at me again. My normally confident boss is unsure. “It’sembarrassing, and you’ll see me differently, and then this,” he waves a hand between us, “will have to end. I don’t want that.”

He doesn’t? Eee!

If there weren’t laws about safe driving, I’d crawl into this man’s lap right now. I’d pepper his cranky, beautiful face with kisses.

Instead, I settle for resting a hand on his thigh. The muscle jumps beneath my touch, but he’s so warm and solid, anchoring me. “I promise that won’t happen.”

Reid scoffs. “So you say.”

The heater hums quietly, warming us both and turning our cheeks a matching pink. My thumb swoops over Reid’s thigh, back and forth, rubbing him gently, and his leg presses into my touch.

“I’ll guess, then.” Now that we’re talking again,touchingagain, I feel so, so much better—like the world is back on its axis. The giant mound of pancakes probably helped, too. “And I have to assume that one of these reasons is the truth.”

Reid nods. “Go on.”

“You had a pet reindeer once and it bit you.”

“No.”

“A Santa mugged you in an alley.”

Reid’s smiling now, relaxed too. “No.”

“You once wore a thong made of tinsel and it chafed you terribly.”

Reid laughs, low and velvety. “No.”

And I guess it’s okay if I never know the truth, so long as I can keep making this man laugh. So long as he relaxes with me, shooting me those heated looks. Every second with him like this feels so warm and gooey.

But then the humor drops away from Reid’s face, and he sits up straighter. “Actually, it’s nothing so dramatic. I have a large family, Noelle. Aclosefamily. Well, close—except for me.”

It’s happening! Reid is telling me his baggage. Pressing my lips together, I fight to keep still. Tolisten.Snowy fields drift past the car windows, and my fingers twist in my lap.

“Growing up in that house, it was always holiday mad. So many decorations, gifts, and family traditions—Easter, Halloween, Christmas, you name it. And as a little boy, one who struggled to make sense of other people sometimes… I didn’t always understand those traditions. I pushed back. Asked too many questions. Made things less fun.”

My heart aches, and I can see it now. Little Reid with a tiny scowl on his face, bristling at being told what to do. At being told to be happy, to becheerful, without understanding why.

“Over the years, my family got tired of it. Tired ofme. Can’t blame them, really, but once I went away to college, the invitations to family events dried up. I’ve spent every Christmas alone since I was eighteen. That’s why I’m a—what did you call me?—a Scrooge.”

My stomach churns, and I’m queasy at the undercurrent of hurt running beneath Reid’s words. The emotional damage that only I can hear. This man wears such armor, and finally, I’m getting a peek at his squishy middle.

“My own family didn’t want me, Noelle.” Reid’s hands are white-knuckled where they grip the wheel. “Because I’m a killjoy. So tell me that’s not embarrassing; tell me that doesn’t put you off. Go on.”

And he throws me this look, like he’s daring me to even try. Like it’s unthinkable that I’d find out about that lonely little boy, find out abouthim, and still want him.

Such bullshit. I suck in a deep breath, puffing up my chest underneath yesterday’s green dress.

“I’m sorry, Reid, but your family are grade A assholes. And you’re not a killjoy. I have fun with you all the freaking time.”

So much fun. Even discounting last night’s pure, sweaty joy, this man makes me laugh all the time. Teases me and lets me tease him back. He walks me home after work and pretends he doesn’t live in the opposite direction; he ‘forgets’ my cat’s name and calls him a fur ball.

He played I Spy and Fuck, Marry, Kill with me. Badly.

He detoured to get me coffee in Aspen Ridge, and watched A Muppet Christmas Carol.

Reid Merryweather has a heart of gold. I called it.

“Yeah?” My boss’s throat works.

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