Page 65 of A Taste of Chardonnay

Bringing a plate over was a start, but how many holidays did he spend alone?

Brady’s head tilted, and his lips curved into a sexy smirk. “I guess that depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On how you plan to make it up to me.” His voice was teasing, but the heated desire in his eyes told me he wasn’t entirely joking.

My teeth slid over my bottom lip, toying with the skin, while my mind ran through every dirty scenario. “I’ll have to figure that out.”

He picked up his fork again, and a smile brightened his too sexy features. “Take your time. I have a full plate and nowhere to go.” He scooped some cranberry sauce and forked a piece of turkey. I watched him eat, my eyes lingering on the bob of his Adam’s apple. The quiet moan of appreciation as he ate a bite of Mom’s famous mashed potatoes. The secret ingredient.Butter. Three sticks, to be exact. I once asked her if she was trying to put us all into cardiac arrest, which she replied with, “Our hearts are too full to stop beating.” Like Grandpa, she had some good sayings.

Jack ran in and out a few more times before settling on his bed by the fireplace. I looked around the cabin, taking in the lack of décor that should make it feel cold and stark, yet I had never felt so much warmth.

After tonight, Christmas preparations would start. Did Brady even put up a tree? Did he have any of his own traditions?

“What do you do on holidays?” I asked, leaning against the dark wood cabinets.

He placed the plate in the sink, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and tossed it in the trash. “I make a fire, pour myself a glass of whiskey, and… read.”

“Read?” I exclaimed, tilting my head in curiosity. “What do you read?”

“Nothing like the books you read.” He crossed his arms, his biceps straining the fabric of his henley. His lower back rested on the edge of the counter, a faint smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. “I like Emerson, Bradbury, and Doyle.”

My eyebrow raised. “Fan of Sherlock Holmes, huh?”

His smirk deepened, turning into a smile. “Who isn’t?”

“I’ve only seen the movies. Never read the books.” I preferred my books steamy, fanged, and laced with forbidden desires.

“They’re mainly collections of short stories, a few full-length books, and totally worth it. You should check them out.”

“Maybe I will.” Heat rose in my cheeks as his gaze took me in. “What were you reading tonight?”

“Dickens.”

“A Christmas Carol?” I guessed.

He nodded. “I read it every Thanksgiving. Kind of a reminder not to be a Scrooge to those around me, no matter how much I want to be.”

The thought of him alone on Thanksgiving reading a classic Christmas story spread warmth through my chest. He wasn’t alone, really. He had the familiarity of characters he’d grown up with. “Will you read some to me?”

For a moment, he looked at me, his expression unreadable before he finally moved. In a few long strides, he crossed the living room and grabbed the blanket draped over the chair by the fireplace. He held it up as if it were an invitation. “Come on.”

“What about the whiskey?” I asked.

“I have a glass here. We can share. I don’t have cooties.”

“I know. I gave you your cootie shot.” It had been so many years ago, I couldn’t even believe I remembered. But the memory popped into my head, fresh and as clear as it were yesterday.

He laughed softly. “It’s lasted a lifetime.” He shook the blanket. “You coming or what?”

I didn’t hesitate as I made my way across the room. I settled into his lap, and he wrapped the blanket around us, picking up a worn copy ofA Christmas Carolfrom the coffee table. As his voice filled the air, steady and low, the firelight flickering across the strong features of his face, Jack snoring slightly from his bed, I imagined another shot of a lifetime.

Hiking up the mountain, Jack followed, weaving in and out of trees, smelling every inch of dirt within his vicinity. Spots were covered in snow, but the main trails were clear, if not a little muddy. It had been a long morning of waking up with Chardonnay in my bed and not wanting to leave the warmth of her body, to restocking firewood, then heading to Ron’s to meet with his new nurse.

The introductions went well, and for the first time in months, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I needed to get some fresh mountain air and leave all that shit at the bottom as I made my way through the trails I’d been hiking since I was a kid.

The crisp scent of pine mixed with the damp earth eased the tension that had been knotting my nerves far too long. Jack’s tail wagged happily as he darted ahead, kicking up dead leaves and dirt in his wake. His carefree enthusiasm reminded me of simpler times. Back then, these trails had been my escape—a place where I could run wild and free without Ron threatening to knock my teeth out.

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