Page 14 of Second Chances with St. Nick

I took a deep breath, my pulse bouncing somewhere between unhinged and completely chaotic. “To start over,” I whispered. “I want to find my way back to an old friend. And maybe I need St. Nick’s help to figure out how.”

His chest rose and fell fast before he nodded. “Well, I guess I should ask if you’ve been a good girl this year.”

The playfulness in his voice sent a tingle down my spine.

“Define good,” I said. “It’s all relative.”

One of his brows shot up, and a smile settled on his mouth.

“I mean, I may have done a few naughty things.” I took a sip of my drink. “May have upset a few people.”

“How so?” he asked, his gaze pinning me to the leather.

And boy, if I didn’t unload like I was on a psychiatrist’s couch. I told him about my ex. The controlling, the undermining, the split and how, as a parting gift, I’d sliced up his designer wardrobe with a set of garden shears.

Nick shook his head. “I know that asshole. He made the naughty list this year. I left him a lump of coal in his stocking.”

I smiled as Nick played along. Warmth bloomed in my chest—that familiar, easy feeling I only ever had with him.

With a sigh, he shook out his ponytail. In the shadows, I took in the sight of his tapered waist. I opened my mouth, about to ask him how he burned off all the cookies and milk the kids left, but before I could speak, he reached over and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His touch burned into me and the familiarity of the gesture set my pulse racing.

Letting out a slow breath, I ran my hand over the skin where his fingers had been. “I wasted too many years on my ex.” My voice trembled and, as if sensing my sadness, Nick slipped an arm around the back of my shoulders. Without a second thought, I relaxed into him. The warmth of his body radiated through his jacket, caressing my neck. My heart swelled and a weird calm settled over me.

Nick felt like home.

“Tell me, where were you headed when the storm hit?” he asked. “I had to park my sleigh around the back.”

I smiled again. My mind swam in the heat of the room, and I turned to him. “I’m home to see my folks. My cousin’s getting married.”

“Nice,” he said. “Are the two of you close?”

I nodded. “We are. I mean, I haven’t been back to town as much as I’d like, but she’s visited me, and we speak often.”

The leather couch creaked as Nick shifted. “You must be looking forward to spending time with your family.”

My gut tugged. “Honestly? I hate being home again.” I knocked back the last of my brandy. “Pinewood Springs, where I grew up, is too full of memories. You probably know the town. It has a lot of kids.”

The corners of his mouth tipped up a little. “Good or bad memories?”

I leaned my head back against the couch. “Mostly good, but a few bad. Small town folks with small town minds—you know the drill. I couldn’t wait to get away in the end.”

Silence hung in the air between us, but Nick closed his hand over my shoulder, circling his thumb against the cotton of my robe. Goosebumps skittered across my skin and my breath quickened. Holy hell! He’d sent my senses into overdrive with one simple action. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I imagined that thumb doing the same thing elsewhere.

Nick’s voice dragged me out of my fantasy. “There must be something you liked about Pinewood Springs?”

I opened my mouth to answer but stopped short when he tipped his glass back to finish his drink. With the movement, the sleeve of his jacket fell away. I narrowed my eyes, straining to make out his forearm. Fair hair dusted each muscle, with a patchwork of symbols etched into his skin. As the marks danced in my astigmatism, I made out a trail of musical notes that disappeared up toward his bicep. My heart skipped. They matched the charm he’d given me. The one currently tucked away in my purse. I’d taken it off before my bath.

“You have tattoos?” I asked, fighting an overwhelming urge to touch his skin.

Nick pushed a breath out of his nose. “I do. Each one tells a story. But you didn’t answer my question. I asked if there was anything you liked about Pinewood Springs.”

As his thumb continued its hypnotic, circular motion, I stole a look at him from under my lashes. With his jaw clamped tight,I swear he barely took a breath. The room contracted around us, and I gripped my lip between my teeth. “Well, therewasone good thing.” I stared into the warmth of the fire. “There was Nicholas.”

After a pause to rival the break between every Bridgerton season, he spoke. “Tell me about Nicholas.”

As I gazed into the flames, a gentle smile settled onto my lips. “Nicholas was my friend. The only one I truly trusted. The one who knew me best. He understood what it was like tobeme.”

Nick tipped his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

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