Page 48 of Lighting Up Christmas

One perfect, thick, winged brow arched.

“Why has everyone been holding out on me?” she demanded. “Wine doesn’t taste like this. It’s dry and bitter and makes my mouth feel all cottony.”

“That’s the tannins. You’ve probably only tasted big reds when they’re young—the Cabs, Zins, Malbecs, Temps, and Syrahs.”

She glared. “And Chardonnay.” She stuck out her tongue like she was gagging. “Who knew there was more? And here I’ve been living in this valley my whole life and this…this liquid treasure of apricot and lemon and ginger sweet goodness was just sitting up here, and I didn’t know. This is what I imagine the nectar of the gods tastes like, and if so, why were they so crabby and vindictive and greedy, not sharing with me?”

“The god stories were merely a construct for human emotions and foibles to attempt to make sense of their own conflicting lives.”

“No sense of magic”—Riley shook her head, looking sadly at her still empty glass—“and yet you create this.” She paused. “No. I’m wrong. You are the magic,” she said, her brain kicking into gear along with her mouth.

She had never played any of his computer games, but anyone who could come up with storylines to engage millions over the years had more than their fair share of creativity. What else was he hiding in his locked-up brain and locked-down expression?

“Please, Zhang,” she said, her finger tapping on her glass. “You totally took me by surprise—I mean, the late harvest Riesling did. I wasn’t expecting it to taste so delicious. I’ll sip this time.”

The smile that lit his face and crinkled his eyes and created creases in his cheek made her catch her breath as her tummy did a slow roll. Who knew he had that pleased expression hiding in his arsenal? Wine was not the only thing Riley had been missing out on.

“Riley.” He leaned forward, bringing his face into close focus. His skin was so beautiful. Not a line or pore or blemish in sight.

“Zhang.”

“Two points.”

She held up one finger. He tapped it with his. “You have an excellent palate.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And two?”

“You can have another taste of the wine. You can have a glass. All you have to do is ask.”

“Please, Zhang. I would like another taste to sip and savor.”

*

“Remind me whyI let you talk me into this?” Zhang asked, his voice not even a bit irritated as he lay under a twelve-foot felled fir.

“I offered to help.” Riley loomed over him, peering down, her expression anxious. She looked like a glowing angel floating above him, her hazel eyes a green now to rival the needles on branches that were poking him in places he’d rather not feel at the moment.

“But you had to be all manly.”

The cold snow was beginning to permeate the wicking material of his long-sleeved shirt, zip-front Spyder sweater, and fleece-lined puffer vest.

“I am a man,” he noted, a little offended that she’d thought he was posturing. “I have no other way to act, and I had the better physical position.”

“Clearly not. Can you move?”

Probably. But did he want to? He wasn’t hurt except his dignity. Although even that was only a bit bruised, as Riley didn’t berate him about all his failings and what he’d done wrong. And the view was interesting—all the green branches spread out over him, slivers of a cerulean-blue sky, and Riley, her pale, worried face, spatter of freckles in stark relief. She wasn’t laughing at him. She wasn’t railing at his stupidity. She was worried, and by the adorable crease between her brows, she was figuring out a solution.

He could probably wiggle a groove in the snow and roll out, and he would as soon as he caught his breath that had been shoved from his body abruptly by the trunk of the fir.

Riley disappeared, and he heard some clinking sounds. “Okay.” She was back. “Close your eyes.”

“And miss the view?”

“What view?” She looked behind her. “Sky? Are you sure you’re not hurt, or are you making snow angels down there without me?”

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