Page 39 of The Holiday Gift

He grinned. “Is that the best you can do?”

Never one to back down from a challenge, she hopped up and her fingers managed to brush the tongs. So close! She tried again but she forgot the wooden planks of the deck were a bit slippery with cold and condensation. This time when she came down, one boot slid and she stumbled a little.

She might have fallen but before she could, his arms instantly came around her, tongs and all.

They froze that way, with his arms around her and her curves pressed against his hard chest. Their smiles both seemed to freeze and crack apart. Her gaze met his and all the heat and tension she had been carefully shoving down seemed to burst to the surface all over again. His mouth wasright there. She only had to stand on tiptoe again and press her lips to his.

Yearning, wild and sweet, gushed through her and she was aware of the thick churn of her blood, a low flutter in her stomach.

She hitched in a breath and coiled her muscles to do just that when she heard the creak of the door hinges.

She froze for half a second, then quickly stepped away an instant before Rafe tromped out to the deck.

Her brother-in-law paused and gave them a long, considering look, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. He hesitated briefly before he moved farther onto the deck.

“You people are crazy. Don’t you know December in Idaho isn’t the time to be firing up the grill?”

Something was definitely fired up out here. The grill was only part of it. Her face felt hot, her skin itchy, and she could only hope she had moved away before Rafe saw anything—notthat there had been anything to see.

“Steaks just don’t taste the same when you try to cook them under the broiler,” Chase said. “Though the purist in me would prefer to be cooking them over hot coals instead of a gas flame.”

“You ever tried any of that specialty charcoal?” Rafe asked. “When I was stationed out of Hawaii, I tried the Ono coals they use for luaus. Man, that’s some good stuff. Burns hot and gives a nice crisp crust.”

“I’ll have to try it,” Chase said.

“I came to see if you needed help but it looks like you don’t need me. You two appear to have things well in hand,” he said.

Was his phrasing deliberate? Faith wondered, feeling her face heat even more.

“Doing our best,” Chase replied blandly.

She decided it would be wise to take the chance to leave while she could. “Thanks for offering, Rafe. I actually have a few things I just remembered I have to do before dinner. It would great if you two could finish up out here.”

She rushed into the house and tried to tell herself she was grateful for the narrow escape.

* * *

Chase took another taste of Aunt Mary’s delicious mashed potatoes dripping with creamy, rich gravy, and listened to the conversation ebb and flow around him.

He loved listening to the interactions of Faith and her family. With no siblings of his own, he had always envied the close relationships among them all. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about, from current events to Celeste’s recent visit to New York to the progress of Hope’s pregnancy.

The conversation was lively, at times intense and heated, and never boring. The sisters might disagree with each other or Mary about a particular topic but they always did so with respect and affection.

It was obvious this was a family that loved each other. The girls’ itinerant childhood—and especially the tragedy that had followed—seemed to have forged deep, lasting bonds between Faith and her sisters.

Sometimes they opened their circle to include others. Rafe and his nephew Joey. Flynn and Olivia. Chase.

He could lose this.

If this gamble he was taking—trying to force Faith to let things move to the next level between them—didn’t pay off, he highly doubted whether Mary would continue to welcome him to these Sunday dinners he treasured.

Things very well might become irreparably broken between them. His jaw tightened. Some part of him wondered if he might be better off backing down and keeping the status quo, this friendship he treasured.

But then he would see Rafe touch Hope’s hand as he made a point or watch Celeste’s features soften when she talked about Flynn and he knew he couldn’t let it ride. He wanted to have that with Faith. It was possible; he knew it was. That evening on the deck had only reinforced that she was attracted to him but was fighting it with everything she had.

They could be as happy as Rafe and Hope, Celeste and Flynn. Couldn’t she see that?

He had told her he would give her time but even though it had only been a few days, he could feel his patience trickling away. He had waited so long already.

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