Page 31 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

I tried not to cringe, but damn, my usual eloquence has vanished lately.

His lips twitched. “I’ll have to have a taste.”

His intense, nearly black eyes stayed on mine as he leaned in slowly.

Oh my god, did he mean a taste of … the cookie, right? Or … I swallowed, unable to look away or move away.

But his arm had reached around me and grabbed a Santa cookie off the tray.

He stood straight again, and I stepped back a bit, putting some necessary space between us.

“Nice decorating. Did you make these?”

I was staring at the floor, unable to make eye contact after the foolish thoughts I was just having. I mean, seriously, what the hell was I thinking? I was going to lose this deal because I couldn’t keep my emotions and crazy thoughts in check. But I was usually so good at that—I was Mariana Northam, after all. “Yeah.”

He took a tiny bite. “OK, I haven’t keeled over yet. So if they’re poisoned, it’s a slower-acting one, right?”

My eyes flew to his, but I saw that he didn’t actually look afraid. He appeared to be laughing at me silently. I made a face at him. Because apparently I’m pretty immature now.

After taking a larger bite, he closed his eyes in an expression of bliss. “Ahhh. Now that’s a Christmas cookie. You sure you made these?”

I crossed my arms. “I did.” I didn’t want to admit the rest, not tohim, but I suppose I had to be honest. “With Hazel.”

A knowing expression came over his face. “Ah. Well, they are delicious, Mariana. You can add baking to your many talents, I guess.”

One of my eyebrows rose. “My many talents?”

“You always surprise me.”

His admission caught me off guard because, well, it sounded sincere. And I think he meant it in a good way? I didn’t know what to do with that.

“Well, uh, so … how was work today?”

I should collect my prize for the worst conversationalist ever. Somehow I used to be good at this. At least I think I was.

His eyes swung from the cookie tray and back to me. He grabbed another cookie and took his time chewing before answering my question. “Busy.”

“Right, one would expect that on a Sunday only a few weeks before the Christmas holiday, I suppose.”

“Yes,one would,” he said with a smirk.

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you mocking my speech?”

His tongue in his cheek, he paused for a moment. “No. Maybe.” He stared at me for a long time thoughtfully, as if unsure whether to continue. “You’re different now, Mariana, even the way you talk.”

My breath hitched. “Oh, I—what do you mean?”

He shook his head, a look of confusion on his face. “In some ways … I hardly recognize the girl I knew.”

I averted my eyes. Well, that was the goal, wasn’t it? I wanted to leave the old Mariana behind. Why did I get the feeling he saw it as a negative though?

“Is that a bad thing? We all change, don’t we? Isn’t that … good?”

Our eyes met, and I knew whatever he was going to say next was going to change things. Maybe between us or maybe just within myself. For some reason, I needed to know his answer like I needed to breathe—

“Terry, are you hogging all of Mariana’s cookies?” Jane’s voice cut through the haze of feelings, of need. I looked at her, standing beside us now, and I put a hand over my chest to still my breathing.

He looked at me for another beat, from my eyes, down to my hand on my chest, and then looked at Jane. “You know me too well, Janie. I suppose we should tell everyone else, right? Before I go into a diabetic coma from eating so many?”

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