Page 63 of The Wish List
He touched a gentle finger to the bulky cable-knit sweater she wore. “I haven’t seen you in heels or designer clothes in a while.”
“They don’t fit who I am.”
She wanted to end the sentence there. It was true. Away from California, the things that had mattered to her for so long seemed insignificant.
“Who I am when I’m here,” she forced herself to clarify. How could she admit that she wanted to be someone different when she had no idea how to make that happen?
“I like who you are,” he said softly. She waited for him to add a qualifier to the compliment, but he didn’t.
“Do you want to come in for a minute?”
“Sure,” he answered, and she appreciated that he didn’t make it weird. Freya couldn’t deal with any more emotional weirdness right now.
“Do you like ice cream?” she asked as they walked toward the house.
“More than anything.”
Freya grinned. “I bet mint chocolate chip is your favorite flavor.”
“Is that what you have in the freezer?”
“Yep.”
“Then it’s my favorite.”
Freya knew she didn’t deserve his kindness, but she soaked it in just the same. She scooped them each a cup of ice cream. “How do you feel about Rudolph? Because I’m in the mood for a horrible holiday movie.”
“Nope.”
Freya blinked. He’d been so agreeable and was going to take a stand on a red-nosed reindeer?
“What do you want to watch?”
“Love Actually,”he said without a hint of sarcasm.
“You’re joking?”
“You don’t like that movie?”
“I love it. But I can’t believe that would be your choice. What’s your backup?Little Women?”
“I guess that would depend on which version you’re talking about. In my opinion, Katharine Hepburn is the ultimate Jo.”
“You aren’t for real. Men who look like you don’t watch movies like that. They aren’t nice or kind. They want something,” she said around a big bite of ice cream. “They have an ulterior motive.”
“Men who look like me?”
She plopped down onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table and jabbed her spoon into the ice cream again. “Like you should be sailing on a yacht in the Hamptons or ordering martinis shaken, not stirred. Not fixing up some middle-aged woman’s dilapidated house and helping her to re-release her dated feminist manifesto.”
“California has made you jaded, Freya.” He sat next to her and used one of those elegant fingers to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She resisted the urge to shiver. “I might have an ulterior motive where you’re concerned, but it isn’t what you think.”
She didn’t need to ask what it was because the way his gaze strayed to her mouth told her everything she needed to know. “What’s your favorite scene inLove Actually?” she demanded, shaking the spoon in his face. “If you tell me it’s the scene where Emma Thompson unwraps the Joni Mitchell CD, I’m going to punch you. Figuratively, but I’ll really want to in my heart.”
His mouth curved up at one end. “It’s the part where the little kid plays drums in the band.” He shrugged. “You can blame or thank my mom once again. Sappy movies and television shows, reality TV and baking competitions made her happy. She didn’t like home improvement so much. Felt like people should be content with what they had and not constantly want more. If you want a different movie, pick it. I’m easy.”
Wasn’t that just the problem for Freya? Christopher Greer was far too easy. Easy to like. Easy to laugh with. Easy to want to kiss. Easy to fall for.
She should send him away, but she didn’t want to be alone. More than that, she wanted to be with him.
