Page 18 of The CEO's Christmas Wife

I spit my toothpaste out and then began to rinse.

“I mean,” he continued, “since you’ve got nothing else to do, and you’ve never seen a real-life Christmas town.”

I grabbed a hand towel and wiped my mouth before turning around to face him. None of that would make up for missing my family, especially not at a time that was meaningful to us, but I was grateful that he was at least trying. I couldn’t ask for more. Although I didn’t feel it in my heart, I plastered a smile on and replied, “That sounds great, but why can’t you give me the tour?”

He frowned. “Does it matter who does it?”

Crossing my arms over my breasts, I replied. “Yes, it does. I want my husband to give it to me, not a bunch of strangers.”

His face twisted in discomfort before he cleared his throat and asked, “Give what to you?”

“The tour. Isn’t that what we were talking about?”

What the hell was he thinking?

“Oh, uhm, yeah, . . . I’m sure my aunt would love to.”

“As much as I like your aunt, I want you to do it. Besides, I’m sure they’re expecting us to be spending a lot of quality time together.”

Kayn inhaled deeply, held it, and exhaled slowly as his gaze narrowed on me.

“You’re really milking this.”

Smiling sweetly at him, I shook my head. “No. I’m just earning my bonus,” I whispered.

“Fine. Go ahead and get dressed. Meet me downstairs in about fifteen minutes for breakfast. We’ll go on the tour after my meeting.”

“What time is it?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t even once looked at my phone.

“A few minutes after eight.”

I moved toward my luggage and replied, “Okay.”

“This is so pretty. It’s life-sized too.”

“And handcrafted. This Nativity Scene has been put up every year since I was a kid. I recall the first time that it was put out. Old Craig Merchant was the one who built it, and he was so proud of it. Everyone in town gathered around to watch him put every piece where it needed to go. I remember when it was allin place. Man, everyone went crazy, shouting and clapping, and some people were crying. Then, the next morning, everyone was up in arms. Baby Jesus had been stolen from his manger.”

He chuckled and shook his head. We stood outside of Mount Sinai Baptist Church, looking at the Nativity Scene. It was just one stop on the town tour that he had given me.

“Oh no. Did you all ever recover it?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Who was the culprit? Did they get in trouble?”

“No. It was four-year-old Andrea Sprewell. Apparently, the choir had a rehearsal after the celebration. Well, her mother was the choir director. Andrea always wandered around the church but always returned to her mother. She marched herself right out here to this manger, picked up Baby Jesus, and placed him in the little crib in the children’s nursery play area. She had removed the baby doll that was already in there and laid it on the table.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I giggled so hard. “How did they find Him?”

“When the nursery schoolteacher arrived later that day to pick up some things she’d left behind, she saw the baby on the table. She went to place the baby doll back in the crib, and that’s when she found Baby Jesus. Andrea’s mother immediately asked her about it when she heard about it, and she confessed that she thought Baby Jesus would be happier out of the cold and inside in a bed with warm blankets.”

“Oh my goodness. That is too cute. Out of the mouths of babies,” I stated as we walked past the church and toward the square. “These are beautiful memories. I can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure of having the same kind. Living in a larger city doesn’t give you the opportunity to know everyone in town.”

“That can be a curse as much as it’s a blessing,” he replied with a loud exhale.

“Meaning?”

He shook his head.

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