Page 54 of Presley's Christmas Catch
“You got this,” I whisper to myself before I open the door. “Hey!” I beam at him cheerfully as I swing it open. “Come in!” I turn from him, pretending not to notice the way his eyes slide over me, and leave the door open. Then I check over my shoulder on the pretense of pointing to the book and the couch to see if he’s checking me out.
Yup. He hasn’t said a word since he stepped inside, and the door is still standing open. We’re calling this outfit a success.
“I got a pumpkin pie from Mila,” I say when I get to the counter and turn to look at him. He quickly shuffles all the way in and shuts the door behind him, still blinking at me. “Like the one she brought to Thanksgiving.”
“Oh?” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. I force myself not to gloat over the detached way his voice sounds, as though he’s coming back from a daydream. I’ve had a few ofthose myself, concerning him, so I won’t judge him too much. Just for being a doofus when it comes to his own feelings. “That sounds great.”
“Should we have a slice now or wait for a bit?” I grab dessert plates from the cabinet and turn to set them on the island to find him staring again. “Brock?” I ask when a few moments go by without him saying anything.
“Let’s uh, wait for a bit.” He plops down onto the couch. I do a victory fist pump in my head.
I leave the plates on the island and move over to the stove, where I have a couple mugs sitting next to it. “How do you feel about hot apple cider?” I ask as I fill the two mugs. “I’m trying to mix it up from hot chocolate.” Especially since I noticed how little he drank the last time he was here. He doesn’t do caffeine, I’ve discovered, and I bet he doesn’t do a lot of sugar either. But I admire the way he still allows himself a small indulgence now and then despite his strict diet.
“Cider sounds great.” He’s picked up the book, and he plays with the bookmark I put in the other night after we read on the airplane. It came with the swag bag we got for getting tickets into the gathering with Gideon.
I bring the cider in on a tray and set it on the ottoman, pick up Brock’s drink, and hand it to him. Then I take a seat on the couch next to him, crossing my legs to face him. I reach over to grab my cider and lift it up to take a sip. He watches me the whole time.
This is going so much better than I thought. My heart flutters again as I wonder if maybe our trip to New York has already helped Brock realize some things. Whatever the case, the ball is in his hands. And maybe, as a lineman, that’s tough for him because he’s not used to it.
“So, there’s something I need to ask you before we start reading,” I say after I put my mug down. “I need a favor.”
Brock’s expression is unreadable, but everything has gone sowell so far, I don’t worry too much. “You know I’ll do whatever,” he says.
I hold up a hand. On the off chance I’ve misread everything, I want to give him an out. Or at least the chance to keep things status quo until he figures out his feelings. “I know, but there’s no pressure. And you’re probably going to think I’m crazy.”
Brock relaxes for the first time since he came into the apartment. He quirks an eyebrow. “Can anything get more crazy than Tuesday?”
“This? Maybe. I need you to go with me to the Westcott’s Christmas Party, but you can totally say no.”
He furrows his brows, but his eyes dance. “Youneedme to, but I shouldn’t feel pressured to?”
“Absolutely.”
He tilts his head. “Forgive me, but you’re giving me mixed signals.”
I’d panic about everything, except his expression is playful. This is like we were before I kissed him, and that means he’s no longer overthinking everything he says to me. It could be because I stopped worrying so much, since I’m determined to make him admit his feelings. I’m still betting it’s more though.
“I’m going to put the ring back. When we go to the Westcott’s.” I pick up my mug again and take another sip while I wait for his reaction.
His eyes widen. “That’s it? That’s the solution?” He leans toward me. “Did you figure out how she got it?”
I shake my head. “No, but Mrs. Westcott is terrorizing my parents’ neighborhood, and I can’t sit back anymore when I have it. Besides, their daughter is getting married on New Year’s. They deserve to have the ring. I can’t turn it in to the police because I don’t know what will happen, but if it shows back up at the Westcott’s house, they’ll never link it back to Aunt Shannon.”
He purses his lips, drawing my attention to them, but hespeaks before I can get too lost in thoughts about them. “But they could trace it back to you.”
I’ve thought about that. I don’t think there will be a way unless I’m caught with the ring in my possession. “I’ll wear gloves.”
A surprised laugh escapes him. “Of course I’ll come with you, Pres. But what are you going to do? Crack the safe and slip it back in?”
I tip my head at him, feigning confusion. “Oh, is that hard?”
He eyes me but then grins. “Presley.”
“I’ll wrap it up like a gift. Westcotts have this huge tree in the middle of the room. We’ll put it under the tree and bam! Christmas miracle.”
“So you’re the one Thornridge calls when he’s planning Alden’s heists,” Brock deadpans.
I smack him on the shoulder and force myself to quickly pull my hand back from his muscled shoulder instead of caressing him the way I’d like to. “Simple is always best.”
