Page 12 of Surrender
He watched the staircase for a moment after she was gone, a faint smile still tugging at his mouth. Then, as he turned back to the bar, something caught his eye.
The cherry pie.
Untouched.
He frowned, walking over. The crust had cooled, the filling no longer steaming. He stared at it for a moment, then let out a slow breath through his nose.
The scarecrow-faced stranger’s interruption—perfectly timed, appearing like a ghost—had changed the entire mood. Maybe that was why she didn’t touch it? Or maybe she really had just been tired?
He considered taking the pie upstairs to her but decided instead to leave it alone.
He was about to leave when he heard something faint from above.
Music.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just soft and distant, filtering down through the old floorboards—the unmistakable twinkle of Christmas music. In July.
Only Ginny…
Amused, Keefe raised an eyebrow, then made his way upstairs, curiosity pulling at him like a thread.
Sure enough, the faint but unmistakable strains of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” floated down through the ceiling.
Curious, he dried his hands and headed further up the stairs. At the top landing, he paused. Ginny was dancing.
She had no idea he was there. She was in her cozy little living room, hair still wrapped in a towel, a mug in one hand and the other held out like she was twirling a dance partner. She shimmied. Spun. Swayed with the music. And then, laughing to herself, she reached up to undo the towel.
Keefe leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, fully expecting her to spot him any second. But she didn’t.
The towel came down. Then, with one swift movement, so did her robe.
“Ginny!” he yelled, spinning around to give her privacy.
Her shriek was followed by a series of loud thuds.
Crash! Boom! Bang! Followed by an “ooof!”
Keefe turned just in time to see her hit the floor in a heap, tangled in terrycloth.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, as he rushed to her side and knelt beside her.
Ginny scrambled to cover up her naked flesh, her cheeks blazing. “I don’t think so. Only my pride.”
“Here, let me help you up.”
She hesitated a moment, then reached for his arm. His skin was warm and solid under her fingers. With a grimace, she pulled herself upright, only to wince sharply the moment her foot hit the floor.
“What is it?” he asked, brows pinched in concern.
“Oh, it’s nothing really. My foot just hurts a little, is all. It’s nothing.” She waved it off with forced nonchalance and took a brave step forward. The pain shot up her leg like a bolt of lightning, and she sucked in a breath through her teeth.
Keefe didn’t miss it.
“You know,” she said quickly, trying to mask the flare of pain with a weak smile, “I probably just need to rest it a little. Would you mind maybe helping me to my bedroom?”
“Of course.”
She slung an arm around his shoulders, trying to ignore the embarrassing proximity. He steadied her gently, guiding her down the hall with measured steps. Her weight leaned awkwardly into him, and she was painfully aware of every limping shuffle she made. At the bedroom door, he helped ease her down onto the mattress, then carefully lifted her legs and swung them up onto the bed.
