Page 41 of Sweet Silver Bells
“Your first shower in one hundred years?”
That’s your opening line, huh?
Olivia raised her thick, dark eyebrows at him. He imagined a bright red apple against her lips, freshly washed with droplets skidding down the fruit onto her chin.
The contrast of colors, the brightness against her milky white skin.
Your. Girl.
Hunter was not the possessive alpha male type, no gym rat, no six-pack. He was a normal guy, a grieving guy, a sometimes funny, quirky guy who had enough common sense to run away from monsters. But here, he was staring into her eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried to memorize her scent. As he tried to figure out how he could become a part of it.
You’re gone.
Sarah, I’m losing my mind.
He had thought that to himself too often these past few days.
Olivia wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t let her go.
You sound ridiculous.
“It was warmer than the rain,” Olivia whispered, her hollow cheeks almost pinching, a secret dimple threatening to appear.
“The clothes fit well,” Hunter murmured, unable to stop his eyes from drifting down her slight frame. The spell she carried wrapped around him all over again. It was not magic now. Just Olivia and him. His stomach tightened; his lips parted.
Olivia wore a long, thick sweater dress, black to match her hair and eyes. It fell down to her calves, paired with chunky, shiny boots.
“It suits you, really,” he said softly while she tucked her hair behind her ear.
“I’m baaaaa-ack,” his mom announced. Hunter watched her pass him in the hallway with an armful of plants.
“Don’t just stand there, help me,” his mom barked at a helpless Mark.
“Yes, ma’am,” his dad grumbled, stepping aside.
“Should we help? Unless you’d rather be alone?” Hunter asked, glancing at Olivia and lifting his hand to signal she should walk first. Olivia’s long eyelashes nearly brushed her cheeks as she blinked, that smile still lingering, carved soft but sharp. A perfect, flawless, wicked doll.
She moved, walking down the hallway in front of him, her head turning over her shoulder to scan him slowly. He would kill to know what that look meant, what she was thinking. The dress hugged her frame, her waist so slender, yet her hips swished back and forth, like a salsa dancer at center stage.
Is she doing that on purpose?
Olivia looked over her shoulder again, her smirk confirming it. Hunter raised an eyebrow at her as they turned into the living room, where his mom was fussing over seven potted poinsettias.
“Mom,” Hunter huffed. “Why?”
“Oh, you insult me, Hunter. Christmas is in six days, and you would have never known it by stepping into this joyless house.”
That’s because Sarah isn’t here. She was the cheer.
“And since you refuse to visit home, where it is properly?—”
“Extravagantly,” his dad cut in, earning a look from his wife that promised that he would pay for that later.
“Properly decorated,” she continued, “I thought I’d bring some of that holiday spirit here.”
“Mom, is this because of Sadie’s text? There is nothing to worry about. Besides, this is too much. Where am I supposed to put all of these?”
“Oh, nonsense.” His mom tapped Hunter on his shoulder, a too-large smile pinned across her face. “Olivia here can help you, I’m sure. A fun little project that might make your home smell better.”
