Page 63 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
I rake a hand over my head. “We’re running out of options.”
“All right.” She exhales. “But just so we’re clear, there will be no more lip action happening as long as we’re stuck in here.”
“Hold on.” My mouth slips sideways. “Did you just saylip action? What exactly islip action,Sara?”
“Come on. You know what I meant.”
“Did you mean I might getmorelip action when we’re no longer stuck in here?”
She lets out a snort, and I hope she’s smiling. “You wish, Three Fuller.”
Yeah, Idowish, Sara Hathaway.
Too bad my birthday is in August.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sara
Twelve Years Ago: August
Hey, journal. Long time, no write. Lol! Like pretty much an entire summer. But I just had to record this moment because I finally gave Three his gift, and I’m pretty sure he loves it.
I waited until after he blew out the candles and made a wish. Then I pulled out the box from the leather shop. Ford labeled it a man-bracelet, Nella says it’s a wrist band. Three decided to call it a cuff. By any other name, it’s so sexy. On him, I mean.
Of course he has no idea I slept in the cuff every night since I bought it, and I do NOT planto tell him that. I just wanted little part of me to be close to something he’ll hopefully wear all year long. Does that make me sound weird and creepy?
Okay, let’s be honest: I don’t care if I’m weird and creepy. The truth is, I’m falling for Three Fuller. Like a tree in the woods. Timber! Did anyone hear my heart crash?
The thing is, I haven’t said the words out loud yet, and I’m not sure I should. Not right before I’m about to leave again. I don’t want to sound desperate and clingy. So I’m just going to let the cuff do the talking for me. Silently.
Just a little reminder that I give the best birthday gifts—ha! Hopefully every time he looks at it, he’ll think of me. Of course, I realize him snapping some cuff around his wrist won’t be the same as us being together. But in a tiny way, a piece of me will still be connected to him when I’m gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sara
The grandfather clock gongs again, yanking me from the fog of my intermittent dozing. I crack open one sleep-crusted eye, instinctively expecting daylight, but nope. I’m still in the dark, still sharing a couch with Three, still trapped in this storage room with no escape.
I can’t see a thing, so my other senses kick in, alerting me to the fact that it’s not Three’s feet by my face as we’d planned. It’s not even his legs.
No, I’m directly on top of the man.
My first instinct is to leap up off of him, but I’m worried if I move too abruptly, he’ll wake up and assume I crawled onto him on purpose. Common sense says the best way for me to handle the situation is slowly. Gently.
Don’t wake the sleeping giant.
For the record, this particular giant has one arm cradling my body like I’m the little spoon, and he’s the big one, except we’re lying flat, not on our sides. My face is pressed intohis pecs, so his Hawaiian shirt’s probably leaving button-marks on my cheek. Even worse, I’m pretty sure I drooled on him.
My mouth feels chapped and sticky, so I swallow against the dryness, and that’s when the memory of Three’s lips brushing mine sends butterflies swooping around my insides.
But that was earlier. Before we tried going to sleep. Once we settled on the couch, Three was nothing but chivalrous.
He insisted on lying on the side with the broken coil, so I made him take the one pathetic throw pillow to slip between his back and the cushions. Of coursehislegs stretched way past my armrest, while my legs barely reached his. When Three suggested we spread the single coat over the middle of our bodies for extra warmth, I ended up with the hood up by my face. The fur kept tickling my chin. And honestly? I was still cold.
The thing is, I’d taken my cardigan off to put on my Hawaiian shirt, and underneath the short sleeves, I only had one thin tank top. So while we were sleeping, I must’ve maneuvered my body around and inched my way up into Three’s arms. Now the coat’s draped over both of us, and he’s perfectly still, except for the steady rise and fall of his rock-hard pecs.
How can he breathe with my full weight on him?
