Page 119 of One Foggy Christmas
Our conversations were fine all day and night. But the second there’s dead space when something physical can happen, his walls go up. Those interactions are guarded, making me think he doesn’t trust me with his heart anymore. I understand why. I’mgetting what I deserve. But just because I wasn’t ready one year ago doesn’t mean I couldn’t be ready now.
I’ve finally felt the emotional spark between us. I can’t just walk away from those feelings.
I have to try.
Fate brought Nash Carter back into my life, and now it’s up to me to keep him there.
SADIE
Dayone of winning my husband—who is now my ex-husband—back, and we’re off to a good start.
A knock at the door has me flying down the spiral staircase to answer it. Shades cover the windows from the morning sun, but there’s enough light coming through the cracks that I can answer the door without breaking my ankle.
“Room service.” The woman holds a tray up beside her.
“Yes, come in. You can put it on the table right there.”
After setting the food down, she turns to me expectantly, and that’s when I remember I forgot the tip.
I spin, crashing into Nash’s very hard, verybarechest.
My gaze crawls from his pecs to his neck, to his Adam’s apple, then his jaw, until they meet his green eyes. It’s semi-dark but not so dark that I can’t see exactly what I’m dealing with here. And what I’m dealing with is a very attractive man.
“I got it.” He steps to the side, moving his chest away from my palms, and grabs his wallet to tip the woman.
The whole tipping scene unfolds before me as I check out Nash’s sleep attire, which basically consists of briefs, and that’s it. I’ve seen him dressed like this before when the barn door to the bathroom was cracked open. I said it then, and I’ll say it again: he has a very nice male physique. I remember admiring him back then, but now I’m feelin’ it more than ever.
The woman nods in appreciation over Nash’s tip—maybe also his six-pack—and then leaves.
He turns around, and I’m awestruck by his mussed hair and lazy smile. How did I not feel this before? It’s pretty intense.
“What’s all this?” His eyes drop to the tray of food.
“Uh…breakfast.” I start lifting lids. “I don’t know—er, remember—what you like, so I ordered an assortment.”
His lips lift. “I like it all.”
“No, really. I want to know what you eat in the morning so I don’t have to keep guessing every day.”
“Pastries.” He grabs a croissant filled with chocolate and somehow manages an adorable smile as he takes a huge bite.
“I don’t believe that one bit. Someone who looks like this”—I wave my finger in front of his abs—“doesn’t eat pastries every morning. Probably protein shakes and kale.”
Laughter bursts out of him, shooting a piece of half-chewed pastry from his mouth into my hair. And now we’re both laughing.
“Charming.” I hold up the strand caked with his food and flick it away from me. “Real charming.”
“That was an accident.” He wipes at his mouth with his wrist, and even that action is so cute.
“So what are we doing today?” I pick up a square of cheese and pop it into my mouth.
“We?” His brows hike up.
“Yeah, did you think I would let you keepourSwitzerland itinerary to yourself?”
He puffs out a laugh that’s more nervous than humorous. “I don’t know what I thought would happen today.”
“What do you want to happen?” I infuse my words with a bit of flirtiness, just laying the foundation.
