Page 117 of Booked for the Holidays
“What are you doing here?” I have to shout over the din of the storm so he can hear me. “What’s wrong? Is Mac okay?”
As he grows closer, I see the worry on his face. The panic in his eyes and the hurried movements. “I need to talk to you. There’s something I have to say.”
I wrap my arms around myself in a bear hug, rocking on my feet to fight off the cold air. “Okay.”
“The last forty-eight hours have been hell, Bridget. With Mac in a cast and the last words I said to you, I’ve been a damn mess. I’m not good at expressing emotions or telling people how I feel. It’s never been my strong suit. I recognize it. I’m working on it.”
I reach out, palm resting against his chest. His heart races under my touch, sprinting toward an invisible finish line. “I know you have these parts of your life you need to be present for. I have no idea how to parent or divide my time between things other than work, myself and my dog. I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you had to give up anything to be with me.”
“This ismyfault,” he says fiercely. “Not yours. For years I’ve been determined to make my kid my only priority, fearful of what would happen if I let someone else in. I need to learn how to balance all these parts of myself.”
“You shouldn’t have to pick.”
“I’m not picking. I’m allocating my attention to different entities, according to Mac. I won’t love her any less because I want to spend time with you. Life’s not going to stop moving if I answer her call on the second ring instead of the first. And, I want that life to include you. You are…” Theo trails off and shakes his head. Flecks of water fly from the ends of the dark strands. “You’ve given me so much joy and happiness. So much direction. I can only hope I give you the same. I want to jump into pools with my clothes on and I want to dance in the fucking rain. I want to have food fights and important conversations. I want you, Bridget, more than I’ve ever wantedanythingin my life.”
My eyes prickle with tears, and a sob catches in my throat. The smile on my lips starts deep within my soul, hidden inside before it finds its way to my lips. “Okay,” I whisper. “Yeah, let’s do it, Theo Gardner. Let’s dance and laugh and listen to Bowie in your truck. Let’s buy five hundred Christmas trees and decorate each one. We’ll get matching tattoos and smile every day. I want your flaws and I want to show you mine, too. I wantyou.”
He nudges me carefully, gently, with so much fucking care into the wall adjacent to our building. I gasp as my back meets the brick, rough against my shoulder blades. Theo swallows the sound down, hand threading through my hair. He tilts his neck and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. As if this is our last moment on earth and he wants to go out with his lips against mine, my heart in his hand.
He kisses me like he’s been starved, deprived of my existence his whole life. It’s teeth and tongue. Laughs and brushes of noses. Even with the wisp of a chilly breeze billowing against my skin, goosebumps creeping up my arm, I feel warm. Sowarm, from the inside out. Because sometimes warmth doesn’t come from weather or temperature. It comes for a person, the one who makes you feel totally whole.
Like Theo does for me.
My heart flutters, a hummingbird rhythm, constricting and coiling from every touch of his body against mine. The flex of his thigh, muscular, brawny, nudging its way between my legs. The smell of his cologne, cedar and spice. The gentle words and binding promises he whispers in my ear.
It’s an obliteration of my emotions, my feelings. It’s overwhelming and shocking, a rip current pulling me out to sea. An electric fence jolting me within an inch of my life. A free-fall from an airplane without a parachute, him on the ground, ready to catch me.
If I jump, he jumps.
It’s beautiful and messy, raw andperfect.
“Bridge,” he whispers. His lips, warm and soft, move from my mouth down my neck. They run along the column of my throat, dipping dangerously close to the collar of my shirt. Each press of his mouth invites my body a little further, an inferno kindling along the way.
“Yes?” I answer. My fingers slip into the belt loop of his Levi’s—the frayed favorite pair—and I tug him toward me.
“We need to get out of the rain, angel. It’s cold. I don’t want you to get sick before Christmas.”
Angel.
The simple, soft word sneaks its way into our embrace. I like when he calls me princess when he’s being rough and ragged. Sweat rolling down my cheek and his hands on my ass.Angel, though, is different. It’s heavier. More powerful, full of promise. I want to etch it onto my body like one of his tattoos.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Where are we going?”
For him, I’d move mountains.
For him, I’d agree to everything and more.
He detangles our limbs. Adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Fixes his shirt and takes a breath.
“My house?” he asks. It’s weightless, like he gave every ounce of himself to me. Which is good, because I plan to give all of myself to him in return.
“I need to grab Ziggy from daycare. Do you want to come with me?”
“Yeah. I do.” His hand finds mine, palm slick in my own and he squeezes twice.
“Then?” I ask.
Theo shrugs, unhurried and unbothered. “We have the rest of our lives to figure it out.”
