Page 14 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“You have to give in to my demands before you get him back.”
Clearly, I’m losing my mind, something that must be caused by a mix of Hallie telling me nonstop about how hot my new neighbor is—“Serial killer or not, Wren, the man is hot. I might be able to look past the potential murderer aspect if I got his head between my thighs,”was what she said when we spotted him at the bar the other night—and the fact that I haven’t gotten laid in well over a year because suddenly, I’m picturing an entirely inappropriate set ofdemandsfrom Adam Porter.
Or maybe I just really need sleep, because I almost convince myself that his eyes flare with my question, almost as if his mind is going in the same direction as mine.
But there’s no way.
The man can’t stand me.
“Take back your decorations. And don’t put any new ones up,” he says, pulling me back from that dangerous track.
“No,” I state, crossing my arms on my chest.
“Then you’re not getting back your nutcracker. You’re going to have to find some new symbol of Christmas spirit or whatever.”
I fight the suddenly consuming urge to stomp my foot and whine. “This is ridiculous. I have a lot to do tonight besides argue with you.”
He crosses his arms on his chest once more and tips his chin down to look at me questioningly.
“Yeah, what’s up with that? Does Santa have you working doubles? You’re up until the ass crack of dawn doing God knows what every night?—”
“Are you watching me?” I ask, and for the first time, I contemplate Hallie’s serial killer theory.
“Your lights are always on. As you know, your house is right next to mine, and my office faces yours.” That explains that, I suppose. “So I can see that you’re up until three a.m.—”
“One,” I correct. “I don’t let myself stay up later than one, not three a.m. orthe butt crack of dawn. And it’s not every night.” He raises an eyebrow and tips his head, and I let out a frustrated breath before adjusting my response. “It’s every night right now, but not normally. The holidays are just a bit extra crazy.”
“Do you not require sleep during the month of December? I don’t think one can actually survive on Christmas cheer alone, not even you.”
I glare.
“I have things to do. Unlike you, I care deeply about this community and ensuring that everything for the holidays is perfect so everyone can enjoy the season.”
“Except for you?” It throws me off, and my head moves back with confusion, but he clarifies. “You work your ass off to let everyone else enjoy their holiday season, but there’s no shot you have any free time to enjoy it yourself.”
“I enjoy it just fine. I love helping people out with their decorations and making their gifts, and—” I pause as he watches me with skepticism before shaking my head and stopping myself. “This is off topic and, honestly, none of your business.My sleep schedule has nothing to do with whether or not you’re going to decorate your house or give me back my stolen property.”
“I don’t know. You think my focus is in the wrong place, but I think I’m the only one of us pushing for the right thing. You seem to take care of everything for everyone—when was the last time someone took care of you?”
My jaw tightens. “I don’t need someone to take care of me. I’ve got it handled.”
“Sure you do.”
“You think you know everything and you’re better off than me because…what? No one relies on you? No one can count on you to help them out? It just makes you a jerk.”
“How am I the jerk in this situation? You’re working nonstop for everyone in your life, and no one seems to care if that means you barely even sleep, but sure, I’m the asshole.”
“You won’t even put up a couple of stupid Christmas lights! You’re willing to ruin a thirty-year tradition just to prove a point!” I take a step closer, and heat rolls over him in waves. The exhausted, stupid part of me wants to curl into it, but that part is an idiot.
“And yet I have left up every one of the decorations you’ve put on my lawn, Wren.”
My pulse pounds, and I ask the question I’ve been wondering since he stopped trying to remove them.
“And why is that, Adam? What’s the grand plan there? Are you giving me hope so you can rip it away? If you hate Christmas decorations so much, take them out yourself! Break them! Throw them away! Call the cops!” My voice is raised now, and I poke him in the chest with each option, and each one feels good, like I’m letting all of this pent-up emotion that’s been unwittingly building for weeks out onsomeone, even if somewhere in my mind, I know it’s not the right person.
But that feeling transforms quickly. All of the breath leaves my lungs when his hand moves, lifting quickly and wrapping around my wrist before pulling me in until my chest is against him. His hand settles on my hip, and the contact burns even through the layers of clothes.
I’m surprised when he speaks next, his words a low rumble.
