Page 81 of A Not So Merry Rescue
Beckett waggles his brows. “You could work it off in the bedroom. Did you know sex burns three point two calories per minute?”
Warmth creeps into my cheeks. “Beckett! You did not just say that at your family’s dinner table.”
“I did, and I’ll say it again. Se?—”
I twist in my seat and slap my free hand over his mouth. “Hush. Not dinner table conversation.”
His tongue sneaks out of his mouth, licking my palm. I should move my hand . . . but what I should do and what I do are different things.
That is, until he snakes his free hand along my inner thigh.
“You are so bad,” I whisper-hiss, looking around to make sure no one is paying us any attention. “Your mom isrightthere.” However, after today’s escapades in the dressing room, I’m having a harder time convincing him to stop.
But no. This isn’t the time or the place.
“So, Willa. What is it you do?”
The question comes from Autumn, and I freeze on the spot. How do I tell them what I do? Not after the other night with Shania. But how do I lie to these kind people? What even will I tell them?
As I’m internally panicking, Beckett rescues me. “She workswith authors helping to market their books on social media.” The lie slides smoothly off his tongue, like it was practiced. It’s so fluid and plausible, I stop to consider if anything else he’s told me could be a fabrication of the truth.
Shania pipes up first. “That’s so cool. Do you know authors in real life?” I nod, not trusting what will spill out without my permission. “I’ve always wanted to meet an author, ask them questions. Like Evelyn Ravenhurst. Man, I’ve got so many questions for her.”
“Eep,” I squeak, and it’s Beckett’s turn to cover my mouth.
“If Willa ever meets her, she’ll tell her she knows her biggest fan.”
Shania smiles broadly at her uncle. “I really hopeSantagot the memo about the collection I put on my list. I have the perfect spot on my shelf for them.” The way she says Santa leads me to suspect she’s not a true believer.
Beckett leans in close, his mouth right behind my ear. “I have it on good authority her shelves will be sporting new books. Maybe before you leave, you’ll sign them for her?”
“Yes, of course,” I breathe out, letting go of the pent-up breath zinging through me.
Beckett’s smile matches Shania’s.
One word plays on repeat in my mind.
Leave.
As much as I know it’s inevitable, why does the thought have me squirming in my seat worse than the thought of celebrating Christmas?
23
beckett
Willa’squiet on the drive to the cabin, her gaze trained outside her window. I avoided Main Street, not wanting to upset her, knowing she must be over her limit after spending hours listening to plans for the holiday and surrounded by decorations all night.
It’s not until I’ve parked in the garage and we’re inside the cabin does she regard me. “I had fun. Your family is truly great. Overbearing, overwhelming, and all. Thanks.”
“Glad you had a good time. Was it too much?”
She chortles. “At times? For sure. But I lived to tell about it. Clem’s going to be so proud of me.” At the mention of her sister, her voice changes. “I can’t wait to tell her tomorrow.”
“Speaking of tomorrow, are your plans to stay in the cabin all day?”
In the dim light of the entryway, her swallow is hard to miss. “It’s probably best. I don’t want to ruin anything for you.”
The bit of hope I had she’d join me deflates. “K.” After sharing why she detests the holiday—man, I’m not sure even I can blame her after something like that—I hoped she was making progress, albeit small. I won’t force her out of hercomfort zone. I have too many obligations to the town tomorrow to worry about Willa, too.
