Page 92 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“What?”
“I wrote almost one thousand words today.” Pride oozes off her. And the woman should be proud. Damn proud.
“That’s huge.” I can’t help but take a small amount of pride knowing it has something to do with me.
“I know. And I have unlocked more ideas than I’ve had in the past two years. I almost can’t wait to get back to it. But I’m not. I’m taking the holiday to enjoy.” Her eyes roam up and down me. “And you. I’m taking you to enjoy while I have you, too. The words can wait. I’ll be home soon enough.”
I can’t read her opinion of her statements. Except the part about her being proud of her accomplishment. As for the rest of it, I’m lost. I have my feelings on the matter, but I can’t put them on her. Not even a little.
If today and tomorrow are all we have left, we’ll make the best of them. We won’t let the future taint them.
“Awesome.” I remember the candy I bought her, which I left in the truck. “I have another surprise for you.”
She eyes me warily. “Another one? I’m not surprised out by you today?” She’s still wearing the Santa hat and she looks adorable. Almost enough to say fuck it to joining my sister for dinner . . .
No. We’ll get our fill tonight, after dinner. We can do both.
I race out to the truck, grabbing the bag of candy. Back inside,I hold it behind my back, drawing out the suspense. “What’s ‘almost one thousand words’ worth in terms of a reward?”
“On a good day, two pieces of chocolate. Today? After not writing for two years? I’d say any and all rewards are appropriate.”
Her words cause emotion to swell my chest, a wish of not having to let her go.
What’s gotten into me lately? Why can’t I accept this for what it is? A casual hookup between two people who just met. I don’t want to call her a stranger because getting to know her the past several days, I’ve uncovered more than my share of information about her. More than a stranger would know. But that doesn’t change the fact this isn’t anything more than casual. Less than that. A fling.
“Beckett?”
Willa’s voice brings me out from a path not leading anywhere good. I hand over the bag. “Hopefully we can hit the candy store before you leave, to stock up on your favorites. For now, these will do.”
She squeals as she peeks inside, her pupils widening at what she finds. Instead of reaching in, she dumps the contents on the table, inspecting each piece of wrapped goodness. Her tongue sneaks out of her mouth, licking the corner. It’s enough to make me crazy with lust, an emotion I can’t act on.
“This is quite the haul.” Maple candies, chocolate truffles, honey-filled candies, among others I grabbed not knowing her favorites. “This one is calling my name. I won’t ruin supper if I have just one, right?” She holds up one of my favorites—dark chocolate with a hazelnut in the center—and looks at me with a pleading expression I can’t say no to. As if it’s my place to tell her what she can and can’t eat and when.
“One will not ruin your appetite.”
She claps, her excitement tangible.
To distract myself, I go to the pantry for a bottle of red to share with Willa and Lenny. I choose a Merlot which pairs nicelywith beef Wellington. As soon as she mentioned what she was serving, I hoped Willa agreed. It’s been a while since I’ve had it.
For as many traditions as our family has, Christmas Eve dinner is one we’ve lost over the years. Giving it some thought, it was soon after Nana died, that first Christmas Eve. Though she died in the summer, we couldn’t decide how to celebrate if she wasn’t in charge. Or maybe it’s because Mom does a huge dinner on December twenty-third, a Christmas Day brunch, and wants a meal off. Perhaps this one will stick, though with a baby on the way, next year will look different.
And Willa won’t be here.
Nope, not thinking so negatively on a day reserved for celebration.
“Oh, I was hoping I’d get to try that one,” Willa states when I emerge from the pantry, bottle in hand.
“One of my local favorites.” The chemistry in the air changed, the atoms fizzle around us. I blame myself and quickly reprimand myself to do better. “How was the chocolate?”
Willa’s eyes close, a smile eclipses her mouth. She sways on her feet, lost in her own world. When her eyes pop open, she divulges, “Oh my god, so delish. Creamy, not too bittersweet, even for dark chocolate. That seems like an oxymoron, but it’s not.”
“Agreed. Not sure how they make it not so bitter. Maybe the hazelnut?”
She shrugs. “Your guess is better than mine. I’m good at eating. You’re the master chef.”
I don’t know if I’m supposed to take that as literally as I do.
“We should go back to the B and B. The sooner we eat, the sooner we can get back to more pressing matters. How sore are you?”
