Page 93 of A Not So Merry Rescue
She shuffles from foot to foot, assessing something, I guess. “The kind of sore I’ve never been. Not sure how long it will last.”
I can’t help the pride exuding from me at her comment.Thekind of sore I’ve never been.I shouldn’t take such enjoyment from that, but hell if I can stop it.
Moving one foot closer, I snake my arms around her waist, pulling her into me. “Too sore for more later?”
She peers up, her eyes clouded with a vacant look. “No. We don’t have much longer, and I won’t waste the time we have. I can rest back at home.”
Reminded of how transient we truly are, the familiar ache in my chest reappears. I hate how it’s becoming a thing every time I recall she’s not here to stay, she’s only mine temporarily. All I can muster is a fake smile.
“Later it is.” I swipe a kiss against her lips and let her out of my embrace. It’s too soon, but if I don’t let go now, I’m certain I may never. “Get ready for dinner.”
Melancholy washes her expression, her smile sad. “Will do, Santa.” With a half-hearted giggle, she escapes the kitchen, leaving more in her wake than a dead Christmas tree in January.
27
willa
When I first planned mytrip, had someone told me the plans would go awry and I’d be celebrating Christmas Eve dinner—and enjoying myself—I would have laughed in their face. Yet, here I am, surrounded by people who were strangers a week ago, having the time of my life. Like old friends, Heidi and Lenny have fit me into their fold, sharing stories of growing up in Winterberry and showing me what Christmas can be. Even if I had the inkling to write about the holiday in my books, it wouldn’t have been like this. I didn’t know it could be this good.
Growing up, we barely celebrated Christmas Eve. Mom would attempt some kind of beef dish—you never knew what it would be or taste like—and after dinner, we’d maybe watch a Christmas movie, while Mom and Dad would pass out from their wine. Clem and I would often stay up late into the night, wishing and hoping for whatever gift was the “it” gift that year, only to be disappointed when there were so few presents under the tree, the one gift we wanted always absent.
Things changed when Elias came into the picture, but even then, he didn’t have any family left, so he joined ours. When my nephews were born, Clem wanted a different celebration forthem. Until last year, I’d say it contrasted ours growing up, but it’s still unlike anything I’ve witnessed with the Nicholas family.
So, yeah. I haven’t always hated Christmas, but I never dared to imagine celebrations like this. Now that I have, Gibson holidays will be even more lackluster.
The beef Wellington practically melts in my mouth, an explosion of the perfectly paired flavors popping on my tongue. I’d say it’s delicious, but that wouldn’t do it justice. I don’t have the words to describe the awesomeness of the dish, though I bet Beckett could. When it’s something he’s passionate about, the words ooze from him. In his raspy tone, I could listen for hours and get high on the sound.
Throughout dinner, my eyes drift to him, watching him interact with his sister and brother-in-law, invested in their conversation, obsessed with the way he devours the food on his plate, offering compliments to the chef repeatedly. Genuine praise. As much as my sister and I are close, there’s a dynamic between Becket and Heidi on another level. Perhaps it’s the opposite genders, but their closeness is something to strive for.
Dessert is a pecan bourbon cake, another thing lacking from my life. It’s moist and nutty, and though I shouldn’t, I consume two slices. Culinary expertise runs rampant in the Nicholas family.
For Beckett’s part, his hand is always touching me. My back, my thigh, our fingers entwined.
The man is everything I never thought to ask for, anticipating my needs without me voicing them, often before they register as thoughts. I’m pushing away every notion of saying goodbye to him, living in the present, soaking up these last two days I get to call him mine.
He’s not mine in any sense of the word. Once I leave here, we’ll be a blip on each other’s radars, someone we used to know when.
I’m saved from my emotional turmoil by Beckett’s voice. “Should we call it a night, Bundy?”
Damn him and his nickname.
Damn him for sharing it with his family.
Damn him for being a man I could love, a man I could see spending forever with.
“Yep.” I push the word out of my mouth, afraid to say more for fear I’ll let him in on my thoughts. Addressing Heidi, I start, “Thank you for this mouthwatering meal. Between Beckett and the rest of your family, I’m screwed for when I’m back home eating ramen noodles and takeout for every meal.” I don’t mean for the comment to sound so dire, but Heidi’s mood shifts.
“If Mom hears that, she’ll send you home with a dozen meals.” I can’t decipher the underlying tone. Is she suggesting I do that? Or is it merely a statement she’s making?
A giggle wiggles free, but I don’t know how to respond. Thankfully, Beckett’s got me.
“I won’t send her home empty-handed,” he assures, his hand splayed across the small of my back. There’s a wistfulness present, his voice more guttural than normal, emotions weighing heavy. When he leans down and leaves a kiss on the top of my head, it’s all I can do to stay upright and not fall into him.
I have to shake these emotions off. How will I handle brunch with his family if I’m on the verge of a breakdown? And for once, it has nothing to do with the Christmas holiday.
Hugs are shared, tears are shoved down, and we’re back in the car, heading to his cabin. It doesn’t escape my notice he turns the opposite way out of the driveway.
“You were quiet tonight,” he muses.
