Page 40 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“Great,” Annie says. “You can grab them for us.”
He glares at her. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“Yep,” Annie says.
And I giggle at the two of them. I always wished I’d had a sibling, and as much as Annie does moan about her brother and as much as he rolls his eyes at his little sister, I can see how much they care about each other. Mom’s illness and everything that happened afterwards would have been a whole lot easier to handle if there’d have been someone to share that burden with.
“How do you take your hot chocolate, Hollie?” he asks me.
“Cream, a chocolate flake, marshmallows – the works,” I tell him.
He snorts. “I suppose you take your coffee the same way.”
“Nope. I like my coffee blacker than the depths of hell.”
He raises an eyebrow at that.
“That’s also how Clay likes his coffee,” Annie says, “because it suits his mood and his soul.”
Clay scowls at his little sister. “Be careful, or I’ll be coming back with just a water for you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He smirks and marches toward the counter.
“He better not come back with water,” she mutters.
But he doesn’t. He returns a moment later with our two hot chocolates – cream, marshmallows, flakes and all – and for him, just that black coffee. He also has a plate of something balanced in his hands. He deposits it all on the table and takes the seat opposite me and Annie.
“What’s that?” I ask him, pointing to the rich-looking tart in front of him.
“This, Hollie Bright, is wild berry tart. Ever tried it before?”
I shake my head.
“Then you need to try it now. You can’t come visit the Rockies, you can’t come visit Silver creek, and not try some.” He slides the plate over to me and passes me the fork, our fingertips brushing together ever so briefly, but it’s enough to send electricity scooting up my arm. “It’s cooked with berries picked from the county, and Eileen makes the best pie this side of Denver.”
I nod with approval and sink the prongs of my fork into the gooey-looking tart. I scoop it up along with a bit of cream and place it inside my mouth. The taste is immediately sweet and surprisingly tangy, and I groan with satisfaction.
“Oh my goodness, that’s good,” I say, passing the fork back to him.
He shakes his head. “I got it for you.”
“Clay doesn’t eat sweet things,” Annie says.
And I swear the Alpha’s eyes flash at those words, something his sister doesn’t spot, but I definitely do.
“I can’t eat all this,” I say. “I already ate pancakes for breakfast, and we had a chocolate chip muffin before you arrived. You have to share it with me.”
“Told you,” Annie says. “Clay doesn’t eat sweet things.”
I ignore my best friend, scoop up another piece of pie, and offer it up to the Alpha sitting across from me. He meets my gaze for a moment and then he’s leaning forward, opening his mouth, and I swear my arm starts shaking as I feed him the piece of pie between his lips. He captures the prongs of the fork between his lips for just a second, holding my gaze in his, and then he slides them along the prong, releasing them, chewing, swallowing, and licking his lips.
“Surprised he didn’t spit it out,” Annie mutters.
And I jolt. For a moment I’d forgotten she was there.
“Can I have some?” Annie asks.
