Page 83 of Wylder Ranch
Alex places my feet on the floor, leans over until his lips are a hair’s breadth from mine. “Don’t pretend you’re disappointed. I know your pussy’s already soaking at the thought of my cock.”
My entire core clenches as his fingers slip into the waistband of his pajama bottoms I’m wearing and slide too easily between my legs.
The wink he gives me when he proves his point has my lungs seizing.
In the post-coitalhaze I’ve lived in since last night, I forgot the Christmas lights were switched on so it’s a delightful surprise to see them shimmering, even in the low afternoon sun. I’m tempted to stay out until it’s dark just so I can see them in their full glory.
Snowflakes of all sizes are strung across Valentine High Street as intricate as paper doilies. There’s a slower pace to the shoppers today as they stop and stare. The farther they walk, the more there is to see and point at.
With Everly strapped to my chest, I follow the crowds. The stores are so cute, decked out with snow-covered windows, Nutcrackers and reindeer flanking the doors. Each one hangs a smaller version of the Burlington gates wreath, secured with pretty velvet ribbons tied off with a bow. There’s even one on the arch at the end.
The air is scented with cinnamon and gingerbread from the bakery. The whole street is magical, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
I feel the excitement of Christmas building in my chest, and I really hope my parents are somewhere seeing this, because they would love everything about it.
Some of the stores have lines snaking out, and after we pop into The Beanery to see Claudia and fetch a cinnamon spice latte, we continue until we find the one place I wanted to visit above all else.
The Christmas Tree stand.
It’s quiet, though from the sight of the girl standing at the cash register sipping coffee, she looks like this is herfirst break all day. I know exactly howthatfeels.
The tree stand is impressive, almost like a little Santa’s grotto hut, surrounded by a green forest organized in height order. Tall ones at the back, smaller ones leaning against the slatted boards of the hut.
“Hello, can I help you?” the girl asks, taking a long sip of her coffee.
She’s wearing fingerless gloves, nails painted red. Thick dark curls, peeking out from underneath a pink bobble hat, are caught up in the black and white striped scarf wrapped around and around her neck. It’s cold out, but notthatcold.
Maybe she’s sick. Either way, I can tell she needs her break, and as I’m not planning on buying a tree, I just smile and tell her I’m good for the moment.
I walk through the lines of trees, checking out the prices, comparing them to the ones I sell, and wonder if Alex could be persuaded to get a tree for the house. And every minute or so when I catch the girl’s eye, we both smile and look away.
“You’re visiting from the States?”
I nod, peering around a particularly fluffy Norwegian Fir. “Yeah. Kinda. . . um boy. . . my. . .daughter’s father is English.”
She doesn’t notice that I stutter over my words or have a minor mental breakdown about what Alex’s and my relationship status is. In hindsight, we should have been a little clearer during the “yours and mine” conversation.
“Cool. I love America. I just came back from Australia, where it’s the height of summer. It’s freezing here.”
I chuckle. “I haven’t been, but I heard it’s lovely.”
“It is. Bloody boiling too.”
I’m about to ask her if she needs any help on the stand when I hear a familiar voice. Except it can’t be, because this voice isn’t laughing or friendly like it usually is, asking how I’m doing, how Everly is doing, or joking around with Alex, or Max.
It’s snarly.
“So itistrue. You’re back.”
When I peer through the branches of the tree I’m holding, I spot Hendricks. Shoulders rigid, mouth pursed, hands rammed hard into his jeans pockets. The slash of dark brows under his black baseball cap only makes him look angrier. I’m guessing this is the girl Clemmie was talking about yesterday.
She’s facing me, so she can’t see him, but she knows who it is. I watch her eyes close like she needs to gather strength and take a slow, deep breath before turning around.
“Hen—”
“Oh, you do remember me. Funny, I don’t recall getting a heads-up you were coming home, but then again, I didn’t get a heads-up you were leaving either,” he spits, and his head drops with a disappointed shake. “Not even a fucking hello, Stor?”
“Hen—”
