Page 58 of Crazy In Love (Secrets of Suburbi 3)

"Yeah, you were gone for like four hours."

Four hours? Geez. It felt more like days. Or minutes. It was hard to know for sure. "Just because you decorated doesn't mean you don't want to hurt me." Hell, I'd started decorating and I was still strongly considering chopping his head off with an axe. Christmas wasn't an all-cure for revenge.

"I hid when that detective came by, remember? I didn't do that for myself. I was trying to protect you." He took a step closer to me. "I know you're in trouble because of what you've done to me. But we can figure this out together. I'll help clear your name."

"Why would you help me after everything I've done to you?"

"Because...you're my girl."

My axe was getting heavy. That was the only reason why I lowered it to my side. It had nothing to do with the fact that the way he said "my girl" made my knees feel weak. "How did you even get untied?" I'd watched countless tutorials on sturdy knots.

"Remember when you were pissed off and threw a pair of pliers at me? You left them." He shrugged. "It took a while but I finally got free."

So much for my perfect plans. I wasn't good at this. I was really really not good at this. I didn't even step away as he drew closer to me, even though I knew I should have. I was supposed to be the one chasing him around with an axe. He wasn't supposed to be stepping even closer. And closer. I could smell his familiar body wash all around me, lulling me into a false sense of security.

"I like you better as a brunette." He reached out and ran his thumb and index finger down a strand of my hair.

I'd forgotten all about my wig. I wasn't even sure where I'd left it. But it didn't matter. He already remembered. I could tell. He was looking at me like he remembered everything. At least, everything before he started adding sidepieces like it was his job.

"And it was sinful to cover this face." He ran his thumb along my cheekbone, sending a shiver down my spine.

I'd also forgotten about my reindeer mask. It was a hindrance anyway. It would have definitely gotten in the way when we kissed. Kissed? What was I even thinking?

His thumb traced the freckles under my eyes.

I was broken. He broke me. So I don't know how I felt so whole when he touched me. It didn't make sense. But it was like he was somehow holding together my shattered pieces. I leaned into his touch.

"Ensley." His hand slid to my neck.

Kiss me. Stop. I leaned forward for just a second and then took two steps back. The distance made it easier to breathe. "I made you brownies." I had to get this night back on track, because I was worried I was about to maul him. And not with the axe.

He laughed. "Oh, yeah. I know. I took one bite. They were terrible. You’re much better at making French toast and bacon."

I laughed. "They weren't terrible. They just had tons of weed in them." Oops. I'd just played all my cards without even hesitating. He was slowly wrapping me around his finger again, just like he used to.

"How many did you eat?" he asked.

"Just one."

He looked over at the pan of brownies. "I'm pretty sure you ate more than one."

I glanced over. A third of the brownies were missing. "No, I'm pretty sure you ate more than a bite."

He laughed.

And then I laughed.

And then Snuggle Muffins started laughing too in his new Italian accent.

"Yeah," Noah said. "Maybe I did eat more than a bite." He nodded. "Right. Yeah, I did. I ate just a little and then started decorating. When I finished I was really freaking hungry. So I ate some more. They didn't taste as weird when I got seconds. And thirds." His eyes grew round. "I only ate them a little before you came in. How much weed did you put in them?" He put his hand up to his mouth.

And I realized I wished I was the one touching his lips. I cleared my throat. "Only a little." So so much. Way more than I was supposed to. I'm pretty sure I had eaten more than I was supposed to too. But everything was becoming clearer. His hands barely looked like shovels anymore. And they definitely didn't feel like shovels. They felt warm and rough. And safe. I felt so safe when his hands were on me.

I wasn't sure how it happened, but we were nose-to-nose again. Maybe I had stepped forward. Maybe he had.

He reached out again, letting his fingers trace the neckline of my sweater.

"My hand feels heavy," he said. He looked down at his hand as he pressed it against the side of my neck. "Are you sure it was just a little bit of weed?"

---