Page 23 of All I Want For Christmas Is You

It’s your last chance.

Tell her.

“You’re the master of the universe.”

“What?” She whipped around, clearly confused. “No, I never had a career. The money I make now is—”

He stalked toward her. “It’s not about money. It’s about a person’s character. Who they are at their core. And you’re…indomitable.” A couple passed them in the hallway, and he lowered his voice. “I admire the hell out of you.”

Her eyes flooded with gratitude. “Thank you, Beau.” She blinked back tears. “It’s so nice to hear that. It’s been really hard.”

“Did you know that’s the first time you said that? You talked about how tough it was for him to lose his job and house and fancy cars, but it sounds like you were too busy taking care of your husband to deal with the impact on you. Did he ever take care of you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Of course, you were blindsided when he left. It’s your nature to stand by the people you care about. I would imagine the hardest part of this whole situation was having to reconcile the man you thought you’d married with the shithead he turned out to be.”

Her bottom lip wobbled, and her beautiful features wrenched in sorrow. He had no choice but to pull her into his arms. She didn’t even hesitate to lean against him, giving him all her weight, and he loved it. For a reason he didn’t understand, he wanted her to know he was strong, that he could take it.

That I’m not like him.

He wanted to line up all her troubles and bowl them down one by one. He wanted to free her of the pain that suffocated her. But guess what? This formidable woman had already done that. She had her own business and wasn’t wasting her energy seething about her ex.

His T-shirt dampened from her tears. He didn’t know how to make her feel better. There were no platitudes for what she’d gone through. So, he just held her, gently rubbing her back.

Voices came from the other end of the hallway, and she glanced over. When his thumb intersected a tear gliding down her cheek, she wrapped her hand around his wrist. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to keep this all to myself. I’ve been completely alone, but you gave me the validation I’ve needed.” As the couple reached them, she lowered their joined hands. Once they passed, she asked, “Have you ever baked cookies?”

“Sure. Plenty of times.”

“Oh.” Her features fell. “Okay, well, it was nice talking to you today. I’ll be sure to make an extra special batch for you. Just so you know, you’re going to see them everywhere. My aunt even has them delivered to every room. Milk and cookies before bed.” She gave him a weak smile and then turned to go.

But he hadn’t released her hand, so he gently tugged her back. When she nearly stumbled against his chest, their gazes locked, and sensation bloomed inside his chest. “But I’ve never baked them with you.”

Chapter Five

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and melted butter. Staff who weren’t even on shift came in to help bake the thousands of crisp, wafer-like cookies Aunt Lucy liked to offer her guests. She kept a basket of them at the check-in desk and offered them for free at the coffee bar.

Everyone worked in teams. Some stood sentry at the ovens, ready to pull them out and set them on cooling racks, while others arranged them for delivery. Margot and Beau rolled out the dough that was made the day before and also made new batches for tomorrow.

Since the kitchen was so crowded, she’d found an out-of-the-way workstation. At the moment, she was alone. A garbage disposal had broken, and while everyone had flipped out—what’re we going to do? Can we even get a plumber this close to Christmas?—Beau had stood quietly in front of it, arms crossed over his chest, head cocked, and then got down on the floor, slid his upper body under the sink, and began fixing it.

Why was a capable man so sexy? When she’d found herself staring a little too long at his muscular thighs in those well-worn jeans and the patch of tan skin exposed when his Henley rode up—she quickly got back to work.

Only when she poured molasses into a Pyrex measuring cup did she notice her shaky grip.

I’m a mess.

She’d known a lot of people in her life, had made a lot of friends, and been married for two decades, but she’d never connected with anyone the way she did with Beau. But while that was nice, it wasn’t what got her all worked up. It was because she knew the only reason someone could read another person so well was because they cared. They were paying attention to expressions, gestures, and tone of voice.

Which begged the question: why did he care about her?

She wasn’t some beauty. She didn’t have the body of a swimsuit model. So, clearly, the attraction wasn’t based on the physical.

Which is good. It’s great. Having a crush and connecting with a man was life-affirming.

But connecting with a man who was leaving TOMORROW MORNING…not so good. Terrible, in fact.

Do not get attached to this man.

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