Page 23 of Christmas in Vines

She looked down, then back to me. “You must be out of your mind.”

“I’ve been told that a few times,” I admitted. “But I won’t be dragging you to an orgy. Trust me.”

Her lips twisted while she took the mask and slipped it over her head, jumped into the car and then pulled it down over her eyes. “If I get so much as a papercut, my dad will hunt you down with shotguns and bloodhounds.”

“I believe you,” I replied as I turned down to the main street. “But you don’t need to be calling in the calvary just yet.”

Her fingers were drumming on her thighs as we crawled through the rush hour traffic, and I got to the park where the carriage drivers were stationed. When I parked, I hopped out and circled the car. The faint jingle of bells from the horse's blankets made me cringe, and I feared they had tipped my hand.

Opening the door, I gently held her hand and led her down to the ground.

“Can I take this goddamned blindfold off yet?” she asked.

“Soon,” I replied as we approached the carriage I’d set up earlier.

Marty, the driver, came down to open the door, and only then did I slip off the sleep mask from her face. Willow’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped at the sight of the pair of dappled Clydesdale horses, their four white legs and luxurious mane.

“We’re going on a carriage ride?” I heard her breath stall in her throat.

“Yep,” I replied, “And your carriage awaits, my lady.”

The driver turned and smiled. “My name is Marty, and I’ll be your tour guide this afternoon. The ride is a forty-minute scenic trail through the park and down to the waterside before looping back again. Inside, there is a blanket as per the request of Mister Burrows here, a picnic basket with hot chocolate and tidbits from the bakery. Let me know if you have any questions as we make our way around. I’ll point out some places of interest, but feel free to ask me anything in the meantime.”

“Thanks, Marty,” I said while helping Willow into the open silver and white carriage. We sat on the back seat, and she grabbed my hand.

My gaze traveled from her flushed, beaming face to the hairs curling around her collar, and I didn’t bother to hide my admiration. “You look beautiful.”

Slipping my hand around her waist, I pulled her to my side and bent to kiss her temple softly, stealing her breath for the second time. She twisted a little and kissed me fully as large feathery snowflakes drifted from the sky.

My eyes dropped to the patch of skin under her jaw, just visible above the collar of her coat. I wanted to lick it, I realized abruptly. To press my lips against it and feel her pulse throb under my tongue.

“I should have checked the forecast for tonight,” I murmured. “I didn’t know it was going to snow.”

“It’s winter. What do you expect? Don’t worry, I don’t mind snow.” Willow laughed as she burrowed into my side. “Are you getting into the Christmas Spirit?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” I replied. “But I’m getting to understand it more.”

“I love carriage rides,” Willow said as we entered the park’s trails. “I did them a lot as a kid, but lately, I haven’t had the time,” she craned her head to me, and I saw a pool of emotion in her eyes. “How did you think of this?”

For a second, I feared I’d made a mistake. “Did I fuck up or—”

She kissed me, and the touch of her mouth to mine was everything; her arms reaching up to wrap behind my neck, her fingers carding through the short hair at my nape. Her lips were warm, familiar and oh-so delicious. She could kiss me forever, but she pulled away.

“No. You didn’t.”

I blinked. “Okay then. Good to know.”

“My mom, dad and I would take these rides every Christmastime,” she said. “But not this route.”

“I’m told this is the Lovers Route,” I replied, nodding to the lamps lining the road, highlighting the lazily drifting snow. “I doubt kids would be taken here.”

Ten minutes in, I reached for the blankets and wrapped them around our shoulders, then reached for the spotted thermos filled with hot chocolate. She sipped it and laughed, “Nutmeg.”

“Nutmeg,” I replied. “You can drink it all.”

“How did this all come about?” Willow asked. “A divine intervention?”

“Nah,” I shrugged. “I just thought you were the one arranging all the other Christmassy stuff, so I tried to do something you’d appreciate. I never thought it would be this ridiculously romantic.”

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