Page 65 of Mad About Yule

Griffin and I don’t watch a minute of it. Nothing else matters but right now, right here, his mouth on my mouth, his hand on my hip, his breath just as ragged as mine.

My phone pings with a text message, an unwelcome intrusion bringing us back to reality. If it’s my mom or sister, I might murder them in their beds.

We slow our kisses, loosening our hold on each other. He strokes stray strands out of my face and curls his fingers in my hair. His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, and I fist my hand in his shirt, ready to pull him back for more.

He swallows. “You should probably check that.”

Inhaling deeply, I breathe in his soapy scent while the rational side of my brain flickers back on. “It’s probably nothing.”

Honestly, I’m surprised I can string three words together when all I want to say ismore. I kiss him again, nibbling at his mouth, and his grip tightens on my waist.

Because I can’t have nice things, my phone pings again.

He releases me, shifting himself back on the couch. “It might be important.”

“Is there something more important than this?”

His eyes still have that happy, sleepy look, but his mouth slants. “You should probably check.”

All at once, I remember he has good reason to fear bad news out of the blue. I reluctantly get up to check my phone. It had better bereally important.

Lila: Festival plans going okay?

Lila: Sure you don’t need my help?

“It’s just my sister.” Helping, as usual. I turn to Griffin, but all hope of going back to where we’d left off disintegrates like a snowball exploding on the ground when he crosses the room.

“Everything good?”

“She’s checking up on me. Making sure I can handle the Christmas festival. It’s like she knows everyone thinks she’d do a better job at this than me.”

“I can see one big defect with Lila.”

Sure. Nobody has ever found a defect with Lila. “What’s that?”

He levels me a look that sets my heart fluttering. “She’s not you.”

I open my mouth to say that isn’t much of a mark against her, but he goes on.

“Has she ever put on a Christmas festival to benefit a whole town? Has she designed a Winter Wonderland to make hundreds of little kids happy? Does she paint pictures that make you smile just looking at them?”

He moves closer, his eyes blazing into me. “Does she shine so bright she makes you feel lucky just to be around her? Lila’s got nothing on you, Hope.”

My heart fizzes like an overflowing champagne bottle. “My art really makes you smile?”

His soft laughter ripples through me, a caress I want to lean into. “I knew that would get you.”

“I never imagined you were such a sweet talker.”

“I’m not usually. I think it was that knock to the head.”

“Maybe I should whack you again.”

He looks down at me like he’s trying to decide something. Fingers crossed for the outcome that leads to more kissing.

“It’s late,” he says. “I should probably go.”

My brain knows this is a reasonable choice, but my heart isn’t feeling all that rational right now.

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