Page 150 of The Temporary Fiancée
I climb down off of the kitchen stool, brushing my hands together and looking around in satisfaction. It looks perfect—as cozy and homey as a top-floor penthouse can get. Before I can forget, I switch on the electric fire to make the room feel as warm as possible.
I take a seat on the couch and pull my latest knitting project—a tasseled hat, designed to keep the biting chills of New York winters at bay. As I’m unraveling some tangled yarn, small flurries start to drift past the windows as the gray sky, which had been threatening snow for days, finally opens up.
I only knit for five minutes before I get a text from Reed—he’s in the lobby, on his way up. Excitement shoots through me, and I drop the knitting in favor of making a couple of last minute adjustments. I turn up the fire, then run over to even out the garland over the kitchen doorway.
At last, the elevator chimes softly, and Reed steps out. I run straight over to him and wrap my arms around his torso, pressing my face into his chest.
He tips me back over his arm, and I yelp in delight at the sudden feeling of weightlessness—and then his lips meet mine, and the entire world fades into a blissful blur of lights, the scents of pine and cooked turkey mingling with the fresh smell of his cologne.
“I missed you,” he breathes in my ear, and I laugh, feeling giddy.
“I missed you, too,” I say. Then I grin and add, “Merry Christmas.”
As I say that, he looks up and seems to notice, for the first time, the state of his apartment. “What the?—”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I explain, as he blinks in surprise and begins to wander into the open space of the living room.
He turns slowly in a half-circle, taking in the lights and ornaments. “Did… did you do all of this by yourself?”
“Well, Riley helped a little, but for the most part, yeah.”
“This is…” He shakes his head, as if he still can’t believe his eyes. His jaw hangs open, almost comically. “This is unreal.”
“Do you like it?” I ask, suddenly worried.
“Are you kidding?” He turns to me, warmth in his gaze. “Iloveit. It’s amazing.You’reamazing.” He tilts his head up, inhaling deeply through his nose. “And… what is that smell?”
“Oh, that? I might have cooked us dinner.”
He looks astounded. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“I know I didn’t,” I say. “But I wanted to.”
His gaze sweeps the apartment—the boughs of pine, the glittering tinsel on the tree, the multicolored baubles—and then lands on me. “It’s beautiful,” he says.
“You once told me that your family never really celebrated holidays or birthdays properly. If we’re going to be together, I want to make sure that they mean something special to you. It’s not just another day.”
He reaches for me, his hands resting on my hips, and smiles down at me, his eyes soft. The brown irises reflect the string lights, sparkling.
Then he pulls me in and kisses me.
“Thank you,” he says, as soon as our lips part. “This is wonderful.”
My phone’s timer goes off, startling me. I fish it out of my pocket to silence it, then say, “It looks like the turkey’s done. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Okay. Let me just get everything finished up, and we can eat.”
He heads off to grab a wine bottle from the cabinet, and I go into the kitchen to pull the turkey from the oven. A few minutes later, we’re seated at the table, and he carves up the turkey carefully.
“We’re going to have leftovers for days,” he says, grinning. “This is way too much food for two people.”
“That’s what holidays are all about,” I reply. “Making way too much food, and then having so many days of leftovers that you start to get sick of it. Then you don’t eat turkey for a whole year, and by the time the holidays roll around again…”
“You’re not sick of it anymore?”
“Exactly!”
