Page 136 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

Or maybe it’s more that I’m too scared to tell her everything and ruin what we’ve found.

“I just am,” I tell her, leaning forward and resting my forehead against hers. “And it’s you.”

I’m about to lean in for another kiss when movement beside her head has me jumping back at such a speed that my leg jars.

“Aw, fuck,” I cry, reaching for it.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” I state, looking up and glaring at the bird sitting on her roof. I swear the little shit is glaring back and taunting me.

I fucking hate birds.

“Birds scare the shit out of me.”

Sienna chuckles and thankfully doesn’t latch onto my half-truth. Yes, it made me jump, but the reality is, I’m fucking petrified of them, and if Sienna remembers anything from that summer, then she probably remembers me freaking out when a flock of egrets landed only a few feet away from where we were hanging out in a field.

I shot up so fast that I didn’t register her reaction until long seconds later. When I looked back, she was bent over in two, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

“Right,” she mutters. “Shall we?”

I reach for the handle, open her car door, and wait for her to slip into the driver’s seat.

Darcy says I should be cleared to drive by the end of the week, and I can’t fucking wait.

There’s no way I want Sienna driving us to the date I’ve planned. And there’s something very unromantic about having an Uber driver third-wheeling on a date.

“So, where are we headed?” she asks once I’m sitting beside her.

“I guess that depends on whether you want a real tree or not.”

“Is that even a question? Real tree, hands down.”

“Okay then.” I pull up a tree farm on my cell, then sync to Sienna’s car. “Let’s go.”

I hadn’t really considered what it might be like, Christmas tree shopping with Sienna. I kinda thought we’d just choose a tree and be on our way to get decorations. But no, it turns out that Sienna is some kind of tree expert and also has very, very specific taste.

I’m pretty sure we have to look at, at least one hundred trees before she finally settles on one she likes.

The sun is setting by the time we get the chosen one into the back of her car. It barely fits. We’re forced to have the very top of it between the front seats, stopping me from reaching over and resting my hand on her thigh like I did all the way out here.

“Happy?” I ask, unable to miss her small smile.

“Very. Sorry if that was annoying.”

“I think I underestimated your commitment.”

“Why do you think I don’t get one? I don’t have that much time to waste every year.”

“You could just get an artifi⁠—”

“Don’t you dare even finish that sentence,” she warns.

“Is the next part going to be as…”

“As?” she prompts.

“Selective?” I hedge, making her laugh.