Page 32 of Christmas By Design

I pinch my eyebrows together, confused. “You bought Nova a gift?”

He looks down at the bag in my hand as if it holds the answer. “Well, technically, yes. But you said you hadn’t had time to get her anything, so I thought…” he trails off and finally looks up at me. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes. He must see them, because he immediately backtracks. “It’s not that I think you can’t buy your own gifts. But I figured you wouldn’t be able to go out to get her anything, is all. You can pay me back if it means that much to you.”

His tone is hard, but is expression is soft. Words are failing me, so I swallow to try to ease the dryness in my mouth as I peek inside the bag. A baby doll stares up at me with big, green eyes.

Nova has an entire play chest full of baby dolls in various states of dress and cleanliness. She found scissors once, so a few of them are also missing chunks of hair. But she won’t let us throw any of them away. She pitches an absolute fit any time we try. So we are left with this gruesome play chest full of creepy-ass dolls in the family room. We absolutely do not need another doll. In fact, I had put a moratorium on baby doll purchases after her birthday four months ago.

But my smile stretches wide across my face, almost hurting my cheeks as I meet Beckett’s ice-blue gaze. “It’s perfect,” I say.

He visibly relaxes but stiffens again as if realizing something. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. Merry Christmas, Gemma.” Beckett says my name gently, like it’s a gift he’s keeping for himself. He spins on his heel and walks back toward the front door.

It would be devastating to never hear my name on his lips like this again. And that realization propels me forward.

“Sure seems like you don’t want to go,” I taunt.

He slowly faces me again. “What do you mean?”

“You came all the way back here with a gift for my daughter, lied to my parents about it, then played the piano with a child on your lap wearing wrinkled clothing with a flour stain. Pretty uncharacteristic of you, Becko.”

He looks down at himself, then brushes at the flour and smirks. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. “Why don’t you try something else completely unlike you?”

I fully expect him to scoff and walk out the door, but he takes a step toward me and says, “Like what?”

“Like stay for dinner. Like hang out with us tonight instead of in your sad, lonely penthouse.”

“It’s not a penthouse,” he grumbles, but he takes another step.

“Like spend some time with me when you’re not forced to.”

“I’m here when I’m not forced to be, aren’t I?” Another step. Then another. He’s just a few inches from me now.

“Like—”

“Like kiss you under the mistletoe?” His eyes drop to my lips.

“There is no mistletoe,” I whisper.

“Funny,” he says, circling his arm around my waist and pulling me close. “I could have sworn I saw some. I guess I’ll have to try something else, then. Maybe like giving this thing between you and me a shot?”

Beckett brushes his nose back and forth against mine. My breath catches. My heart aches. “You… want that?”

“If you do.”

First the gift, then he says he wants to be with me? Call me a snowman in April, because I’m a puddle.

I drop the bag unceremoniously on the floor and wrap my arms around his neck. It only takes a moment for our lips to come together. His hand snakes up my back, and he angles his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue teases mine, and his rosemary scent overtakes the smell of cookies and pot roast and pine.

I’m about to wrap my legs around his torso and let him pin me against the wall when I hear the paper bag crinkle at my feet. We break apart at the same time and look down to see Nova pull the doll out and squeal.

Beckett chuckles, the sound warm as it vibrates through me. I rest my head on his chest, and he squeezes around my shoulders.

“I couldn’t design a better Christmas if I tried,” Beckett says into my hair.

“That’s because Christmas is supposed to be messy,” I tease. He pinches my side, and I jump away from him, giggling.

But he’s right. This Christmas is already one of the best I’ve ever had.