Page 46 of Filthy Twisted Devil

“Come on, Brinley, you can do it!” Cat says encouragingly.

“How is she five months pregnant and this much more energetic than me?” Brinley grumbles.

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head as I maneuver around a beleaguered mother holding onto four kids’ hands somehow. “My working theory is that Cat got bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“Superbaby!” Brinley gasps. “Cool.”

“No chatting!” Pippa yells from the front.

With only a few days left until Christmas Eve, we’re all scrambling to buy the last gifts on our lists before the group Christmas party in a few days. Only Maura is completely finished. Her partial bedrest doesn’t exactly allow last minute shopping, so she ordered everything online weeks ago.

Fortunately, the hot chocolate stand is our last stop. Pippa drew Beau for secret Santa, which gave her the perfect excuse to buy expensive hot chocolate for the ultimate foodie, while adding in a few bags for herself.

Minutes later, we finally come to a stop in front of the hot chocolate stand. The rich, delicious smell of melted chocolate makes my mouth water. Cat’s stomach rumbles so loudly that I can hear it over the Christmas carols playing over the speakers.

“Okay, sounds like I need to order a cup of hot chocolate for the pregnant lady.” Pippa laughs. “Come on, let's get in line.”

I eye the line, which is wrapped around the entire alley of stalls. I'm guessing it'll take at least a half hour to make it to the front. “I might browse a bit instead of waiting in line,” I say. “I'm still looking for a present for Jasper.”

We make plans to meet up again at Santa’s Sleigh in forty-five minutes, and I stroll toward the less busy areas of the market. I really do need a present for Jasper, but I know he’d rather have a few new mystery novels than anything I could find here. Instead, I take the opportunity to soak up the Christmas cheer—the kids marveling at the toy displays, the groups of friends laughing over cookies, the shopkeepers answering questions about their homemade ornaments.

The evening sky darkens, making the lights shine brighter. A ripple of delight moves through the crowd when light snow starts falling, floating little flakes swirling through the air. I puff out a breath, and they melt on contact.

I stop in my tracks when I see Luke, standing in line at the cider cart, a paper bag in one hand. Small snowflakes glitter in his sandy brown hair, and under the Christmas lights in his expensive wool coat, he looks like the heartthrob that puts every Hallmark Christmas hero to shame.

He turns his head, and his face transforms when he spots me. His teeth flash as he grins and waves me over. The line for cider is much shorter than the hot chocolate line, so I join him with an apologetic smile to the couple standing behind him. They smile and wave it away.

“Hey,” Luke says. He takes my elbow, pulling me closer so he can brush his lips against my cheek. I have to remind myself that the gesture is for show, for the benefit of the people around us who might recognize him.

“Hey. Doing some shopping?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s almost Christmas, after all. You?”

I nod. “I’m here with the girls. I left them to wander around while they stood in the world’s longest line.”

We reach the front, and Luke buys us both a cup of cider. The woman ringing us up does a double take when she sees him. I’m not sure whether she recognizes him, or if this is just how women react to the full force of Luke Windsor’s charming smile. I know too well how easy it is to feel dazzled by it. For his part, Luke barely seems to notice.

We fall in step with each other, sipping our cider as we stroll.

“So, who are you shopping for?” I ask.

“It’s for you, actually.” He holds up the small bag. “No peeking.”

My stomach drops. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything. You know…since this isn’t real.”

Luke’s cheeks, already pink from the cold, turn red. “Right. It’s not a big deal. You don’t have to give me anything. I’m getting enough out of this already, with the good PR. A present would be overkill.”

“Thanks,” I reply awkwardly, not knowing exactly what to feel. Guilt for not thinking that I should get him something, embarrassment for making the conversation awkward, and worst of all, delight that he thought of me. When Luke and I are apart, I think of him far too often. It never occurred to me that he might think of me, too.

“Should we take a picture with our ciders?” he offers.

“Great idea,” I answer, probably with too much enthusiasm. Anything to shake off the now-awkward mood.

Luke pulls his phone out of his pocket and puts his hand around my waist. He pulls me close, the heat of him radiating through the chilly air. His woodsy cologne wraps around me, enveloping me in his presence. It feels dangerously good to be this close to him.

We both smile for the camera. Luke swipes back to review the photo and shows it to me.

“Looks pretty good,” he says.