Page 36 of Mistletoe All the Way

She blinks, then shakes her head. “No. I don’t think you would.”

That uneasy feeling disappears entirely. “Good. I’m glad you know that.”

“I do,” she reiterates, then screws up the corner of her lips, like she’s thinking. “And same here. There’s no one to give me a hard time about the cowboy thirst traps I take of you. But if I had a boyfriend, I’m sure he’d be evolved and super not jealous of the pics of your forearms.”

I stifle a smile as I grumble, “Good to know.”

She’s quiet for a short beat, then nods to my hands working through the tree once more. “Nice fluffing.”

“My mom always said it was the key to a good tree.”

She smiles softly. “It is.”

“But so’s water. I’ll go get some.”

I head to the sink and fill a pitcher. I’m about to bring it over to her, but when I turn off the faucet, she’s right there, inches away, her fresh orange scent drifting past my nostrils. I fight the urge to draw a deep inhale.

“I’ll take it,” she says, one slender hand wrapping around the body of the pitcher, the other on the handle.

Brushing my hand.

Her fingers coasting across mine.

There’s a crackle. A spark. My chest heats up. From that. From a fleeting touch. And it doesn’t cool off as she walks away, holding the pitcher, heading for the tree.

I’m left to boil the noodles while I am boiling.

This is going to be a problem. This annoying, irrational, persistent attraction to my… partner in crime.

I do my best to shake it off as I focus on small details. The consistency of the noodles. Blending the sauce. Cleaning the cutting board. I get lost in the workman-like world of the kitchen for a few minutes as she decorates the tree. At one point she pops up, grabs her bag, and says, “Just going to put up a few decorations in the hall.”

There’s no point in telling her no. “Like I can even stop you.”

“You can’t,” she says, then disappears down the hall.

I have no idea what she’s up to, but a minute later she returns with a swing in her step. She’s fiddling with something on her phone, and soon she settles back at the tree as I set the table.

Then I hear it—music.

Wretched bells.

She’s playing “Winter Wonderland.”

She must have cued up a playlist. And now she’s bopping around the tree like a movie princess, singing under her breath about being happy tonight as she hangs mini cowboy hats and boots on my tree.

“Eloise,” I say slowly. “Are you adding some theme decorations to my tree?”

She smiles impishly. “I sure am, Christmas cowboy.”

This woman. I swear.

13 THE WEATHER OUTSIDE IS FRIGHTFUL

Eloise

Not fair.” I’m food moaning as I deliver the verdict on this meal at first bite, warmth from the fireplace surrounding us, candlelight flickering on the table.

“What’s not fair, Eloise?” Noah asks, twirling pasta around his fork.