Page 91 of Mistletoe All the Way

Tingles rush through me, from his touch now, and from the memory of his hand on my back in the bedroom moments ago. “I got it when I was eighteen. It was my act of rebellion.”

I feel liquid all over again as he kisses my neck while tracing the paw print with strong, calloused hands. “What were you rebelling against?”

“My parents. They never wanted pets, and I always did.”

He moves back around the counter, scooping the stir-fry onto plates. “So you got a tattoo instead of a pet?”

“I was going to college, so I really couldn’t have one. But the tattoo was a promise to myself that I’d get one someday. That I didn’t have to live my life the way they live theirs—more focused on their china and their carpets and their appearances than the things that really matter.”

His smile is soft as he hands me a fork, then takes a bite of the dish he just made. When he finishes, he says, “How do you want your life to be different?”

I pick up my fork but don’t take a bite just yet. “I want the dog barking at a stuffed duck. I want the cat climbing the Christmas tree and knocking it over. I want the occasional accident in the house if it happens. I want to train them even if it’s hard. I want to foster. I want to open up my home to more of them. Right now I have one cat and he’s a total asshole, but he’s an absolute delight because he’s such a cat.”

Noah’s smile is wide and bright.

“What’s that for?” I ask, pointing to his face.

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

He looks down at his plate, then sheepishly back up. “It’s just that I’ve never—”

He stops himself. Maybe from saying Been with someone who wants the same things? Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking on my part. Either way, he amends his words, finishing with, “I’ve never heard someone put it exactly the same way I feel.”

My heart swells. We fit together too well, and that’s the real problem. I snag a forkful of the stir-fry, and when I finish the bite, I say, “I guess it’s a good thing I tricked you then with the whole tire-patch routine.”

“A very good thing.” He sighs thoughtfully, then his expression shifts, like he’s disappointed in me. “Can’t believe you still haven’t introduced me to your cat.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you angling for an invitation?”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug, saying yes.

“You’ll meet him soon,” I say, my chest warm. In the back of my mind I wonder—is that some new milestone in dating? Meeting the cat?

You’re not dating him.

Right. Of course I’m not. This is just… holiday fun. I take another bite, chew, think, then ask, “Noah, what are we doing?”

He sets down his fork, his eyes somber. “You asked that earlier.”

“I did. As you were undressing me.”

“It’s a good question,” he says, thoughtful. I appreciate that he’s not squirming. That he seems to take my question—and me—seriously.

And I take my time seriously, and my heart, so I push on. “I know we talked about distractions back at the barn when we were doing Honey’s hair, and at your house under the mistletoe. What is this? Is this just…”

A onetime thing? I don’t even want to breathe those words. But it’s clear what I’m saying.

“I’m going back to Colorado next week,” he says heavily.

Before Christmas? After Christmas? I don’t want to ask, especially since I wish I could keep my emotions off my face. I try to hide my frown, though, by taking one more bite. “Right,” I say.

“And I know we need to focus on the competition,” he continues. “It’s important to you.”

I freeze with my fork in midair. That’s an odd way of putting it. “It’s important to you too,” I point out. “Isn’t that what you just said earlier? About winning fair and square?”

He gives a soft smile. “It’s very important, but lately, I’ve just been feeling like—” He stops, like he needs to take his time with his words. He holds up a hand, a warning. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”