Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

The voice behind me sighs loudly. Giving in, I turn to ask for the help I so clearly need, ready to deal with the embarrassment of my life.

“I’m not strugg—” I start, but when I turn, I want to die. Because in front of me is the most attractive man on the planet, standing there with a smile on his face.

He has dark brown hair that’s pushed to the side, but not in that slick way—it’s as though it just moved there because he commanded it to. His jaw is strong and covered with a dusting of stubble that I want to brush my fingers against. And then there are his eyes. Jesus Christ. His eyes are the most stunning shade of blue. They’re not quite royal blue, although I could see specks of it. They’re a deep, rich sapphire color with traces of green, or is it just a lighter blue? Either way, I can’t stop looking at him.

My mouth hangs open just a bit as I try to get my brain to form words. What do you say to a god?

“I can see you’re not, but … I’m a gentleman, it’s Christmas, and you know … I have somewhere to go before New Years.”

“What?” I ask, not remembering if there was a question or whether I am supposed to do something besides stare at him like the present I’d like under my tree.

“Are you ready for me to help?”

Yes, the answer is yes. Yes to anything he wants. Yes!

“Huh?” is what comes out past my lips.

“The tree. Are you going to let me help you?” He grins at me, knowing my only other choice is to leave it here, stuck in the doors.

“Help?”

“Yeeeeah,” the word comes out slowly, which is apparently the cylinder I’m firing on. He puts his coffee cup down and then extends his hand. “I’m Michael.”

What a name. It’s simple, classic, and so totally him. I think there was an angel named Michael, right? Maybe a god? If not, there is now. The god of Sexy Men. That is Michael.

I sigh, my eyes blinking slowly as I stare at him.

His head tilts just a little, lips pursed as he waits expectantly.

Shit. I should talk. “Harlow.”

“Harlow?”

“Yes?”

He smirks. “Your name is Harlow?”

If the ground could just open me up and swallow me, that would be cool. “Sorry,” I say as I take his hand like I should’ve to start with. “Yes, I’m Harlow, and this is my tree that is resisting its new home.” I’m hoping I can recover from this horrific introduction with a modicum of self-respect intact.

“I hear that some trees are just difficult.”

“This is apparent

ly the story of my life.”

Men. Trees. People. Parents. They’re all difficult. What’s that saying about the common denominator? I’m starting to wonder …

“Well, let’s see if we can’t get the tree upstairs and willing to behave.”

“Doubtful, but I appreciate it.”

Michael moves to the double doors and pushes one to the side and then slides in a locking mechanism I didn’t know existed, and then repeats it on the other side.

Seriously, I hate my life. “That would’ve made it easier ….”

He gives me a panty-melting smile and his brows rise. “And probably saved a lot of branches.”

“That too.”