Tangle of Tinsel

“I never do anything I don’t want to.” His voice is steely. Uncertainty splashes across his face. “If you don’t want to go with me—”

“I do.”

His eyes widen, and he relaxes. A slow smile transforms his resting bitch face. The man’s a hardened shell with a gooey inside, and I want to eat him up.

“All right. I’ll set this down, and you can go get bundled up. We have to find our own, so it’ll take longer than a normal place might.”

“Wait. The trees are still in the ground?”

“Uh. Yes.”

“I’m about to live my best Hallmark life. Please hold while I dress appropriately.”

His laugh chases me up the stairs.

Wiggling into a pair of fleece-lined black tights and my sizeable red sweater with white snowflakes, I tug my thick black socks up to my knees. This is more than I ever dreamed I’d find here in Vermont. I add smudge-proof lipstick and pull my hair back into a ponytail. I’m going to Instagram the hell out of this trip, and I need to look decent. Bounding down the stairs, I grin as Caleb stands from the couch. The second I hit the landing, my eyes are drawn to the pile of packages.

“You brought me Christmas.” My voice wavers.

“I’m just helping you finish what you started.” Refusing to take credit makes him that much more irresistible. “I-I’m glad we could do this. The thought of your holiday being ruined pissed me off. You deserve better.”

“You sound so sure.” I walk up to him.

“You’re sweet, kind, and this is your first Christmas here.”

“Is that all?” I tilt my head, studying him.

“Those are reasons enough. We should go.” He removes my coat from the hook by the door, then holds it out and helps me slip my arms into it. Turning me to face him, he zips me up and pulls my oversized scarf over my head.

The simple act weakens my knees. If this is how he treats a friend, how would he treat a lover? Let’s find out. The wicked voice in my head begs me to make a move.

“Are you real?” I whisper.

“Hmm?” Dropping his hands from my person, he steps back. “Sorry, I suppose I’ve gotten used to taking care of you.”

“You’re very good at it.”

“You think so? I wasn’t sure you noticed since you

fight me every step of the way.”

“I’m not used to it,” I confess.

“You should be. You deserve to be treated like a queen. Do you have gloves?” He smooths his hands down my arms.

“In my pocket.”

“Then I think we’re ready.” He offers me his arm, escorting me to his car after I lock up.

Sinking into the heated seats, I moan.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Romy, if you’re not feeling up to this, let me know.”

I cover my face with my hand. “I love a warm bottom.” Silence fills the luxury vehicle. Boisterous laughter erupts from him, and I giggle.