“Does it have brandy in it?” He seemed more relaxed than usual. Maybe it was because we’d slept together. Last night I’d felt so connected to him—physically, but also more than that. I’d gotten to know the man beneath the grinch.
* * *
“Another fabulous idea.” I led him through to my kitchen, and offered him a seat on one of the mismatched, brightly colored kitchen chairs gathered around the old pine table.
“Do you have a guest?” he asked, picking up the edge of the Santa costume. “Or are you secretly Santa?”
“I was hoping you might want to dress up.”
He tried to suppress a laugh and took a seat. “And what’s your costume? Naughty elf?”
This Sebastian was the one I saw last night—funny, kind, and sexy as hell.
Completely irresistible.
I abandoned the idea of hot chocolate and took a seat on his lap, linking my arms around his neck.
“It’s quite the grotto in here.” He threaded his arms around my waist and glanced around at the miniature Christmas tree on the work surface, my Christmas placemats, the garlands along the tops of the cupboards, and the family of large felt penguins sporting Santa hats in the middle of the table.
Carl had always put his foot down when it came to decorating the kitchen. This year, I’d done what I wanted.
“I suppose it’s a little over the top. My ex didn’t approve.”
“Well given he’s your ex, that doesn’t matter. If it makes you happy, you shouldn’t care what anyone else thinks.”
I turned to face him. Sebastian hated Christmas, but he didn’t judge me for loving it. “Thank you,” I said, snaking my arms around his waist. My hand hit something hard. “Do you have a brick in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”
Sebastian frowned and I tapped whatever it was he was storing in his ginormous pockets. “Oh,” he said, reaching inside. “I bought this yesterday in Snowsville. I’d forgotten it was in there.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a bubble-wrapped cube.
“What is it?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure.”
“You bought it not knowing what it is?”
He leaned forward and I slipped off his lap and onto the chair next to him. In a rare show of insecurity, he worried the tape holding the bubble wrap in place. “It’s a music box. I’m just not quite sure what I’m going to do with it.” His frown deepened as if he was having to decide whether or not to hand over state secrets.
The kettle snapped off and I stood to make our drinks. “What are the options?”
He leaned back, stretching out his long, lean legs, his gaze still focused on the tape on the bubble wrap. “Maybe I’ll just . . . hang on to it.” There were clearly more options than that. He just wasn’t willing to share them. Yet.
After adding a dash of brandy and mini-marshmallows to each snowman mug, I returned to the table. “I’d love to see it.” I was curious about the object that caused Sebastian to get so up in his own head.
He handed me the wrapped square and I took a seat, pulled away the tape, and unfolded the carefully wrapped packaging.
“It’s very pretty,” I said, setting down the mahogany box.
He hadn’t looked at me since I’d found it. He’d done nothing but stare at the box. He leaned forward and lifted its lid and as he did, a familiar tune played. “My mother had one just like it. She kept her earrings in it.”
“But she doesn’t have it anymore?” I wasn’t sure if he didn’t want to talk about it or whether he was just caught up in his own thoughts.
“My father threw it across the room during one of their fights. I told you they used to fight a lot, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “It’s why you didn’t like Christmas as a kid.”
“Right. Every time they were together, it was awful. I’d be just waiting for my dad to explode and my mother to shout back and then I’d sneak up to my bedroom and try to pretend it wasn’t happening. They were terrible together. Christmas was worst because I expected more. Everyone said Christmas was a happy, joyful time. That’s what I hoped for every year. And every year I was disappointed.”
I was used to grumpy Sebastian, but never sad Sebastian. I wanted to scoop out the sorrow inside him and replace it with bright sunshine. Scooting forward in my chair, I threaded my fingers through the back of his hair. “Buying the box for her is so thoughtful of you.”
He glanced up at me—the first time he’d looked at me since I’d discovered the music box. “Is it? Maybe she doesn’t remember it. But it was one of the only times I ever saw her cry. The next thing I knew, they divorced. Maybe it would just bring long-forgotten wounds to the surface. If my father breaking the music box was the reason they divorced, then she won’t want a constant reminder.”