How the Hitman Stole Christmas

I set it aside and unpack the rest of my things. Once the bag is empty of everything that needs cleaning, I throw it in my closet and haul the clothes to my washer.

I don’t start a load yet, just in case Autumn wants to add anything to it. Instead I take the model truck and head back to the living room where Autumn left her suitcase. I unzip it with the intention of hiding it under her clothes, somewhere she won’t notice it until she’s back in New York.

As soon as I open her suitcase, though, my nostrils are assaulted by the sweet scent of Autumn. It lingers on her clothes. Before I can think better of it, I grab the bunched up green T-shirt on top and bury my face in it. I inhale her scent—it’s there in the shirt. I pull it away and look down at it, my grip on the fabric easing.

This is the T-shirt I grabbed for her at the travel plaza down the road from our motel. I bought her a Green Bay Packers T-shirt—not because I assumed she was a fan, just because it was what they had on the souvenir racks. I bought it so she’d have something to sleep in at my mom’s, and she did sleep in it one night in Stillwater. That’s why it smells like her.

I should let her keep it. I bought it for her, after all.

But if a shirt that smells like her is the only fragment of her I get to keep… well, then I’m going to.

I snatch the shirt and hide the truck under her clothes, then I zip her bag back up and take the shirt to my room so I can stash it before she gets out of the shower.Despite the grimy film of discomfort that lingers all night, the hours slip away like minutes. Autumn falls asleep on the couch while we’re watching a movie to pass the time. She looks so peaceful, I don’t bother waking her.

I turn everything off as quietly as I can and make sure the path to my bedroom is clear, then I scoop her up and carry her in to bed.

Her eyes flutter open as I ease her down on the mattress. She wakes up enough to shift her body weight as I pull the covers out from under her and drag them up over her.

I tuck the blanket in around her body so she stays warm. “Good night, Autumn.”

“Wait.” She grabs my wrist just as I’m about to pull away. I look into her eyes. She’s sleepy and foggy, and the unguardedness of that state has made her sweet and vulnerable again. “You can sleep in the bed if you want.”

It’s a nice offer, but not one I can take advantage of. Leaning down, I drop a lingering kiss to her forehead. “No, I can’t.”

She doesn’t say anything as I pull back, just lays there in my bed and looks up at me with her big, irresistible blue eyes.

Leaving that room is the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a while. I pull the door shut behind me and wait for it to latch, just to make sure I keep myself out.I don’t sleep much all night. It’s not the couch that’s uncomfortable; it’s being so close to her, yet so far away. I finally nod off for a longer stretch right around the time the morning sun starts shining through my window.

I let Autumn sleep in. She told me when she needed to be at the airport, so I know she has time. When she wakes up, I make her breakfast. I knew I didn’t have what I needed to cook anything when we got back last night, but I ran to the store while she slept, grabbed some bread and eggs. I make her French toast. It was always my favorite growing up, and my sisters loved when I used to make it for them.

Just in case the post-holiday traffic at the airport is bad, we leave a little earlier than we need to. Lines at security might be long.

I think about parking and escorting her as far as I can take her myself, but I end up deciding it’ll probably be easier on both of us if I drop her at the door.

I pull up to the curb behind a black SUV with its blinkers on. A couple stands behind the vehicle, their arms wrapped around each other tightly, their faces mashed together as they say goodbye.

The mood in the car grows a touch more awkward. Autumn shifts and starts fiddling with her purse. I get annoyed when the woman behind the SUV caresses her partner’s face and make a rash decision to drive around them. A car honks behind me as I cut them off. I dart a glance in my rearview, but they shouldn’t drive fast through here anyway, so I don’t bother acknowledging their annoyance.