by Maisey Yates
“And you’re so successful,” she said softly.
“That doesn’t really matter. That’s just money.”
“It’s hard work. And for you, it was sacrifice.”
Leaving her. Hell yeah, that had been a sacrifice. But it was one that he’d had to make. There had been no other option. At least, not one that he could see then. Back when he had imagined...
Dammit all that he had imagined the money would fix it. That it would fix everything. That it would turn him from a blight on his mother’s life into something that mattered.
It hadn’t. It just still wasn’t enough.
“It wasn’t good enough.”
“I understand that,” she said. “Bastards.”
He laughed, and turned the truck off the main highway and onto a dirt road that was marked with wooden sign.
“Yeah. We are unappreciated in our own time.”
“We are,” she said. “Except...I appreciate you.”
He looked over at her, and felt something stretch between them. Something raw and intense. Something different than sex.
He cleared his throat. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Thanks.”
They went on in silence until the gravel road became frosty, until frost turned into a light dusting of snow, growing deeper and deeper up on the sides. Until they were completely surrounded by a full-on winter wonderland. Dark green trees dusted in white, all of the foliage beneath completely concealed by a thick, white blanket.
“This seems like a good place. And hopefully I can get my truck out of this slush later.” They pulled off the road, and the wheels of the truck sank slightly, sliding. “Should be fine,” he said, smiling over at her.
“If I die in a snowbank because of you, Liam Donnelly, I swear I will come back as an evil specter and haunt you.”
“You haunted me for thirteen years, Sabrina, so, that’s a pretty pale threat.”
The corners of her lips did something funny. Pulling up, and a little bit to the side. Not quite a smile. Not quite a frown. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I quit a job once.” Got out of the truck and walked around to the bed, retrieving the blanket, a tarp and the picnic basket.
Her eyes widened, as she jumped down out of the vehicle, the snow coming up nearly to the tops of her boots. “What’s that?”
“Lunch,” he said, grabbing an ax out of the back of the truck too and putting it on top of the picnic basket, holding them both with one arm.
“Between the tarp and the ax it looks a little bit like a murder,” she pointed out.
“You have trust issues.”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “I do. But then I’m pretty sure you knew that already. Now, why did you quit a job? What does that have to do with haunting me?”
“Wouldn’t you rather know what I got for lunch?”
“No. I want to know this.”
“Fine. I had an office job, and I worked in the same department as a woman named Sabrina. I swear to God every time someone said her name all I could do was think about you. There’s always been this whole...thing about you. And I’ve never understood it. But you got underneath my skin back then, and you did something to me. Even then. I don’t suppose I have to understand it for it to be true.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes glowing. “I couldn’t forget about you either. But then, you know that.”
“I know you were mad at me,” he said, his voice rough. “And I was kind of mad at me too. But I also always thought it was for the best. Because whatever that was... We could’ve destroyed each other, Sabrina. I believe it. I wasn’t a good guy. I wasn’t a nice guy. All that stuff with my parents... I was so angry. I was nice to you, I liked you. I did. But that couldn’t have lasted. It just couldn’t have.”
“You would have resented me. Just like your mother did. For holding you back. Because I would never have been able to leave my parents. And I would’ve been mad at you for making my relationship with them difficult.”
He nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so. But that doesn’t mean that I left you and never thought of you again.”
“I kinda figured,” she said. “You know, tattoo standing as evidence.”
“I had the tattoo already by then. And yeah, I’m an expert at lying to myself about why things matter and why they don’t. That’s how you survive spending a bunch of your childhood locked up. That’s how you survive having your own mom look at you like she kind of wishes you would just die already. You get really good at telling yourself lies.”
They said nothing after that, they just continued to walk down through the snow. He walked up a steep incline, helping her on up over a ditch and up the side of a hill where the trees were thicker. They dodged roots and hidden plants until they came to a spot that was relatively smooth. He laid out the tarp that he had brought, and then he put the plaid blanket on top of that. Then he set the picnic down. “I figured we could have lunch and a Christmas tree,” he said.
She treated him to a shy smile and sat down on the blanket, grabbing hold of the picnic basket and pawing through it.
“Now you’re interested in what I brought you.”
“I was always interested but I’m more narcissistic than I am hungry. And I’m pretty hungry.”
He chuckled. “I brought some mini pies from Alison’s. And quiche from The Grind. Thermoses with coffee.”
“You’re kind of blowing me away here, Donnelly,” Sabrina said, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips.
“I’ll make a note of the fact that you can be bought for a quiche.”
“A quiche and a mini pie. Plus a thermos of coffee. Don’t make me sound so cheap.”
“Perish the thought.”
Perversely, he felt like he could have sat and watched her eat quiche and pie all day. Her cheeks were bright pink from the cold, and so was her nose. The way she ate, sort of mouse-like and delicate all at the same time, fascinated him. But then, her mouth fascinated him. Because he could see no reason not to, he reached out, wrapping his fingers around the back of her head and drawing her head in close, and kissed her.
When they parted, she breathed out, her breath a blooming, white cloud. Her lashes fluttered, her eyes opening slowly. “Wow.”
“Good kiss?”
She winked. “Good quiche.” Then she shoved in his chest. “Okay, the kiss was pretty good too.”
“In fairness, the quiche had bacon in it.”
“Yes, in absolute fairness to your kiss, it did.”
He kissed her again, and this time she didn’t make any commentary afterward. Then they put their food away and walked along the road in search of a tree.
“How about this one?” he asked.
She tilted her head to the side. “It’s too skinny.”
“You don’t want it to be too fat. You’ll run out of room.”
“But if it’s too skinny it will look sad and sparse.”
“What about this one?” he asked when they walked a few more paces up the road.
“Too short.”
He moved over to stand next to it, wrapping his hand around the trunk and demonstrating that the tree was in fact a couple of inches taller than he was. “It’s got to be at least six foot six. And you’re going to put a star on it.”
“The ceilings are almost nine feet,” she pointed out.
“I have a feeling you’re going to have to make some compromises,” he said. “These are wild-caught trees. These are not carefully cultivated trees. They are imperfect. As God intended.”
“Why is that superior?”
“Because it’s natural,” he said. “Not shaped or force-fed by man.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
He gave up tryin
g to explain the superior integrity of wild trees to her at that point, resigned to the fact he was going to have to find one she thought was pretty enough. “This one?” He gestured to one down the road and up a slight incline.
“We will have to go investigate,” she said.
She walked up ahead of him, and he diverted his attention from the tree to the shape of her figure. To the rounded curve of her rear as she skipped off the road and leaped over the slight ditch between the road and the mountainside, and began to hike upward.
He followed after her, holding on to the ax, being careful not to fall down and chop into his hand.
“This one!” she said, flinging her hands wide.
He moved to stand beside her and the silver tip that she had selected. He had to admit it was pretty perfect as wild-grown trees went. Tall and full, without being too dramatic. And the parts that were uneven could easily be trimmed.
“Okay. Stand back.”
“Do I get to watch you chop it down?”
“You sound excited about that.”
She nodded. “I have some lumberjack fantasies that I would very much like to watch you play out.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I buy very specific brand of paper towels for reason. You know. For the very brawny, flannel-clad mascot.”
He arched a brow. “I feel like you should have let me know about the paper towel thing and your lumberjack fetish a little earlier.”
She blinked. “Why? So you could have called things off before you started sleeping with a crazy lady?”
“No. I would have put on some flannel and chopped some wood for you earlier. I have a feeling this will go well for me later.”
She laughed and he took his position next to the tree and began to hack at it with the ax.
He looked up at Sabrina and had to laugh at the look on her face. Her blue eyes were wide and she had her mittens pressed up against her mouth as she watched him work. He didn’t think a woman had ever looked at him like that. But then, for years he had attracted women because he wore expensive suits. Because he was in bars where men who made lots of money went after work. Because he had a nice penthouse and could buy them designer clothes and jewelry.
It had nothing to do with things like this. The strange, simple act that seemed to make her eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush pink. Something that could be accomplished with a five-dollar permit and a twenty-dollar ax.
There was something exposing about it, something deeply uncomfortable. Like she was looking through him. Like she could see him. All of him.
The tree started to list to the left, and he quit chopping, pushing it forward so it was lying against the mountain, then finishing it off at the base before picking it up with one hand.
Sabrina helped him carry the tree back to the truck. Well, she didn’t contribute much, but she wrapped her mittened hands around the top, and he hefted most of the weight and put it in the bed.
When they got down into town, he parked the truck against the curb in front of the shop and unloaded the tree. He brought it into the tasting room, setting it up in the corner and putting it in the holder that he had bought earlier at the Trading Post. He also produced the box of ornaments he had purchased there too.
“You took a pretty bold risk,” Sabrina said, approaching the box. “Making assumptions about what sort of quiche I wanted and about what kind of ornaments I might like.”
He smiled. “I don’t think I took a big risk with either. I’ve had breakfast with you a few times recently, so that was a pretty educated guess. And, as far as the ornaments go I just asked Rebecca what her favorite ones were.”
“Pretty slick, Donnelly,” she said, pulling out a few of the glass ornaments that were in the box. They were rustic, but elegant, and even though he wasn’t an expert in that kind of thing, he had a vague idea of what would look good in a space like this, and what the clientele would respond to.
“Do you want some Christmas music?”
“That depends. Are you going to sing?”
“We are all better off if I don’t sing.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and set it down on one of the tables, opening up a music app and selecting a premade list of old Christmas songs. He pressed Play and Bing Crosby’s voice filled the room. “Though, I think Bing might be welcome.”
She smiled. “Definitely.”
While she laid out the ornaments, he took out a string of cranberries and white lights and set about to wrapping the garland around the tree, followed by the lights.
Sabrina hummed along to the music, and occasionally broke out into song. She had a nice voice. Sweet and soft. Something he could spend a long damn time listening to.
“I’ve never done this before,” he said, grabbing one of the ornaments off the table and hanging it on one of the boughs.
“Never done what before?”
“I’ve never decorated a Christmas tree.”
“How?” she asked, freezing with her hand right next to the tree, an ornament dangling from her delicate fingers.
“Well, my mother didn’t like to celebrate Christmas. Or she just couldn’t be bothered to do it. I don’t know that she didn’t like it specifically. But I guess it didn’t fit in with her schedule.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Sabrina said.
“Well,” he said, “life’s not fair, is it?”
“I guess not. But usually life isn’t fair and there is still Christmas.”
“I survived this long without Christmas.”
“Well, now you’re having Christmas. And you will have cheer. If I have anything to say about it.”
He pulled the chair out away from a table and took a seat in it, crossing his arms and watching as she continued to hang ornaments. “I feel cheerful doing this.”
He kept on watching her as the music filtered around them, the lights from the tree casting her in an ethereal glow.
He didn’t have childhood memories of Christmas. When people talked about it in that tone of awe and reverence he had nothing to cross-reference it to. But he knew for certain that from now on this would be Christmas to him.
An empty shop, music from another time and Sabrina Leighton decorating a tree.
Once she finished she brushed her hands on her pants and stood back, admiring her work. “I think we need some wine, don’t you?”
“Maybe some cheese too,” he said.
“I’ll get some.”
“And I’ll get the blanket,” he said, heading out the front door and going back to the truck to retrieve the plaid blanket from earlier.
From the street, he looked into the windows, at the twinkling Christmas tree, and at Sabrina standing there. It was a good thing that they had installed some wooden blinds that would afford some privacy, because as far as he was concerned—as nice as it was to look at the view when he was outside—it was all a little too public for what he had in mind.
He made his way back inside, and Sabrina was just finishing pouring two glasses of red. She had a little plate with cheese that he imagined had been prepared at another time.
“Another picnic, huh?”
“Something like that,” he said.
He took the wine from her hands and sat down, setting the glasses off to the side. She joined him on the blanket.
She reached out for the wine and he took that opportunity to intercept her, pulling her forward and kissing her. “I have to admit,” he said. “I’m not all that hungry for food.”
“Well...” She looked up at him, her eyes glittering. “Well.”
He kissed her again, deeper, his tongue sliding against hers. She was so sweet. So perfect. He would never be able to get enough of her.
And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this would all be part of Christmas for him forever.
Tasting her. Touching her. Feeling her against his body.
Suddenly, he couldn’t wait. Not anymore. Not to be skin to skin with her. He needed her. Needed her with a ferocity that far surpassed anything else.
He pulled her sweater up over her head and smiled when he saw that she was wearing a black lacy bra, which he was going to go ahead and claim for himself.
“For me?”
“Might be for the UPS guy.”
“Don’t be silly. You didn’t get a delivery today.”
He reached around and unhooked the bra, letting it fall down to the floor, exposing those pale, perfect breasts. He lifted his hand and slid his thumb across one tightened bud, rubbing it gently, reveling in the small, kittenish sounds that she made.
He lifted his other hand, cupped her, squeezed her, then wrapped his arms around her and held her against him as he continued to kiss her, moving his hands over her back, down to the waistband of her jeans. He moved one hand around to the front to undo the button on her pants, and draw the zipper down. And then he pushed the other beneath the waistband, grabbing hold of her ass.
She clung to him, clung to his sweater as he continued to kiss her, touch her. Then he maneuvered her so that she was up on her knees, so that he could shove her pants and underwear down over her hips, shifting her so that he could get them off completely. So that she was entirely naked, and he was still fully clothed.
Then he laid her back on the blanket, her pale skin a lovely contrast against the red. The lights from the Christmas tree shone over her skin like stars. Yeah, suddenly he saw a much bigger point to all of this. To the decorations. To everything.
He put his hand on her stomach, her body soft like silk. He slid his fingertips down beneath her belly button, tracing a line to her upper thigh, then traveling back upward across her stomach and down her other thigh, forcing himself to stay away from that lovely thatch of curls, all pale and pretty and begging for his attention.
Normally, she would say something to him. Tease him for teasing her. But instead, she simply watched him, simply looked up at him, all perfect and trusting and a hell of a lot more than he deserved.
He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t trust him. Or if she did, that the one thing she could trust was that he would disappoint her. Would probably hurt her.
