It Must Have Been the Mistletoe(45)

Hell if he knew, Bryant thought, soaking her in. She had a freckle to the left of her nose. How had he missed that? He shrugged. “I was curious.” I wanted to see you. I couldn’t stay away.

She turned and looked at her family. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

It was, so he nodded. He shifted, suddenly nervous. “Look, I know that you’ve got your family thing tomorrow, but I was wondering if your evening would be free.”

She turned back to face him. “My evening?”

This was harder than he’d thought it would be. He’d never invited anyone to share the holiday with him before, but he wanted her there. “I thought we could have some eggnog, roast some chestnuts over an open fire.”

“At your house?”

“Yeah.” This was a mistake, Bryant thought. He shouldn’t have asked her. She would come out of pity, because she knew he was going to be alone. Dammit, why—

A slow-dawning smile slid over her lips. “I would love to.”

His world brightened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I’ll text directions to your phone,” he said. “See you around seven then?”

“I’ll be there with bells on.”

He didn’t care what she wore, so long as she showed up.



LORD, PLEASE DON’T LET me be in an accident or get pulled over, Layla silently prayed as she made her way out to Bryant’s place. She was wearing a long coat and little else and was currently debating the wisdom of such a choice. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It had been too late to get Bryant a proper present, but with some leftover Christmas decorations, she’d turned herself into one.

Now she felt ridiculous.

Incidentally, she hadn’t needed directions to his place. She’d taken one look at the address—Hardscrabble Road—and instantly understood that sly little smile he’d worn when she’d told him about her land.

He was her neighbor. Or would be, very soon.

She couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t simply told her. Had their positions been reversed, she wouldn’t have been able to stand not telling him. But Bryant…

She couldn’t get a bead on Bryant. Just when she was certain she had him completely figured out, that their relationship was destined to explode like a fantastic firework and disappear just as quickly, he’d shown up at her parents’ and asked her to Christmas.

She was trying not to read too much into this—he didn’t want to be alone, he wasn’t finished with her yet, etc.—but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Something about him just clicked for her. He felt right. More importantly, she felt right when she was with him.

Anxiety tightened her belly into a miserable knot as she spied his mailbox and turned down his driveway. His house wasn’t visible from the road, but lights shone in the distance.

Her mouth formed a silent O as she found herself in the circular driveway in front of his house. It was a small cabin with a screened-in front porch. Golden light spilled from the windows and smoke curled from the chimney. All it needed was a blanket of snow to be Thomas Kinkade picturesque.

And then he was there, in the doorway, and the smile that split his face as she hurried up the walk—socks, why hadn’t she worn socks?—made her chest fill with warm fuzzy air.

“Hey, you,” he said, pulling her inside and immediately into his arms.

And this was home, she realized. It wasn’t a house or a piece of property. It was here, in his arms. Layla quaked with the realization.

“You’re cold,” he said, drawing back with concern. “Come over by the fire and let’s see if I can warm you up.”

Oh, she knew he could do that. She followed him on shaky legs, taking in a bit of his decor along the way. Wide-plank pine floors, comfortable furniture, art—no doubt his own—and high-end electronics. The kitchen and dining area were open to the living room and the ceilings soared overhead, giving the impression of additional space. She liked it, she thought. It suited him.

“Here, let me get your coat,” he offered.

She faked a shiver. “I’ll leave it on for a minute more, if you don’t mind.”

He gave her an odd look. “Sure. How was the day with your family?”

She settled onto his couch and rolled her eyes. “Hectic. Wonderful. The same as it always is.”

“That’s nice.”

“What about your day?” she asked.

His gaze warmed. “It just got better.”

So had hers. “What have you been doing?”

He pulled a small wrapped box from the coffee table and handed it to her. “Making you something.”

Touched, Layla felt her eyes widen. “Bryant, you didn’t have to do that. I didn’t expect—”