“Yes?”
“I’m sorry. For everything.” He inhaled, exhaled. “Except for one thing.”
I tilted my head. “And what’s that?”
“Knockin’ into you.” Brax’s smile transformed his harsh features into something heart-stopping, beautiful, and I nearly lost my breath. “That was Fate, Sunshine. A day I’ll thank God for, every single day of my life.”
I thought my heart would burst, and I brushed his scruffy jaw with my knuckle. “I lied when I told you I wished I’d never met you.” Tears stung my eyes. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Brax Jenkins—”
Brax’s mouth descended on mine, and his kiss was reckless, desperate, and so damned sexy my cheeks grew hot. He pressed his forehead to mine, and we close-stared for several seconds.
“So all you have to do is keep your GPA up and quit beating the horse snot out of guys, right? And you keep your scholarship?”
We both turned to find Mom on the porch. She grinned.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s the deal.”
She gave a short nod. “Swell. Now get your butts in here then and have some pancakes. We have a Christmas tree to cut down later.” She wagged her brows. “Decorations and lights. My dad wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Brax pulled me close, thought better of it, then swept me up into his arms. “Your mom said swell.” He kissed me on my nose. “She’s about as cute as you are.”
“One of our favorite Jilly words,” I snuggled against his warm chest. Contentment and joy filled my body as Brax carried me up the steps and into the house. Although Christmas without my grandfather would leave a mark, Brax had just made it a whole lot easier to accept.
My brothers came by later and we all headed down to Crom’s Christmas Tree Farm to pick out the Beaumont tree. We were down one man—Jilly—who usually griped and complained over at least twenty trees before agreeing on one. But we were up one man—Brax—who loved and wanted every single tree we picked out. It was like watching Christmas through the eyes of a child who was just old enough to feel the Christmas spirit. Those crazy blue orbs sparkled with more mischief than any toddler I’d ever seen. He helped my brothers cut a ten footer down and load it onto the top of Mom’s Suburban. I was pretty sure Brax had never had a Christmas quite like the one he was having now.
Back home, we trekked through the woods behind the barn, on our annual hunt for the perfect misletoe. Kyle spied it first.
“Dude.” He pointed to a giant cluster of green in the top of a mostly-barren hardwood. “Perfection.”
“And you’re gonna shoot it down so I can kiss your sister?” Brax cupped his eyes against the glare. He looked at me and winked. “Fire away, bro.”
Kyle did, and the massive ball of evergreen tumbled to the ground. At the ranch, Brax helped me string it up on the porch.
And then we tried it out. And tried it out again.
Brax wrapped his arms around my body, pulled me close, buried his mouth against my neck. “I think this mistletoe thing works. I can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” he whispered against my skin, making it tingle. “I hope your brothers don’t clobber me.” Clobbah.
“I hope my mother doesn’t,” I said, breathless. The look of fear in his harsh features made me burst out laughing.
“Nutcracker!” Brax hollered. Nutcrackah!
I fell into an unstoppable fit of giggles. Not only from his adorably sexy accent, but sooner or later I’d have to tell him just exactly what the safe word entailed.
Brax helped decorate the tree. He climbed the roof with my brothers and strung hundreds of lights—including strategically placing our twenty-five year old Santa and reindeer on the eve closest to the chimney. Yet whenever we were near each other, his eyes were on me and they burned, literally lit up. It made me feel cherished. Desired. Loved, maybe? He hadn’t said the words. I sure felt them.
On Christmas Eve, we all gathered for the traditional standing rib roast meal, the watching of It’s A Wonderful Life, and the opening of one present each. Brax totally surprised me with an official Boston Red Sox jersey with Beaumont and his number on the back of it. I’d gone shopping with Mom and had picked him up a book on constellations from the bookstore. I’d had to make him put the book down, and it gave me a good feeling inside, knowing he was interested in my interests. And visa versa. I now wanted to share a special place with him. We drank nutmeg eggnog. Spiked with rum. I’d never realized what a storybook Christmas we always had. Every year. Not a spoiled Christmas, with loads of presents. But family. Tradition. I wouldn’t trade them for the world, those memories.