“Those three tablespoons of coffee completely change the chemistry of the cream,” I insisted, re-focusing my attention on the movie, which made it easy when we both quoted the lines as they were being said.
“I used to watch this movie all the time as a kid. Even during the off-season,” Miles said, looking much too cozy with his head resting on the back of the couch, his arms folded across his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles.
I gasped. “That’s sacrilegious!”
“Such a rule follower.” His statement held no heat, but he bumped my leg with his and set fire racing to my heart.
After a moment, I added, “I used to watch it every Christmas Eve with my dad. It was his favorite.”
We were both quiet for a long moment. “He sounds like a good guy,” Miles said.
I smiled. “He was. But do you just think so because he liked the same kid show you do?”
His feet nudged mine softly. “If I had my guess, it was his favorite because it was yours.”
Warmth spread across my entire body as his words seeped into my heart. In the twenty-five years I’d been alive, never once had that thought crossed my mind. As a kid, I had never questioned my dad’s taste in the movie. Home Alone was pure cinematic gold–who wouldn’t love it? But now I could perfectly see my sweet dad settling in beside me on the couch once a year to watch two bumbling thieves try to rob a child of his Christmas…because I had wanted to. It was our thing. Of course it was for me.
Moisture filled my eyes as I kept my gaze forward. I knew the Christmas tree was a bad idea. Too many feelings and emotions wrapped up in the tradition. I was aware of Miles watching me for a long moment before he turned his attention back to the TV. Good. That was better. I needed to get my thoughts back on track. In this cozy setting, it was difficult to remember that he was the annoying teacher across the hallway.
I certainly didn’t give rise to the feel of his arm pressed against mine. Nor did I care or get worked up every time I felt him move or stretch or re-adjust his position, which always seemed to bring him closer to me. Honestly, it was ridiculous that he was so close when there were three other seats on the couch. There were other blankets. Nobody could see us. I blamed the Christmas tree for my not scooting away from him. It seemed to emit some sort of warm Christmas glow about the cabin that left me incapable of moving an inch.
Our hands brushed against each other under the blanket. I stilled. The hands would definitely be a problem if he—
A warm finger reached out and unclasped my pinkie sitting clenched together in a fist on my lap. I drew in a breath. The kid in the movie—his name suddenly left me—had just dropped his groceries on the sidewalk when Miles went for finger number two. Warm heat from his fingers grazed mine, and I found myself not objecting when he seemed to get tired of his own game and grabbed my entire hand, locking his fingers inside and moving it to rest on his leg. He didn’t look at me, but I could sense his smile. Tingles erupted down my spine as he played torturously with my fingers.
I cleared my throat and remembered that I was a pillar. I didn’t remove my hand, but I did say in a very firm voice, “My hand is cold. I’m just letting you warm it up. That’s all.”
A throaty chuckle. “Good to know, Spanks.”
An embarrassed laugh sputtered out of me at the new nickname. I moved to elbow him in the ribs. Before I knew how it happened he had released my hand, draped his arm around my shoulder and drawn me into his body. My head curled into his chest, and my feet (of their own accord) tangled with his on the coffee table. As naturally as if they’d been designed to do it, our fingers clasped together across his stomach.
I remember Kevin not eating the delicious-looking mac and cheese. I remember him blowing out the candles at the table. But the rest was a blur of the senses. The glow of the Christmas lights flickering across the room, the smell of pine and cinnamon, the feel of my feet resting against Miles, and the way his thumb moved softly against mine. And above all, I remember feeling the strong, sturdy beat of his heart pounding through his chest and the way he tucked me tightly against him.
It was 2 am when I awoke to a fuzzy blue screen and hurriedly uncurled myself from his body. Aghast that I had let myself get that comfortable, I shook his arm to wake him and shoo him out the door. This was getting out of hand. Dang you, Christmas tree. And Frank Sinatra. For the most part, Miles obliged, but he took me by surprise when he turned abruptly at the door as I was following him out, causing my body to run smack into his chest. I made the mistake of looking up, and our eyes held for a long moment.
It happened in slow motion. I blame the fact that I had just woken up. My defense system had a minor relapse. I had spent too much time cuddled up to him, and now my body seemed to crave his touch. My body was the problem. This couldn’t actually be me falling in like with the enemy across the hallway. His hooded eyes fell to my lips, and he swallowed. He leaned down slowly, as if giving me all the time in the world to resist if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
Soft lips touched mine like a breath exhaled. Instead of stepping back to end the kiss, my hands clutched tightly at his coat as I moved forward into his arms. My fingers found their way to his jawline, feeling the motion and the strength there as his mouth worked a kiss over mine that felt so divine I lost all words. His hands were pressed against my back and in my hair, his light touch causing me to tremor in his arms. Our kiss was slow and sensual. Indulgent. While he wasn’t exactly forbidden, he tasted that way. Sweet with a bite of danger. One that left me pulling away in a confused state of quaking hands and uneven breaths.
He brushed at a strand of my hair that had come loose in our tangle.
“Are you going to freak out about this tomorrow?” he whispered, a hint of a smile on his face.
“It’s starting now, actually.”
The smile turned into a grin. “Better throw all my chips on the table, then.” Before I could resist, he balled the sweater at my waist and pulled me to him again. His hands found my face, drawing me close as he kissed me once more. Where the first kiss had been soft, almost achingly so, this kiss was all heat. A heart-pounding passion licked at the air igniting sparks between us. It was disconcerting the way he so quickly rendered me incapable of doing anything but come alive the moment his lips touched mine. Though I couldn’t help but think I would regret my actions in the morning, my arms wound tight around his neck as he did a very thorough job convincing me of the blurring line between us. He drew back, his brown eyes blazing into mine. He pressed one more satisfying kiss to my lips before he turned and bounded down the stairs. The darkness swallowed him up the farther he moved from the soft, yellow glow of the porch light.
“Goodnight, Olive Wilson.”
TWENTY ONE