Page 16 of Make You Mine This Christmas (Holly Ridge #2)

Austin

After cooking a big breakfast, Brody is bouncing with energy for us to head out and go shopping for a tree.

His excitement is infectious—the part I didn’t say last night is it seemed too depressing to me to decorate my place when I didn’t have anyone else to share it with.

I have a roommate now—roommate, sure, Austin, I scoff internally—what harm could a little extra Christmas cheer do?

After dropping off the dry cleaning, we drive forty-five minutes to where there are a few places close together, so we can have more options than what Wally World would have. Brody suggests a pause in the official count of our questions game, so we can discover our decoration compatibility.

“White lights or multicolored lights?” he asks.

“White lights, definitely.” I turn down the Christmas channel he put on so I can hear better.

“Oh, wrong. But it’s okay, you’ll learn.” I laugh. Brody hasn’t allowed himself to be this free around me yet. It’s hard to ignore how charming it is.

“Candy canes or popcorn string?” He moves on to the next question.

“Candy canes, for sure. Way less work.”

He nods. “Smart. We’re getting a late start, a good time to be efficient. How do you feel about inflatables?”

I shoot a quick glance at him, glad we’re at a red light before pulling into the first store. “I live in an apartment . . .”

“You have a balcony!” he says, like it’s completely reasonable to go from suggesting we get a tree to decorate to purchasing an inflatable to put on a balcony barely big enough for two people to sit on at the same time.

“What happened to only getting a tree?”

His eyes twinkle as I turn the car off. “I never said just a tree. We’ll walk through the inflatables section, see if anything catches your eye.”

“Okay.” I get out of the car and look back at him across the hood as he does the same. “But I don’t think I’m going to find anything I like.”

“Never say never,” he says, full of confidence, taking off at a brisk walk for the entrance not related to the temperature outside.

I chuckle and follow, realizing I’m simply along for the ride.

* * *

Hours later, we have a six-foot Douglas fir strapped to the roof of my vehicle and bags of lights, ornaments, extension cords, and, yes, a box holding an inflatable fill the back seat and cargo area.

I turn off the ignition and sit back in exhaustion.

“How am I more tired now than I am at the end of a day playing an elf?”

“Perk up,” he says, patting my leg. It’s not the first time we’ve touched each other casually today, but like every time before, I feel his touch long after he’s removed his hand.

“We’ll unload, I’ll put dinner in the oven, and then we can relax with a nice glass of the eggnog you grabbed until we eat.

You’ll feel better with your blood sugar up and be ready to decorate. ”

“Or the whisky and eggnog combo will serve its purpose,” I mutter.

“Whatever works!” Brody closes the passenger door behind him and goes to wait by the liftgate. For the umpteenth time, I smile at how happy he’s been all day—at how much fun we’ve both had spending time together. He’s right, it’s going to be a lot of fun to see the fruits of our labor after dinner.

Food in the oven and eggnog poured over ice, we head into the living room, but neither of us sits down to rest. He starts pulling things out of shopping bags. I snag the inflatable and an extension cord and head toward the balcony.

“Inflatable first thing, huh?” he teases.

I shrug, trying to keep my expression indifferent. “It’ll be fully dark soon. Figured it would be good to get out here while I can still sort of see what I’m doing.”

“Okaaay,” he says in a tone telling me I’m full of shit, but I decide I don’t care. Putting an inflatable of the Abominable Snow Monster from claymation Rudolph onto my balcony is going to be awesome. I won’t deny it.

A few minutes later, the Bumble is tied down, fully inflated, and lit up. I put it on a timer, so it’ll turn on while we’re still at work, but I wonder if it’s too much to run down and see how it looks.

I close the door and find Brody climbing down from a chair. “Whatcha doing?” I ask.

“Hanging this mistletoe they threw in for free when we checked out. The rest of the ceilings are too high to reach, so I thought right over the hallway would work.”

“Oh, good to know,” I laugh awkwardly. “Be sure to steer clear of that—one person in the hallway at a time.”

Brody’s face falls, and I curse myself. He never said anything about enforcing it. Even if he did mean it to be a kissing spot, I didn’t need to be quite so careless in my response.

“Right. Sure.” He tries to recover. “I thought it was kind of funny, and they gave it to us for free, so . . . But I’ll take it down.” He moves to climb onto the chair again.

“No, it’s fine. It looks good there. I’m . . . I’m going to run down to see how the inflatable looks from the street.” Without another word, I flee out the door and down the stairs, not even stopping for my coat.

As I stand on the sidewalk, shivering and staring at a three-foot-tall Abominable growling at me, I feel like I deserve this.

Things are going so well between us. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get romantically involved with Brody again—he has his business and his life he’ll be going back to in three weeks—doesn’t mean I have to be an ass about it.

I look up at the sky, hoping there will be an answer written among the stars.

Instead, grey cloud cover mocks me and tells me I need to go clean my mess.

I climb back up the stairs slowly and cautiously open the door.

In the past when we fought, Before Brody would go to the gym or throw himself into work to blow off steam.

This Brody doesn’t have a job he can disappear to.

Maybe he’ll be hiding in his room doing some yoga, and I’ll be left to stare at the tied up tree, reminding myself what an idiot I am.

Brody pops his head out of the kitchen, a freshly poured eggnog in his hand. “Dinner will be ready in two minutes.” His eyes give nothing away, but I wince at the big gulp he takes of his drink. It’s been a while since we had lunch—I’m glad dinner will be ready soon.

I sit on the couch to give him space, listening as he bustles around and pulls the baking sheet out of the oven. Right when I’m about to take a peek and see if it’s safe for me to come make a plate of my own, Brody appears next to me with two plates in hand.

“Oh, you didn’t need to bring me a plate. I could have served myself,” I say, taking the extended plate and silverware.

He shrugs. “I was bringing my own over, so figured I’d grab yours too. Oh! My drink!” He goes back for the glass, and I notice it’s full to the brim again. Fuck, I need to grow some balls and apologize.

I turn the TV to whatever Hallmark Christmas movie is on now, but otherwise we eat in silence. Brody doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to the movie. It’s beyond time for me to speak up.

“Hey, I’m . . . I’m sorry about what I said about the mistletoe earlier. It was uncalled for.”

He shrugs and avoids my eyes. “You were speaking your truth. I should have asked before I hung it. It’s your apartment.”

Twisting my body, I turn more to face him.

“It’s not that—I panicked in the moment.

Today was great, and we’ve had some good days and good talks together.

But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get romantically involved again.

So, when you brought up mistletoe, my mind went straight to kissing you.

I didn’t think before I spoke. I’m sorry. ”

He nods, taking the last bite of his food before putting the plate on the coffee table, picking up his drink before he leans back.

“So, you think every kiss has to be romantic?”

I startle, surprised by his question. “No, I don’t. But don’t you?”

Brody shakes his head. “Not anymore.” His tone is weathered and weary.

I sit with what he said for a moment. The Brody I knew only got physically involved in relationships. He said he couldn’t separate sex from emotion. Maybe I didn’t fully consider what it did to him to leave what we had behind.

“Oh.” I’m not quite sure what else to say. The ice in Brody’s glass clinks, and I decide I might need another eggnog to get through the evening too. I stand up, grabbing our plates. “Can I get you a refill?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m already feeling a little reckless. Better call it quits—and it’s against my code as Santa to be hungover.”

Existing hungover is miserable, I can’t imagine trying to be Santa. “That’s smart.” I put our dishes in the sink and pour myself a drink, taking it easy on the whisky.

I sit back down, not watching the movie on the TV. I’m about to suggest we at least get the tree in the stand, so it can have water and rest its branches overnight when Brody breaks the silence.

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

I have no idea how to answer. “Is this an official question on the record?”

“Sure, why not.” He shrugs and takes the last sip of his drink.

No good can come of this conversation, but apparently the whisky has me feeling a little reckless too. “About two weeks. The night before Thanksgiving.”

He nods. “It was Halloween weekend for me. I was dressed as Captain Kirk and went home with a Luke Skywalker.” He snorts, and the image would be funny in any other situation, but the vision of Brody, naked with someone else, isn’t funny at all.

“Oh.” I grasp for something to say. “You don’t dress up as Santa for Halloween?” Anything else might have been better.

“Those suits are way too expensive to go out in. And no. I guess I’ve always thought of Santa as a sexless being. But it probably would pull pretty well, the ultimate Daddy fantasy.”