Page 50 of The Christmas Arrangement

I smile at the ceiling. “Want me to get up and make coffee?”

“No.” She clamps her hand down on my chest if she could pin me in place. “Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. “Except the kitchen.”

She tilts her head up, blinking sleep-glazed eyes at me, her hair a wild tangle. “Coffee in bed?”

“You’ve got it. Or I could make you one of my matcha abominations if you want. Someone has to save you from your sugar addiction.”

“My sugar addiction is what makes me delightful.” She gives me a playful push. “Coffee in bed sounds perfect. As long as it’s actual coffee.”

“Deal.”

I ease out from under her carefully and hurry to the kitchen, the floor cold under my bare feet.

When I return with two mugs—hers with sugar, mine black—she’s propped up against the pillows and her hair is in a messy knot on the top of her head.

I hand her the candy-cane striped mug and sit on the edge of the bed.

She takes a sip and sighs happily. Then she turns her green eyes my way. “What’s on your agenda today?”

“I’m meeting Griselda at her fitness studio. She’s giving me a lift to our nine o’clock meeting with Titus and Henry at the animal rescue. We’re going to finalize the Santa Paws plans and make sure I know which animals to avoid if I want my face to remain normal-sized.”

She laughs. “All of them, probably.”

“I’ll take the meds. I’ll be fine.” I bump her shoulder with mine. “What about you?”

“I need to talk to my sisters. Then I have some errands to run.” She shifts her gaze away from mine.

“Errands?”

“Exciting stuff. Post office. Bank. You know. Adulting.”

She’s not telling me the whole truth. But I don’t push. If she wants to tell me, she will.

“When should we meet up?”

“Let’s plan to meet at the library Bookmas party this afternoon. And after that, there’s Christmas karaoke at the Tipsy Turnip.”

“Sure, that all sounds like fun.”

“It will be,” she promises. “And both events will be packed, so the photographers will be able to get some great shots.”

I put my mug down on the nightstand and turn to her. “That’s not why I want to go with you.”

She blinks at me. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m staying. Or, at least, I want to stay.”

She goes very still. “What?”

“After the week is up. I want to stay in Mistletoe Mountain.” I hold her gaze. “I want to experience Christmas here. With you. If that’s okay.”

Her eyes go wide and impossibly green. For a terrible moment, she says nothing.

Then she sets her mug next to mine with deliberate care, turns to face me fully, and crawls into my lap.

My mouth finds hers and we kiss. Not a staged kiss. Not a kiss for the cameras. A kiss just for us. Her hands cradle my face. Mine are tangled in her hair.