Page 15 of The Christmas Book Flood

Rather than answer, he let her words echo. Let them fill him. Let his thumb stroke over her knuckles, let himself see the pleasure in her eyes that he’d usually try to talk himself into denying was really there.

Let himself hope. That she was right. That things with his family could be mended, because they didn’t think of him as poorly as he’d always assumed. That she had meant it when she’d said she intended to stay there by his side.

“Could I take you to dinner sometime?” The question slipped out without any thought. Or second thoughts. Or third, or fourth. Without any stammering or equivocating. Though, of course, he felt the flush crawling up his neck.

She didn’t look away from his eyes as she smiled. “Anders, you can take me to dinner any time. Though given my current charge...” She inclined her head toward the sounds of girlish laughter. “Perhaps for now, you’d let me make you dinner?”

“Name the day.”

Though she drew her bottom lip between her teeth, it didn’t stop her smile from shining. “I don’t know. Any of them? All of them? It won’t be anything fancy, but I plan to have soups ready, since we’ll have long evenings again next week.”

Had she really just said all of them ? His grin felt big enough to crack his cheeks.

“I can contribute some fish and bread—my family keeps me well stocked. And perhaps... perhaps I could escort you and Elea to your uncle’s next weekend, for the Christmas party?

I have a car—I don’t use it much, but I could drive us. It’s a bit too far to walk, I think.”

She looked... happy. More than happy. Excited. Her eyes danced, and her nod was downright exuberant. “That would be wonderful. Yes. You can’t know how long I’ve...” This time, she was the one who blushed and stammered to a halt.

Anders lifted her hand, still snug in his, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I should have worked up the nerve to ask you sooner. I just... you’re so beautiful. So bright. I couldn’t imagine you’d want to have anything to do with me.”

With a chuckle, she rested an elbow on the table and leaned closer, whispering, “We really need to work on that self-esteem of yours, Anders.”

“Do we?” He swallowed, remembering the easy way she’d told his mother that she found him handsome.

The kettle whistled, and Tatiana jumped a bit, then laughed at herself as she straightened. She gave his fingers a squeeze and then let go, standing and moving to the stove.

His hand felt cool without hers in it. Empty.

But the way she snuck a glance at him over her shoulder made that hope take root.

Somehow, it was really happening. His bumbling attempts to help her with her niece had turned into time with her , just as he’d dreamed it would.

They were... they were moving beyond the vague friendship of colleagues.

They were making dinner plans. Party plans.

Perhaps, if he didn’t stumble over himself too much in the next week, they’d come to be a real couple.

He couldn’t think of a finer gift this Christmas.

Gift. He watched her as she poured the boiling water into two mugs and fished tea bags from a tin of them.

He’d taken the sketch home with him last night but hadn’t yet had time to paint it.

And now, seeing the one from Valdi on her wall, he was second-guessing the wisdom of just putting color to the small drawing.

It had seemed a fine-enough size when he was just making it for a friend, spurred on by her niece.

Now, though? Something had changed on that walk.

Here in this kitchen. He might not know what else to call her just yet, but she wasn’t just a friend from work.

She was the woman who’d called him handsome.

Who’d somehow, with a few words, gotten his mother to express feelings she never had before within his hearing.

She was the one who’d put an arm around him, reached for his hand.

She was, without question, the only woman ever to touch his heart in a way that made him dream of forever by her side.

A small, simple drawing wasn’t enough. Perhaps he’d match the size of The Lights Watch .

He even still had a frame to match the one on her wall now.

Given the subject matter, her and Elea and books, he knew she’d like it.

And the framed painting in the place of honor over her couch did indeed back up her claim of admiring his work.

Still... the thought of giving her only a painting made doubt wriggle to life in his chest. He couldn’t help it.

Even if Mother had been telling the truth about where his previous gifts had ended up—he knew she wouldn’t lie but still couldn’t quite believe it—the fact remained that he’d never actually given a gift of his artwork and watched it be received with anything other than a cool nod and what had struck him as an obligatory “Thank you.” The insecurity was too deeply planted to yank out with one tug.

He’d make the bigger painting, to match her current one in size, yes... but he’d give her something else, too. A book? She would love By the Stars at Night as much as Mother would, and even Ada.

But unlike his family, Tatiana worked at the Story Society. She could get a copy of any book she wanted at the same discount he would use. Giving her one of their own books would be almost insulting.

Although... Tandri Ebbisson was reclusive. They knew he lived somewhere in or near Reykjavik, given the post office box address, but he had dodged all questions about the particulars of where he made his home. He would not be hosting book signings, unlike some of their authors.

Through the editorial process over the last year, though, Anders had gotten to know Tandri through their letters and notes.

They’d become friends. Good friends, even.

Somehow it had been easier to open up to a faceless author through words on paper than it ever was in real life, face to face.

He was fairly certain that, if he sent a few copies of the novel to the author and asked for inscriptions, Ebbisson wouldn’t refuse.

He was all but certain no one else would venture such a thing though.

Which meant that the copies he sent could well be the only signed copies to be seen.

And there had been plenty of talk around the office about how their newest author was such a mystery in some ways.

Tatiana would know that he went to some trouble to procure the signature.

That would make it special, wouldn’t it?

A mug of tea appeared before him, and he looked up to see that Tatiana had moved back to the table while he was lost in his schemes. She smiled. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He found himself returning the smile and, more, felt it go a little mischievous. “Oh no. You’re not allowed to ask that question so close to Christmas, Tatiana.”

She laughed and opened her mouth, but he never got to hear what clever response she’d offer. Their nieces chose that moment to swoop into the room, and the rest of their shared afternoon was dedicated to their giggles.