Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“I feel so safe when we’re like this,” he whispers against my shoulder. “I felt that way from the first time you hugged me. I don’t want to lose that.”
I kiss the top of his head, overcome with relief that this thing developing between us isn’t lost after all. I lead the way to the sofa, because I need him in my lap, tickling my face with his warm breath as we watch the snow outside.
“Me neither. I just want us both to have a good time. To for once not spend Christmas watching TV on my own.”
Rowan wraps his arm around my neck, his warm thighs such a comfort on mine already. “I don’t see you as someone who struggles to find company.”
I swallow, pulling him close until his head rests on my shoulder. He’s warm, and smells so nice I find myself rubbing my nose over his temple, reassuring myself that he really is here, longing for my touch. It means so much.
“I don’t struggle to find hookups and chat to random people, but I don’t want to lie to those closest to me. I don’t know how those secret service agents do it, having families.”
The warm orange light from the fireplace dances in Rowan’s eyes and hair. It’s as if he has a halo around his head and he’s the saint for putting up with my bullshit.
“You never told me what happened to your family. Saint, we… can’t get close through cookies alone.”
I open my lips. “Meaning?”
“I had a long night thinking about everything, and I think I’m missing something. What happened last night wasn’t about the cookies, was it?”
The weight of his warm body is so soothing, but the question could lead us both down a dangerous path. He already knows a big secret of mine, sure, but it’s one that still keeps me in control. If I allow him a glimpse of the things I’ve kept to myself, he’d have the tools to play me. Can I afford that risk?
I take a deep breath, looking at the snow weighing down the trees surrounding the cabin. When a whole pillow of wet snow slides off a spruce, a branch springs right back up, showing off its green needles. Will that be how I’ll be when I shed my secrets? Renewed?
Rowan isn’t rushing me. He plays with my hair, cuddling up to me even though a bruise peeks out from under his collar. He’s not shying away from me despite the danger I clearly pose to him. He’s giving me a chance, but I have to pay for my transgression.
Truth will be my penance.
“My mom would always make me bake with her,” I say, sinking deeper into the sofa as cookie-scented memories flood my brain, making me high on sugar. “I refused to do it the year she died. I felt it was something good for kids, and as a teenager, I was way too grown up to paint smiling faces on gingerbread men.”
Was that part of the reason why I lost my cool so badly? Because his rejection reminded me of the way I’d acted toward her when all she wanted was to have a nice afternoon with the son who was growing up all too fast?
Rowan kisses my temple, and it feels so soothing. I don’t deserve it. I’m not a good person.
“And when did you decide to do it again?”
I laugh, but not a single fiber in me feels any joy when I think back to it. “The year after my uncle died. It was dark and cold outside, and I was in a quiet apartment by myself on Christmas Eve. My uncle was the kind of guy who didn’t say much, but he was there. Without him, there was this giant hole that I needed to fill. And, somehow, when I decided to bake those stupid cookies, it made me feel like my mom might enter the room at any moment, as if she wasn’t dead in the ground.”
“I’m sorry. You’re always cooking, so I didn’t know how much that meant to you.”
I’ve never told any guy this much about myself, always preferring to keep up the facade of suave charm, yet being this real with him doesn’t make me feel pathetic. He’s letting me uncover my pain. I never knew this would be the way we connect when I chose him. I thought he’d understand my violence, that he’d accept my job and participate if I played my cards right, but maybe this is what I’ve been missing all along? It scares me that the stakes are this high, but he’s right. If he’s to understand me, he needs to know more, so I clear my throat and take the plunge.
“My parents were killed early in January, and Christmas was such a big thing in my house. Dad would always put up the most extravagant, embarrassing decorations, and Mom would go all out inside the house. So… this season is bittersweet for me, I guess.”