Chapter 26

ChapterTwenty-Six

Sadie

The front door bangs open and I jump in the kitchen where I stand with my hot cup of tea. I set the cup on the counter with a clang as Claus scurries, nails on the floor, to his safe place behind the chair. I hurry to the front door and my jaw drops as I see Nick pushing a tree through the opening. A tree. One from his yard he must have sawed down like a total bush man.

“What are you doing?” I call over the mass of green needled limbs and melting snow.

“Getting you your tree.” The man doesn’t sound entirely happily. “Think you can help?”

I jump into action, grabbing the stump of the tree and pulling it into the house. Snow is dripping onto the floor, and I can’t help but stare at him in shock.

“You didn’t think we should just get one from the store? You know, from a box—without all the snow and hassle?”

He glares at me. “You don’t do a box tree for Christmas.”

“Um, I do every year.”

“I don’t,” he says firmly. “If I’m getting a tree, I’m getting a tree.”

I snort, and his dark eyes flash to mine as I accuse, “You’re a Christmas tree snob.”

“Sunshine.” He heaves a sigh like I’m testing his patience. “You wanted a tree; I got you a tree.”

“Thank you,” I say graciously, and then I gesture to the floor. “My tree is going to flood your house.”

“It’s not so bad.” He yanks off his toque, leaving his dark hair a mess. He looks good with messy hair. I kind of want to jump him right now, but of course, I don’t. His voice pulls my attention back to the here and now, and I shake off thoughts of a sweaty and naked Nick at my mercy. “I shook off most of the snow outside. We’ll let it sit here for a bit while we bring in all the decorations. By the time we’re done, we’ll be able to get the tree set up where you want it.”

“You have decorations?” I’m surprised.

“I’ve got everything in the garage.” He tugs off his jacket, hanging it in the closet before he kicks off his boots. “Come.”

My entire body jolts as I follow him from the front door, down the hall leading to his garage access. Inside, I’m stunned speechless as I take in the totes, and totes, and totes labeled Christmas. This is surprising because Nick doesn’t seem like the kind of man who likes Christmas. And these totes say someone definitely likes Christmas.

“Are these yours?” I expect him to say they belong to the little elf that lives in the mountain forest over admitting that they are his.

“Yep.” He takes the first tote from the tall stack and pulls off the lid. Inside, I see garland, more garland, and more garland. There’s so much garland in so many different colors, I can’t help the way my jaw drops. I’m stunned it doesn’t hit the floor.

“That’s a lot of garland.”

“Yep.”

All right, the man doesn’t like to talk about his Christmas decorations. Noted.

But this is weird. Because when I met him, he’d been anti-tree. Anti-decorations. Anti-Holiday.

Now to see he wasn’t always this way—I have questions.

Questions, like so many others I have about this man, I swallow down.

His back muscles flex under the thin material of his dark shirt as he reaches up for another tote. He peeks inside, and I see lights. Strings, and strings, and strings of lights.

“That’s a lot of lights.”

“It’s a big house.” He closes the lid of the tote.

“You decorate the outside of your house?”

“Used to.”

He turns away from me and the billion other questions I have as he tugs another tote from the stack. He repeats this gesture, lifting the lid to look inside. I see tree ornaments, mantle ornaments, a big wreath, and Christmas specific platters and dishware.

It’s the dishware that has my hands finding my hips as I accuse, “You told me you didn’t like Christmas. You lied.”

“I didn’t lie.”

My hand falls dramatically from my hip to sweep over the totes. “What’s all this then?”

“This is my mother.” His eyes land and fix on mine. “The same meddling woman that brought you to me.”

Well.

Nick continues, “As soon as I built this house, she dropped all this shit here.”

“But you’ve used it.”

“I’ve used it,” he admits. “Just not in the last three years.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep from demanding answers to all the questions I have about this mysterious man. Because although I don’t know what happened three years ago exactly, I know that whatever happened gave the man the scars he now wears. The scars that have isolated him and hurt him. The scars that, three years ago, changed his life so dramatically, so terribly, he didn’t have the desire to decorate for Christmas—the desire to search for joy in the Holiday.

So, I say nothing as I bend and lift the tote of garland, lugging it into the house. Claus has moved from behind the chair, and he’s now sitting on the chair. He looks semi relaxed, but I know by the wide set of his green eyes that he doesn’t trust the totes being dropped in the living room, even though he also wants to inspect them. His curiosity is inherent, and I know come time to unwind the garland, his little self will be sniffing curiously all over the Christmas goods.

Nick sets two totes next to my one, and I give him a harrumph, as I huff it back to the garage for another tote with Nick on my heel. With everything inside, I start going through the totes as Nick gets the tree stand ready. Then I stand back and watch, sipping my tea, as the hulk of a man carries the hulk of a tree into the living room. He gets the stump into the stand, screws it in place, and stands back to shoot me a look.

“That’s a Christmas tree, baby.” I take him in, my eyes moving the length of him as he stands proudly beside his tree. Then he goes and ruins it when he says, “I did my part. The sparkly shit is on you.”

I blink, roll my eyes and set my empty cup to the counter. “How romantic.”

He raises a brow, but the look on his face is amused. “You want romance?”

“I’m a woman. Of course, I want romance.”

I’m tugging burlap from the tote with the ornaments when I feel a big hand on my hip, and a warm breath in my ear. “You think because I’m a man I’m not capable of romance?”

“You told me to decorate the tree by myself.”

“Baby,” he chuckles darkly. “I’d never let a woman string lights on a Christmas tree.”

“I can string Christmas lights.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t. Said I wouldn’t let you.”

“Oh, whatever,” I huff. “You still suck at romance.” I pout. “And you’re still a Grinch!”

His body vibrates against mine as he laughs again. The sound is filled with amusement, and his big hands are still on my hips when he rumbles, “I stomped through knee-deep snow for you today, searching for the perfect Christmas tree. For you. I cut it down and beat the snow from the branches after dragging it to the house. Then I carried it inside—for you.” His breath is hot against the skin of my neck, and I can feel the sharp nip of his short beard teasing my sensitive flesh. “Tell me again I’m not romantic?”

“Maybe you’re a little romantic,” I concede breathlessly.

“Mmm.” He drags his mouth along the shell of my ear, and my heart nearly explodes in my chest when he asks, “What are you going to do for me?”

“What do you want?” I barely get the words out through my heavy breaths.

“A kiss?”

I was hoping he’d ask for something more, but he doesn’t wait for me to accept as he spins me around in his arms and closes his mouth over mine. His kiss is deep and claiming and everything I’ve come to love about his mouth on mine. I want more, I think, as I drop the burlap to lift my hands to cling to his broad shoulders. I want everything.

He pulls back to rumble against my ear, “I have to work tomorrow, but I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow night in town.”