“Is that okay?” he asks again.
I nod, but the movement is shaky. I stand up straighter, getting a grip on myself. “Yes.”
He releases my hand and I hear the shuffle of his feet on the floor.
“I’m closing my eyes too,” he says.
Is he? I have no choice but to trust him.
I rip off my shirt and toss it forward, then hold the new shirt in front of my chest in case he turns around. But a moment later the door shuts.
My eyes pop open and I look around to make sure he’s gone. My body relaxes when I realize he is. I study the flannel shirt. It’s a button-up, but the bottom half of the buttons have already been done up. My heart thumps harder. Did he do that for me? How can he possibly know? The better question is, how can I ignore my feelings for him anymore?
Chapter 18
Sean
“Howbigdoyouwant?” London asks, stopping at a tree that’s no smaller than twelve feet.
I peer up at it. “I don’t think that one will fit in the bakery, do you?”
“What?” Her head flips toward me. “You’re getting a tree for my bakery?”
“I would have told you this an hour ago but you were busy fainting because of my sexiness,” I smirk.
“Shut up.” She adjusts the flannel top that matches mine. When Trent and I were little, my mom used to dress us in matching clothes all the time. I remember being annoyed by it by age five. I’ll have to apologize to her for all the fits I threw because now I see the appeal. Nothing says this woman is mine quite like itchy Christmas flannel.
“I noticed you didn’t have a tree,” I say. Or any Christmas decor for that matter. “Stuff like that helps bring customers in.”
She frowns and then turns back to the tree. “I kind of forgot about all that stuff. I’ve been so focused on getting ready for the grand opening next month.”
Her grand opening. Of course, she would be stressed about that. It’s right after Christmas, which means the tree will be another thing she will have to worry about getting out of the way before then.
I’m suddenly doubting the genius of my plan. “We don’t have to get one; we can do something else.” I scratch my neck, my mind somehow blank on ideas.
“No,” London stops me. “I would like one if that’s okay.”
The worry fades away, and my shoulders relax. “Charlie Brown or Rockefeller?”
She purses her lips. “I’ve always been partial to trees with missing limbs. Makes me feel less lonely.”
The blood drains from my face. Oh no, did I just offend her?
“W-we can get—”
She grabs my arm, just above my elbow and my voice dies. “It was a joke, Sean.”
Her palm is warm on my arm, comforting. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
“I always wondered what it would be like to pull one over on a Bentley.”
“Really?” The way she says that, the teasing lilt to her voice, her infectious smile, I want to drink it in. She’s been doing well so far, I can’t wait to see what else she’s got.
Her hand drops, and she shrugs with an innocent grin. She turns and walks through the next lane of trees before coming to an abrupt stop. “This one.”
I take in the tree. It’s barely as tall as her, and a little crooked up top. Its branches are uneven, but it’s got all the charm of Christmastime. Her gaze is fastened on the tree full of character but I can’t tear mine away from her. A breeze rustles her hair, blowing it across her face, and a strand gets stuck to her pink lips. The faint smell of brownies wafts over me and I wonder what else she baked today.
“It’s perfect,” she says.
