He paused, rotated a glare my way, and then narrowed his eyes. “Is that a joke?”
I shook my head. “The thermostat is in the pantry.”
“You—” Incredulous anger rippled across his features before he pulled his lips in and rested his hands on his hips. “You little demon.”
“It was funny to watch you chop wood, though.”
“Oh, you’re going to get plenty of my wood, young lady.” He pointed at me, scowling unseriously. “But you’ll beg for it first.” I grinned under the blanket.
Spencer shuffled over to the pantry, and I heard some muffled curses directed my way, then the heat kicked on, blowing through the vents Spencer hadn’t bothered to notice. And then I watched him with my cheek on my bent knees as he bustled around the kitchen, getting coffee started and using the weird, little breakfast sandwich maker he’d bought to make English muffin sandwiches. “Need any help?” I asked.
“Oh, you’ve done more than enough.” He didn’t even look up from the coffee he was stirring when he jabbed a finger my way. “Stay there where you can’t make trouble.”
I snuffed a laugh into my knees. The long game definitely had a way of paying off. I didn’t usually consider myself a prankster, but messing with Spencer had a definite appeal.
Spencer brought two mugs of coffee over, and mine was perfect, of course. The way he knew me so well almost disturbed me, probably because I hadn’t noticed it happening. Either he’d always known me and he’d hidden it, or he had learned so quickly, I hadn’t kept up. Like a sleight of hand, he’d uncovered all my intricacies and held them neatly in a row like a perfect hand of cards.
I sipped my coffee, still sitting on the floor with my back against the couch. Spencer sat cross-legged next to me, and some of his messy top knot had come undone, giving him more of a roguish air than usual. He squinted one eye at the wood stove. “I think you’ve tortured my psyche, Bee. Now I miss the wood stove.”
I snorted into my coffee cup. “I use it more than the central heating. It smells nice.”
“It’s got a vibe,” he agreed, gesturing to it vaguely with his coffee. “I don’t think my new apartment will have one. I’ll just have to barge in and commandeer your living room.”
My heart squeezed in a ridiculous way at the thought of him leaving, but I managed to give him an aloof, speculative eyebrow raise instead. “Will you? How presumptive of you.”
“Please, Arabella. I’m a jock doctor—don’t hurt my brain with big words.” He took a sip of coffee, his eyes laughing over the rim.
I pressed my lips together. All my worrying about losing the easiness between us had apparently been for nothing. Spencer was Spencer. He was lighthearted and caring, and being around him was as easy now as it had always been. It was infuriating. And wonderful.
Spencer leaned forward, ducking his head under the ostentatiously long branch of our monster tree, and he emerged with three presents. They were wrapped in baby blue wrapping paper with fuchsia cowgirl hats and silver horseshoes printed all over them. With a cheeky grin, he pushed them toward me. I gave him a reproving glare but scooted them closer to me, anyway. “You are not as funny as you think you are.”
“I’m hysterical,” he disagreed seriously.
I peeled the wrapping paper off the biggest present first, and memories fired to life in the back of my brain, bringing forward monochromatic Christmases, opening my expensive gifts in front of my mother’s upper-tier friends at their Christmas parties. We hadn’t been allowed to open them on the floor in front of a Christmas tree, cozy with warm drinks and delirious with anticipation. That had been for other families. Happy families.
I tried not to let tears gather on my lashes as I opened my first real Christmas present. I couldn’t let Spencer know that this was as momentous as it was. He’d probably opened hundredsof Christmas presents, ensconced in the love of his parents and the comfort of his very real family household. He hadn’t been forced to sit on gilded chairs and stoically open presents with no meaning beyond their price tag for bored adults to half-heartedly exclaim over.“Such an expensive gift for a little lady!” “Real mink! Can you believe it? You are the luckiest princess in the world, Arabella.” “My God! Tiffany’s hasn’t even released those yet! You spoiled brat.”
I swallowed hard, pulling the paper away from a large, smooth box with a rugged-looking logo on the outside that I recognized. My heart leaped in my throat as I opened the top and found a gorgeous, well-insulated canvas coat. It was a close imitation of the ragged thing I had hanging by the door, but far nicer and would actually keep me warm on sub-zero days. My hands shook as I pulled the coat out, noting the well-placed pockets for my tools and running my hand over the faux fur interior that slid with silky perfection through my fingers.
“I know it’s not a fun gift,” Spencer rushed to say. He must have mistaken my stunned silence for disappointment. “But you’re always shivering and you feel like ice when you come inside.”
I swallowed again, convulsively, and I didn’t dare meet his eyes. “It’s perfect,” I managed to whisper. I cleared my throat, trying to shove down the emotion. Bracing myself, I looked up, giving him a genuine smile of appreciation. “It’s really, truly perfect. It’s much nicer than—” I was going to say “than I deserve,” but I knew Spencer would take offense to that on my behalf. “Than I’ve ever had,” I finished.
He gave me a gentle half-smile. “Someone has to take care of you.”
Did they? God, I’d never dared hope for such a luxury. But here Spencer was, caring. It was almost more than I could take. I cleared my throat again and reached for the next gift. “Well, ifthis is healthy food, then I might throw it at you. No one needs that much care.”
“Oh, speaking of that.” Spencer stood, setting his coffee on the floor. “Open that one and try them on. I’ll be right back.”
The next present was a shoe box. Another high quality, top-end brand that held a pair of steel-toed, easy-lace, brown boots that threatened to burst the dam of tears in my throat. I swallowed them down. This couldn’t be happening to me. It was too… good. Too thoughtful. I blinked away the tears and sniffed, composing my features just as Spencer came back with two ham and egg breakfast sandwiches. “So?” he prompted.
I shoved my bare foot into the boot. “Perfect fit.”
He fist-pumped. “Again, boring gift. Sorry. But the hole in your other one was threatening to eat me.”
The tidal wave of emotion was cresting now, threatening to drown me. My features twitched as I smiled. “You know me much better than I know myself. These are fantastic.”
He cinched one eyelid. “You’re being suspiciously nice about this. Why aren’t you threatening to scramble my brains and feed them to the pigs?”
