Humor. I could do that. I latched onto it like a shield, weak as it was. “That’s frighteningly graphic and I don’t have any pigs.”
“I could have sworn nothing frightened you,” he shot back, his smile growing.
You. You frighten me. Your kindness, your warmth, the promise of “maybe” you keep offering me. I’m terrified.“This is true,” I agreed briskly. I hesitated before picking up the smallest present in the pile. “This isn’t a bottle of vitamins, is it?”
“Dammit,” he winced. “That’s what I should have gotten you. I’ll do it next year.”
With my smile wavering, I picked up the last package and carefully unwrapped it from its cheesy paper. I could tell right away that it was jewelry, which meant that either Spencer hadspent too much on something I wasn’t going to wear, or things were about to get really sentimental. I braced myself, lifting the velvet lid on its hinge.
A gold horseshoe pendant, the size of a dime, winked in the Christmas lights. The name “Spets,” ran between the shoe just above a tiny, milky stone embedded in the apex of the shape. I stared at it in wonder. It was beautiful, understated, and just unassuming enough that I knew I would wear it. Damn him.
“Here,” Spencer said, reaching for it. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but if you hold it up—” He gently disengaged the necklace from its padded box, and then he held it up to me. “Put your eye up to the stone.”
Oh no. Oh dear. Oh shit. Spencer held the chain for me, and I took the pendant between my fingers, bringing my eye to the stone. Like one of those binocular toys from my childhood, it projected an image with startling clarity. It was a beautiful picture of Spets, backlit by a sunset and standing in the snowy landscape. The Wasatch mountains stretched up high and proud as a perfect backdrop to the scene.
Those fucking tears flooded my throat. I choked, pulling away and trying to grasp at anything that might diffuse the onslaught of emotion. “Did you actually touch a horse to take that picture?” I teased.
Spencer gave me a heart-melting, devastatingly handsome grin. “I actually did. To be honest, I kind of like that horse. He led me out to the perfect spot like a terrified child, and when I stopped shaking enough to take the picture, he promptly ignored me. I couldn’t have asked for a better horse.”
I burst into tears. And they weren’t dainty, cute tears—no femininedrip, dripof glistening tears on my pink chinks, or slight wobble to my chin. My face screwed up hard, the last effort of resistance, and then a sob broke through my lips. I released the pendant and covered my face with my hands, andtears pooled in my eyes before rapidly sliding to my cheeks and making my nose itch.
“Oh my God.” Spencer’s voice was alarmed, and he carefully set the pendant in the box and shuffled on his knees to me. His hands landed on my arms. “Bee, what’s wrong? What did I do? Are you angry?”
“Yes, I’m angry!” I said hotly, lifting my red eyes from my hands and fixing him with a blurry glare. “I’m furious.”
His eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and the rest of his expression lengthened with surprise. “You are?”
“Yes,” I seethed, but it was ruined by another choking sob, and my lower lip trembled with the effort of trying—and failing—to contain my emotions.
“Why?” Spencer looked completely flummoxed, and he pulled me to him, enveloping me in a warm hug. His hands flew over me, checking for injuries or pain.
But the pain was all on the inside, and damn him, he was healing it. “Because you’re too damn nice, Spencer,” I said, and my voice cracked, only adding to my humiliation. “And you’re making me feel things I don’t want to feel, and it’s awful.”
He stilled, his hands freezing on my arms. Then he melted, pulling me onto his lap and laughing. “Oh my God, I did it. I win.”
“Win what?” I croaked.
“You. Youlike me. I win.”
“You do not,” I denied weakly.
“Oh, yes, I do.” The low laughter in his voice was saturated with triumph. “I made Arabella Rook cry from happiness, and I fully expect an award for it.”
“Spencer,” I corrected him, my voice thick.
“How could I forget.” He kissed the top of my head, settling back against the couch and cradling me comfortably in his lap. I pressed my face against his gray Henley, too embarrassed tolift my head. Could I keep my face buried forever? If I never had to look him in the eye, I might get over this. “I made Arabella Spencer cry. Merry Christmas to me.”
“You are horrible,” I mumbled into his chest.
He sighed happily, his arms tight around me. “You’re actually happy right now, aren’t you?”
I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. “Yes.”
He let his head fall back against the couch, laughing again. “Amazing. That’s it. I’ve peaked. I’ll never top this.”
“Stop gloating.”
“Absolutely not. I’ve earned this.” He rubbed my back in soothing circles, squeezing me tightly when he was done. “Bee, look at me.” Reluctantly, I lifted my head. Spencer took my face between his hands, wiping moisture from my cheeks and smiling gently. I’d never seen a kinder person in my entire life, and he was gazing at me with the full force of his saintly perfection. “You are worthy of gentle things.”
