She rolls her eyes and pulls out a small jar of chocolate-covered almonds. “Well, I like mice dinner, then.”
Beer in one hand, ground beef in the other, I spin around. “Good thing I stocked the place for Christmas.”
“MyChristmas,” she shoots back, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“Yeah, well, you’re welcome for not starving over the weekend.” I take a long sip of my beer, then roll up my shirtsleeves and wash my hands. “You take the loft.”
She arches a brow. “I planned on it.” Her teeth sink into her lush lower lip as she bends to grab her overnight bag. “I’m going upstairs to unpack.”
“Be careful.” Even now, it’s ingrained.
She stiffens, but rather than respond, she scurries to the ladder, in a hurry to get away from me.
Below her, Zelda whines, pawing at the first rung. While I brown ground beef, I keep one eye on Bellamy, making sure she doesn’t fall.
This was a mistake. A bad fuckin’ idea. But you’re full of those, aren’t you, Hank?
I couldn’t resist coming back here. How could I, when my brain is still stuck on Bellamy?
At twenty-two, I knew a few things. I liked horses. A damn good rodeo. I’d work the ranch, eventually take over my father’s Christmas tree farm. And I knew I’d know the one when I saw her. That night in Buck’s Bar, Bellamy was it.
I knew I’d be taking her home that night. The perfectly smudged eyeliner, the bold way she approached me, the drawing. Fuck, I was a goner. We drank whiskey, popped quarters into the tiny jukebox and talked about life and Christmas trees.
When we woke the next morning and she said she had to go back to San Francisco, I said stay. She called in sick.
For the entire week.
We did long distance for six months before I asked her to marry me. I never expected her to sacrifice her dreams for me. She was only twenty. She had so much waiting for her in California. But that night, parked on that dusty back road lined with big trees and bathed in moonlight, I laid it all out.
“I’ll move, Bell. I already told Pops—”
“No.” She laughed like I was being ridiculous. “I want to stay here with you.”
“Sugar—”
“I love Silverwood, and I love you.” The ring on her finger glinted as she brought her small hand to my cheek. She gave me a flirty little smile. “So shut up, cowboy.”
I kissed her then, hard, almost pleading. So damn in love with her I swore my heart would crack through my chest just to sync with hers.
Even now, it still eats at me. Guilt over letting her give it all up. But she loved the farm and the ranch, so who was I to argue? I felt so goddamn lucky. Like I had gotten everything I’d ever wanted in life.
By the time I crawl out of my thoughts and Bellamy returns, the fire is roaring and the sauce is nearly finished. She’s changedinto gray sweatpants and an oversized Christmas T-shirt that readsI Do It For the Ho’s. She’s washed her face. Tamed her dark hair into glossy waves.
She fiddles with the radio, settling on a Christmas station. She’s still Bellamy. A hopeless Christmas romantic. Me, I lost that spirit when she walked away.
“Can we not?” It comes out gruffer than intended. “With the Christmas music?”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “You love Christmas music.”
“Not today.”
“Fine.” Brow furrowed, she scans my face. Then she changes it to an old country station, one of my father’s favorites.
Merle Haggard croons, his voice filling the old cabin.
Phone in hand, Bellamy steps closer, almost a shy tiptoe. “What are you making?” She rests a hip against the counter, peers over the island, wrinkles her nose.
I chuckle. “Like you can afford to be picky when you brought mice food.”
