Page 71 of My Favorite Holidate
I finally push them aside when we pop by Bibi’s office. She’s wearing a red-plaid Santa hat today, and she eagerly takes the stocking. “I wonder what could be in here,” she says, like she means it.
“As if you don’t know,” Wilder teases.
“Hush. Let me have my fun,” she chides him, then retrieves each item in the stocking one by one, delighting in all of them. “Well, this is a surprise. Thank you, Santa and his elf.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“Enjoy,” Wilder says.
“See you tonight at the team party,” Bibi calls out.
When we’re heading down the hall again, Wilder looks my way, then scans the hall, perhaps making sure it’s just us as he lowers his voice. “How was your class? The paint-and-sip.” He’s no longer using his boss-in-the-office tone. He’s thoughtful, interested, and entirely boyfriend-y.
I smile, thinking both of the class and how he made it happen so I could attend the party tonight. “It was amazing. Rana is so talented, and my friends had a blast,” I say.And Maeve and all my friends think you have a crush on me, and I’m beginning to wonder if maybe, possibly they’re a littlebit right?I shake that out of my head. “And the dinner was incredible. And so was the suite.”
His smile is of the closed-mouth variety, but pleased too. “Good. That’s very good.”
Something flickers in his eyes, almost…like a gleam. Like Tuesday night was all part of some grand plan. But that’s a wild thought too. “I really appreciate it,” I say, placing a hand on his arm and stopping him. “I mean it,” I add, genuinely. “You said you wanted to show Brady how a man should treat a woman, but really you’re showing me.”
That smile of his? It gets a little bigger. That gleam in his irises? It sparks a little more. “Like I said, it’s my pleasure.”
I arch a skeptical brow. “Really? Is it?”
His smile burns off, and he stares at me with red-hot lust. “Yes. Really. Treating you is an absolute gift.”
My breath catches once again. And I feel…like champagne. Everything is heady and lovely right now. “Thank you,” I say, briefly wondering if he got my thank-you gift that I sent to his home with two-day delivery. Wondering, too, if it’ll ever be enough. “I wish I could properly thank you.”
He gives an easy smile. “You gave me a wreath. That was wonderful.”
“A wreath?” I ask with a laugh.
“It was homemade,” he says. “And the crocheted snowman too.”
“Well, then, wait till you see what I can do with glitter and T-shirts,” I tease.
He drops a kiss to my cheek, then pushes my hair off my ear to whisper, “I can’t wait.”
Chills erupt over my skin, and I want to tug him into acloset, an empty cubicle, anywhere. But we’re at work, and even if we’re publicly dating, I can’t publicly climb him in the hallway.
Shame.
I wrench away, saying, “I’d better behave in the office.”
A smile shifts his lips. “Yes, or Santa will put you on the naughty list.”
“Pretty sure I could find my own way there.”
His eyes darken, and he grits out, “I have no doubt.”
Then he gives a nod, like he’s resetting. Me too. We continue on our way.
After we finish delivering the stockings full of special-edition T-shirts, Elodie’s chocolate, and big holiday bonuses to every employee, he checks his watch and says, “I’ll see you tonight. I’m sending a car for you at six.”
“Not you yourself?” I try to quell the flicker of disappointment in my chest. It’s fake—he doesn’t need to knock on my door.
“I have to drop Mac at her mom’s place on the way.” His eyes darken as he steps a little closer to me outside his office. “But I can’t wait to meet you there.”
Same. It’s the same for me. But I don’t dare say that out loud. It’s too scary a thought.