Ami Weaver - A Husband For The Holidays

He was only inches from her. His blue eyes were serious and heat sparked in them—and an answering heat spread through her. She wanted to lean forward, just a little and close the gap, see if he tasted like she remembered—

She couldn’t afford to remember. She’d spent far too long trying to forget.

“Darcy.” His voice was low, a little rough. She swallowed hard and pulled away, gathering the errant coffee can in her arms like a shield. His gaze was shuttered as he sat back on his heels. “Need a broom?”

She blinked at the coffee mess on the floor. “Looks like it.” Hopefully, there was a backup coffee can somewhere, or else everyone would have to make do with cocoa. “There’s one in the closet. I’ll just clean this up and get out of your hair.”

She couldn’t even tell the heater wasn’t working. It was awfully hot in here right now.

She suspected it had everything to do with how Mack managed to kick up her internal temperature.

“You’re not in my way,” he murmured and retreated to the heater when she came back with the broom. It was as if they were performing some kind of awkward dance. She managed to clean up her mess and stock up the packets with no further incidents, even though she kept sneaking looks at his broad back as he worked on the heater. She put the broom away and turned toward the door, wanting only to escape the oppressiveness of the room.

“Okay, well, bye,” she said in an overly bright tone. “Sorry for the interruption.” She made a beeline for the door, unable to resist a last look at him.

He looked up and caught her. “No apologies necessary,” he replied quietly.

Darcy escaped outside and took a deep lungful of the cold, crisp air in hope it’d settle the crazy butterflies in her belly.

She didn’t care so much about making a mess in front of Mack—though she really hoped Aunt Marla had an extra can of coffee on hand—but her response to him scared her. She’d worked long and hard to move on past the guilt and grief, to build a new and successful life in Chicago. It’d been a long road, and hard won. But seeing Mack threatened all those carefully constructed walls. She couldn’t afford that. If she hadn’t promised her dad all those years ago she’d be here for this, she’d pack up and leave on Monday.

It wasn’t running away when your sanity was on the line. Right?

Chapter Three

Opening day flew by in a merry haze of families and Christmas trees. Darcy was thrilled with the number of people who came out to the farm. The weather cooperated, too, with a very light snow and no wind. She worked the register, greeting old friends and new faces alike. She saw Mack often from her post, as he was helping with tree processing and loading for anyone who needed it. She actually began to suspect there were a few women who didn’t need it, but took advantage of the fact they’d get his attention for a few minutes.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She tried very hard not to stare at how perfectly the faded jeans he wore hugged his butt and strong thighs. She also tried to avoid eye contact with him, but it seemed they glanced off each other every time he came into her line of sight. She did note how much the people loved him. Which made sense. As a Lawless, he’d be well-known.

And sometimes she caught him looking at her. Those small moments thrilled her in a way she knew they shouldn’t. There was nowhere it could go that would end well.

Only a handful of people alluded to their past and none of them made hurtful comments, even though Darcy had been braced for the worst.

So she was relaxed and happy when they closed at eight that night. Enough that when Marla invited Mack to the house for a hot supper and a drink, she smiled at him.

He accepted without even looking at Marla.

* * *

Talk at dinner was minimal, as Marla and Joe were clearly exhausted and they were all starving. But the stew was hot and good and just spooned from the slow cooker. After dinner, Darcy sent them to relax. “I’ll get the dishes.”

“We both will,” Mack said and stood up from the table.

Marla and Joe exchanged a look and Darcy wished he hadn’t said anything. Now it was clear what her aunt and uncle were thinking. She didn’t want to give them the chance to do any misguided matchmaking.

“Okay,” Marla relented. “Thank you.”

In silence, Darcy and Mack cleared the table. She was thankful there were only a handful—Mack was doing the suck-all-the-air-out-of-the-room routine that made it hard to concentrate. And he smelled so good , like fresh air and snow and pine. She wanted to burrow into his plaid flannel shirt and just breathe him in.

Wait. No, she didn’t. She was over him, remember?

She turned the water on and added soap while he quietly got out a clean towel. From the living room, the TV added a nice undertone and helped fill the silence, but didn’t do anything to cut the tension.

“So,” she said as she slid plates into the sink, “a good day, huh?”

“Very,” he agreed. He took the plate from her instead of waiting for her to put it in the drainer. She pulled away quickly. She’d have to be very careful not to touch him accidentally.

“Tell me about your job,” he said.

She relaxed. This was a safe topic, not likely to venture into territory she wasn’t comfortable with. She filled him in on her PR career, stressing how much she enjoyed it and the city.

Or used to. No point in mentioning the dissatisfaction she’d had over the past few years.

“You love Chicago.”

It wasn’t a question, almost an accusation. Surprised, she forgot she wasn’t going to make eye contact and looked at him. His jaw was tense.

“I do,” she said because it was true. She loved the city, the pulse, the vibrancy. The quirky atmosphere.

“So you’re happy.” The words were quiet, but Darcy recognized them as a minefield. No answer would be the right one. She swallowed hard.

“I am, yeah.” She carefully washed the last plate and handed it over, mindful of his long fingers and the memories she had of them, both tender and erotic.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said quietly, and she looked up to catch his gaze. It was sincere and regretful at once. Her heart stuttered. Maybe she could get him to see what had been in her head and heart back then. Maybe she could apologize and he’d accept it. Maybe this was the opportunity she needed to finally move on and find peace.

“Thank you,” she murmured, but couldn’t look away, gripping the dishcloth because she was afraid she’d reach for him. Touch his face, with the faint shadow of whiskers on his strong jaw. Bury her hands in the longer length of his hair.

Or kiss him.

With a hard swallow, she turned back to the sink. None of those were options. Not a single one. To even think so was madness of a truly bittersweet kind.

He folded the towel and she drained the sink, bumping his arm with hers as he hung it up. She gritted her teeth against the little prickle of heat the contact generated. She didn’t want this, but didn’t know how to make it go away.

“How about you?” The question was more of a desperate deflection. “How’s the vet practice? What else are you up to these days besides helping here?”

He leaned a hip on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m good. The practice is good. I’ve got another vet working with me now, too. We’re a good team. The practice is expanding and we need more room, so that’s why your aunt and uncle are selling to us.”

She blinked and went cold. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He looked at her strangely, then comprehension dawned. “I’m buying the tree farm, Darce. With Chase. Didn’t they tell you?”