Leslie Kelly - Let It Snow... - The Prince who Stole Christmas

“All right, then,” his cousin said with an exaggerated sigh, throwing himself down on the sagging couch. “It’s your funeral.” Shelby and Teeny made for interesting roommates—he could sometimes hear them bickering through the walls.

Philip just smiled to himself.

At eight-thirty, he walked downstairs to Claire’s apartment. The hallway was much brighter than it had been. He’d had Teeny purchase lightbulbs, and had personally installed them, not liking her having to move through the shadows.

Philip knocked once, waited, and knocked again. Then he heard a voice calling along the hall.

“Sorry, I’m here. I wanted to finish up a few things.”

Claire was waving to him from the doorway to the sweet shop. He walked toward her, noting the changes in her appearance from when he’d left her a few hours ago.

Though her hair was held back by a clip at one side, she’d left it down, and his hands reflexively tightened at his sides. In the low lighting the other night, he hadn’t noticed the hints of copper in the sea of brown curls. The rich swirl of colors brought to mind the decadent caramel chocolates she sold in her shop, and he immediately decided that was his favorite color.

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