Page 62
“Why are you so against being our chaperone, August?” Wynnter tugs the fabric of today’s caplet down and kisses a healing bite mark on my neck.
“—ew, ew, ew, ew—”
“You want me to ravish December before we’re married? Is that it?”
“—ewww!”
The corner of Wynnter’s mouth hooks up, and he takes my hand, lacing our fingers. “All right, well. I guess we’ll go do that, then. Are you stealing her from me again tomorrow?”
Nose scrunched, August says, “It’s the cake tasting and Christmas Cookie Palooza. We’ll all be together. And I might appreciate it if you don’t make me suffer in front of our whole family.”
“That all starts at four. I’ve got a quick morning job first, which means there’s a whole morning of time to fill.”
“Oh.” August blinks. “In that case, we could order more decorations, actually.”
Wynnter’s grip on my hand tightens. “Okay.” He turns on his heel. “Then I guess I really do need to take advantage of these spare moments with her. Bye.”
August frees a repulsed sound as Wynnter tugs me after him toward the door. Dropping to his knees, he snatches one of my discarded boots in the foyer and lifts his eyes to mine. My cheeks heat as I pick up my foot for him.
“Alister just messaged hi. He’s in the office on a call.” August sits up, watching us while typing, which suggests she has found some merit in the action she’s witnessing since she’s making a note of it for her writing.
Wynnter mumbles, “Hi, Alister. Bye, Alister.” Tightening my laces, he rises and clasps my hand again, tossing open the front door to present a chilly evening. “See you both tomorrow.”
August smiles. “Yep. Later.”
The door closes on August’s and my waves, and Wynnter wastes no time crunching down the driveway to the gravel road leading up the hill toward his cabin. I do my very best to keep up until he stops suddenly.
I run head-first into his back. “Oof.”
Moonlight showers over him, catching in his brown eyes and turning them amber when he looks at me. Tenderness settles in him as he lowers himself, circles his arms around me, and picks me up. Looking up into my face, he says, “Tiny little legs.”
Hands braced on his shoulders, I stare at him, tracing the stars on his cheeks, until a freezing breeze slips by, forcing me to crumple closer for warmth.
He kisses my cheek and takes me the rest of the way home, refusing to stop until he has me buried on the couch beneath a blanket. Nestled, I watch as he stokes the wood fire in the fireplace. It looks fresh, clean, just like he does now that I’m thinking about it. He must’ve stopped at home after work to shower before walking down to August’s to get me.
“Hot cocoa, baby?” he asks.
“Mm. Please.”
He marches to the kitchen. “Hungry? Or did August feed you?”
“We forgot to eat.”
Pots and pans shuffle as he starts a meal.
Peace overwhelms me as warmth returns to my bones and I remember my parents’ accusation that I’d be the one waiting on him hand and foot, yet—here he is—after working all day, treating me like a princess. I ask, “How was work?”
“Lonely.”
“Do you need me to come with you tomorrow?”
He huffs. “I’m fixing a burst pipe in a crawl space. It’s a quick, but uncomfortable and dirty, job. I’d rather you not be around to say things like—”
“How in the world will your shoulders fit? I better go down there myself and play with the raccoons.” My lashes flutter as Wynnter regards me dryly.
“Yeah, exactly. Thank you for the example of the sort of stuff I never want to hear come out of your mouth.”
In my pretty little pile of spoiled coziness, I cross my arms. “You never let me do anything truly filthy.”
