Accidentally Under Your Tree (Grand Ridge Christmas #1)

1. Lizzy

one

Lizzy

Seven nights before Christmas

Me: The man sitting next to me has the most beautiful hands.

Shay: LOL You and your hand obsession.

Me: No, these are exceptional. They're like Hozier meets Henry Cavill.

Shay: Only you could name-drop hands you find sexy.

Me: Lots of people have a thing for hands.

Shay: Why is a hand fetish more socially acceptable than a foot fetish?

Me: IDK. I don't make the rules, but even you would be attracted to these hands.

Shay: Oh no, I'm a wrist girl. Like a slut.

I surprised myself with a squeaky-toy-like laugh, startling the middle-aged woman to my right, and the hot man attached to the artistic hands to my left. Wide palms with long, calloused fingers—hands that looked like they could build something more complicated than Ikea furniture. It'd shock me if they hadn't held sandpaper this week.

I had a type. And it was hands.

"Sorry," I whispered to the two strangers.

The woman had already gone back to sipping her glass of wine and playing a word game on her phone.

But the man gave me a shy, lopsided grin. My stomach flipped with the same sudden panic I'd felt a few hours ago, when my boot slipped on the ice outside of the hotel door. I recovered from the near fall more gracefully than I did from his mossy green eyes.

Slurping more air than drink, I sucked my vodka cranberry through the straw. The gurgling was probably quieter than it seemed in my head.

Behind us, people laughed at tables covered with plates and glasses. In the dim golden lighting, a pianist played jazzy Christmas carols. I pretended to watch the young woman to gain distance between me and the handsome man and his cozy cable-knit sweater draping over his shoulders—wide…broad shoulders.

When I was sure his attention had returned to his phone, I snatched up mine again.

Me: Don't make me laugh!

Shay: I can't just turn off this God-given-wit.

Me: He just looked at me! And you know I hate when people notice me!

Shay: *eye roll emoji* Is the rest of him hot?

Me: *fire emoji*

Shay: Is there a wedding ring on those beautiful fingers?

Me: No.

Shay: Then I'm gonna need you to get over your people weirdness.

Me: You can't make me.

Shay: You're the one who could have a future date with those hands…

The churning of my stomach clearly stated that I was not "over my people weirdness." And it wasn't people I struggled with. I did great when I knew someone. Not exactly a social butterfly like my sister, but Shay was just as introverted as me. She just had an easier time meeting people.

The anxiety of someone new …that was a bit much. I wiped my clammy hands on my pant leg.

Sure, my ex and I had broken up almost ten months before, and I'd emotionally checked out of the relationship long before it ended. And apparently, so had he.

But talk to a stranger? No, thank you.

Even if Shay pissed me right off, she kinda had a point. Not because of the man sitting next to me, but because of the career I was trying to build. Management consulting wasn't a perfect match for my social-anxiety-ridden ass. But I was good at it. And all the socializing aside, I really liked it. I was also undercharging my clients—desperate times, desperate measures. Ten and a half months into owning my firm, and I'd just completed my first referral job. Progress.

I was staying an extra night in the city before heading home. Home, to my parents' house. It was bound to be crazy for the next week leading into Christmas, with my mom's natural enthusiasm and my sister bringing a new man home.

I missed having my quiet apartment, filled with my favorite orange and cinnamon scented candles and knit blanket. It sucked living in the same bedroom I once imagined marrying JC from *NSYNC in, but it was free.

Thanks, Mom and Dad .

Again, desperate times.

I chased an ice cube around my empty glass with the thin plastic straw. When the bartender asked if I'd like another, I forced a polite smile and shook my head.

I was a little buzzed, but I wasn't feeling bad. It was probably the right time to go up to my room.

Wind whipped wet snow against the window.

My knees were a stiff as I stood. My butt numbed from the bar stool. It took me a second to balance.

That was when the power went out.

The whir of machines silenced. The lights turned off all at once. The storm thrashed against the building.

My hand shot out and grabbed the first solid object I could find in the nearly pitch black. The solid object reached back and held my waist.

There were a few clatter notes from the piano before it fell silent. The dining area filled with the screams and gasps of people, surprised by the sudden reach of the storm. It'd snapped its fingers and broken our bubble, reminding us that our security was only as thick as the walls.

The clean, comforting smell of soap filled my nose.

Over the beating of my heart and the nervous murmurs around me, a gentle voice rumbled up the skin of my neck. It cast goosebumps down my arms and seeped into my sternum—a warm whispered, "I've got you."