Accidentally Under Your Tree (Grand Ridge Christmas #1)

7. Will

Five nights before Christmas

Being a gentleman was the damned worst. My entire body was sore from sleeping on the floor—but it'd be too weird to share a bed with Rose. So, I'd made a pathetic nest on the carpet with as many extra blankets and pillows as we could sneak into the spare bedroom without her parents noticing.

I stretched my arm across my chest and my shoulder cracked while Rose drooled on a pillow that looked like a cloud. Stepping into the hallway, I resisted shaking her awake out of vengefulness.

I followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Only to find Lizzy.

Her hair was in a bun on top of her head, and she wore a burgundy robe tied around her waist. Fluffy slippers covered her feet. Her ankles were bare. So bare…

I didn't think I'd ever been more aware of another person's ankles. I felt like an olden times pervert, lusting over the smooth skin peaking between her slippers and pajama pants.

"Good morning." She swiped a hand over the wild strands of her hair curling around her shoulders.

I cleared my throat, but my voice still sounded scraped with gravel with my reply. "Good morning."

With a mug covered in cat faces, she gestured over her shoulder. "There's coffee," she said, at the same time I said, "I smelled coffee."

My smile was a mirror of hers—small, embarrassed, careful.

The night before, I'd finished my beer while trying not to notice the adorable pink that filled Lizzy's cheeks every time I looked at her. Shay and Rose did most of the talking—something about a decorating competition. The conversation didn't capture my attention long enough to retain any details.

Her gaze cast down to her slipper covered toes, and my heart ached. This was not how I wanted to know her. If this were a different morning, I'd have woken up next to her. Or I'd find her in the kitchen and pull her against my chest, breathe in the floral scent of her hair. The same smell I'd been craving since I had her underneath me in a hotel bed.

The memory washed over me like electric sparks on my skin. I closed my eyes to it, but there was no blocking out the remembered taste of her on my tongue or the way her thighs twitched over my shoulders.

"Are you okay?" The floor creaked as she took a step closer.

Stuffing my hand in the pocket of my basketball shorts, I adjusted the very sudden and very unwelcome semi.

When I opened my eyes, she was still a few feet away. Her brown gaze concerned, and her soft, pink lips parted. She must have interpreted the path my thoughts had wandered down because her eyes flicked down to my shorts.

Her mouth pulled into a silent, "Oh."

Under my fingernails, the stubble on my neck rustled with my nervous scratching. "Sorry."

She covered her mouth with her free hand, clearly hiding a smile.

"Is this funny?"

She lifted one shoulder. "Boners are funny," she whispered.

I snorted, and she pressed her finger to her lips to shush me. We contained our laughter from growing too loud. The shame and betrayal I'd seen in her eyes the night before was gone. Replaced by a secret that only we shared. A silliness that did nothing to quell my growing… problem .

"You're not helping the situation," I groaned, forcing myself to not close the distance between us.

"I'm not even doing anything."

"You don't have to."

"Should I go back to my room?"

Self-preservation would say, yes . What good could come from this? Was there a reality where Lizzy and I could have more than a hidden fling some day?

But the golden morning sunlight cast her in shades I didn't want to turn away from, so I shook my head.

Her teeth pressed into her lower lip. "Why don't you take a seat at the counter while you…take care of that."

"Take care of it?"

"I don't know… tend to it?"

"At the kitchen counter?"

She struggled to control the smile dominating her face and lost. "You know what I mean."

Placing the island between us, I sat on the stool and tapped my fingers on the quartz countertop. "Don't mind me, I'm tending ."

She giggled, her cheeks turning bright pink. "Stop it. How do you like your coffee? I'll grab it for you."

"Lots of cream, little sugar."

She opened the refrigerator door. I watched her move around the kitchen. She stretched up onto her toes to grab a mug, revealing more of her slutty ankles. It didn't take long before she set a full, steaming cup in front of me.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I held her gaze as I lifted the liquid to my mouth, taking a sip as she took a drink of hers. The delicate muscles of her neck flexed.

What I wouldn't give to scrape my teeth up the tender skin of her throat—

"Good morning," Jim—her dad —greeted us.

Somehow, I didn't sputter my coffee in my surprise, instead I swallowed way too much, and it burned the entire way down. I blinked back the tears filling my eyes.

On the plus side, my erection had practically deflated.

"Morning," Lizzy chirped, her shoulders rigid. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine. Thanks for brewing coffee, sweetheart."

"Sure thing!"

"Mornin', Will."

I nodded my head once. "Jim," I groaned, my throat still burning.

"I see you met Lizzy."

"At the bar," she explained, then a little too quickly she added, " last night."

"Is that where you two ran off to?" He directed the question to me.

"Yup." I coughed once into my fist. "Nice place."

"It is. That Ben is a smart young man. You all doin' the Christmas Tree Decorating Contest today?"

Lizzy shifted her weight to one hip and raised an eyebrow at her dad. "You think Mom and Rose would sit this out?"

"Them? No. But you do some years."

"I'll tag along."

"Wait…" I scowled into the middle distance, the inkling of a memory tickling the back of my mind. "Would there be a vision board for this? Something to do with… What is that ballet?"

They exchanged a vexed glance before answering in unison, "Swan Lake."

Jim shook his head. "There are so many feathers in my basement."

"And other design elements," Rose said through a yawn. She padded barefoot to kiss her dad on the cheek. "Morning, Anne."

Lizzy blinked, her mug paused on the way to her lips. "Good morning."

"What about your young man? No kiss to start his day?" Jim asked. He might have been joking but judging by Rose's deer-in-the-headlights expression, she had experienced the same jolt of terror that I had.

"It-it's okay," I stammered. "We already did, in the bedroom."

She tilted her head saying without saying, What the fuck?

"Not like that ," I rambled on.

Jim's eyebrows shot up.

"You know, not like that ."

"Yes, son, I believe I know."

"Yeah, you know."

"Oh my God," Rose groaned, her palm pressed to her forehead.

"Why did you emphasize 'you' like that?" Lizzy asked.

And lord help me, there was the sweetest affection set in her warm eyes. It was the lifeline I needed to close my mouth—to stop digging deeper into the humiliating hole I was about six-feet deep in.

"If I kiss you, will you stop talking?" Rose had already rounded the kitchen island. Placing her hands on both sides of my face, she turned my head toward her and away from Lizzy.

Then her tightly closed mouth was on mine.

And it was…not good.

Lizzy

Five nights before Christmas

I thought Rose and Will kissing would be painful because of jealousy, and it was. My sister's lips pressed to his brought out a possessiveness I hadn't felt. But it was more painful for completely different reasons. They didn't just look like they'd never kissed one another; they looked like they'd never kissed anyone .

Their movements were stiff and jerky. First, they jammed their faces together. Then they pulled away too far apart, before bopping back together. It was no less embarrassing than Will's rambling and, at least, that had been cute.

This was not cute.

If I hadn't already kissed him and knew exactly how hot it was. This display would convince me to never let his mouth touch mine.

It wasn't just the kiss that was unnatural. I hadn't made such an instantaneous and stark connection with anyone. Ever. Pretending to have just met was like denying an instinct.

Rose lowered to the stool next to him. Our little group hovering in the kitchen avoided eye contact, as if we’d shared in a trauma.

I scraped at the dregs of my mind, searching for anything to say—a change of subject, a random thought, anything .

"I'm gonna see if your mom is up." Dad hurried out of the room, his mug of coffee gripped in one hand.

I ignored how unusual it was to speak directly to Rose after so many years of silence. "If you want to convince anyone this is legit, don't do that again."

Shaking her head at the countertop, Rose agreed, "I don't think either of us wants to repeat that."

Will's eyebrows rose toward his hairline. "No, thank you."

The basement of the Methodist Church was half classrooms and one large gathering room. It was the size of a small gymnasium with gleaming tile that reflected the fluorescent lights overhead. Along the cinderblock walls was a row of plain pine trees, donated by a local orchard. The space smelled the same as it did every single year. A strange savory scent, as if so many luncheons, birthday parties, weddings and funeral receptions had baked the aroma of pulled pork into the walls. Add a dash of cinnamon air fresheners and pine and the combination wasn't unappealing. But it was strange.

Mom and Rose had stationed me next to their tree of choice. It was a good foundation for their vision, according to Mom. Then they'd dashed up the stairs to the car, dragging Will along. He slowly descended into my line of sight, a box of feathers and twigs almost completely covering his face.

"Follow the sound of my voice," I called into the vacant room.

I could hear his smile, even hidden. " Marco ."

" Polo ."

His boots clicked on the tile, echoing off the walls. Placing the box on the floor, he put his hands on his hips and considered the tree, then the rest of the room. The breadth of his ribcage stretching his navy henley did something to the air in my lungs—too hot, too thick.

Out of the corner of his eye, he shot me a knowing glance. Heat rose into my cheeks. I looked away chewing on my lower lip.

He scraped thick, square fingers across his mouth. After a breath, he asked, "Is your mom as competitive as Rose?"

The change of subject—start of subject? —was welcome. "Oh yeah. They get way too intense about this."

He cringed. "Good. Good."

"It doesn't help that every year it's neck and neck between them and Shay's family."

"Your friend from last night?"

I nodded.

"She's got a mean glare."

"It's not fun to be on the receiving end. You handled it well."

He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, his biceps flexed under his long sleeve. The soft cotton hugged the contours of his muscles, and I lost track of all my cohesive thoughts.

"It was," he started, a quiet, tentative hesitation braided into his words, "worth it…to make you feel better."

I grinned down at my toes. He was too cute and sweet. I wanted to dive headfirst into all the feelings he brought to the surface. The sensitive ones that I usually kept hidden. The ones that I was usually afraid of because of how they left me vulnerable.

"Do you feel better?" he asked.

"I do…but I felt pretty shitty last night."

"I bet."

I forced my face to remain neutral, concealing the depth of my remembered pain. "No, yeah, don't worry about it."

"Sure, but this whole thing feels unfair. You didn't sign up for all of this, it was just kinda hoisted on you."

He wasn't wrong. But I didn't know how to receive the sentiment. Fighting back tears at Benji's last night to flirting over coffee was a harsh transition, yet I could bring myself to regret it as far as I could resist his charm.

Then there was the aspect of being included in Rose's life—not that it was something she'd chosen. It didn't really matter, though. I would take the scraps if it meant that maybe we could—

I didn't know what, but it seemed like a step toward something better.

"Do you have any siblings?" I asked out of nowhere, and he blinked in surprise before shaking his head.

I shrugged. "It won't be the first time I've lied for her. I'm willing to."

I left out that I was almost happy to do it.

"Has she ever lied for you?"

I snorted. "Oh, yeah."

His thick eyebrows shot up, wrinkles creased his forehead. "A lot?"

"Well…probably not as much as I have for her. But one time when we were eighteen, I spent a weekend in Montreal without our parents knowing. She thought it was a terrible idea, but she covered for me, anyway."

"It was a terrible idea."

"Absolutely, but isn't what you're doing a bad idea too?"

"Touché. Why Montreal?"

"A boy."

"Were you safe?"

"Yes. I was smart enough to have safety measures in place, but I didn't end up needing them."

"Was it fun?"

"No. It was so awkward."

He considered me for a moment. "You two used to be close?"

My throat tightened. I forced out, "Yes."

"What happened?"

Surprisingly, I wanted to answer him. The truth as I saw it sat right at the tip of my tongue before I stopped myself. It would violate Rose's trust. "You should talk to her."

He opened his mouth, but the thud of footsteps coming down the stairs cut him off.

Shay and Lawrence's arms hung low at their sides with reusable grocery bags full of decorations.

I looked back at Will. We were standing close enough that I could see the shape of his eyelashes and the uneven points of his cupid's peak. I took a big step back, but not soon enough to miss the pinch of Lawrence's eyebrows or the warning glare Shay fixed on Will.

Shit .

They took the tree next to ours, and gave us awkward, half-hearted, hellos. It was a relief when their mom came down with her bright energy and warm hugs. Soon after, the church basement was loud with the sounds of people talking and kids squealing. Mom and Rose discussed in quick, clipped whispers about the possible placements of this object or that. A plan growing on how best to use the tree's natural empty spots and testing the strength of the limbs.

Will and I shared a rueful glance.

"It might be best if we just stay out of the way," I suggested.

"I'll keep us in hot chocolate," he offered.

They announced the beginning of the competition, and the place erupted in a flurry of ornaments and garland. The whole time, it was as if there was a Lawrence sized blind spot in Rose's vision. If he stood to her right, she looked to her left.

When she bumped into Will with feathers clasped in both hands, he took a big step back. "I'm gonna go get those hot chocolates."

I would have joined him, but I had an ornament dangling on each finger just waiting for my mom to pluck one off. He weaved through the crowd a few minutes later. Balancing four paper cups in his hands, he paused at a gasp from Ms. Patricia. Her blue eyes lined in their customary black eyeliner.

"Your Rose's Bill!" she exclaimed.

His eyes shot to mine for the barest moment. His smile was tight and forced. "Uh, yeah. I am. Nice to meet you."

Tilting my head down, I drew my toe along a line separating two tiles. My stomach was suddenly queasy.

"We're big fans—me and my daughter, Jamie. We've been rootin' for you two for so long."

"Thank you."

"We were just over the moon when we found out you two were finally dating."

Every one of her sentences deepened his cheeks into a darker shade of pink. My thoughts jumbled. The connection between the Will who could be mine and this Bill who belonged to Rose in the eyes of everyone else tangled together like Christmas lights.

"Thank you," he said again.

"We follow you on everything, so we knew you were in town because of that picture on your stories yesterday."

"Right, yeah." He swallowed. "What do you do?"

She pressed a hand to her chest, her red fingernails bright against her green sweater. "I manage the humane society."

"Oh, cool."

"You know, it'd mean the world to us if you could come by before you leave. Take a couple of pictures of you and the animals. Something for us to post and drive up donations and adoptions. Even after Hazel's big fundraiser in October, we're always looking for help."

"Right, yeah, sure. I'm sure we can find time."

"Aren't you wonderful! When do you think you can?"

"Let me talk to Rose. In fact," he lifted the cups in his hands, "one of these is hers. I should probably get it to her."

"Okay, don't forget about me, though."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She reached up and patted him on the shoulder. "You're just as sweet as you seem on your show."

"'Preciate it."

Jerking her head toward my mom and sister and their focus on their task, she added, "Watch out for those two. They're mostly harmless, but they take this very seriously."

One corner of his mouth lifted, making him look more like the man I'd gotten to know. "I understand."

He set two of the cups on the little table pushed into the corner. The hot chocolate he extended toward me smelled sweet. I glanced down at my hands, that had sprouted even more ornaments.

His chuckle set my heart to a different rhythm.

"It's not actually hot. I could hold it for you." There was a golden ring around his pupil. It must have been the lighting that made it seem brighter, and nothing to do with the yearning tug of his gaze on mine.

I glanced from side to side. Mom and Rose had dashed up the stairs to grab something from Mom's van. Tucked into the corner behind the tree, we were mostly hidden. Not that there was anything wrong with him holding a cup for me. If anyone saw us, they probably wouldn't think anything of it.

But I knew.

I wasn't desperate for the taste of chocolate on my tongue. I wasn't thirsty. I didn't need what was in that cup.

It was Will.

His mossy green eyes locked onto my lips pinched between my teeth.

"I could use a drink," I said, and if my voice was a bit breathy, I didn't blame me.

A muscle flexed in his jaw. He took a step closer. Just close enough that I could barely catch the clean scent of his skin. His pulse thrummed against his throat.

Holding the cup a few inches from my face, he directed, "Tilt your head back."

I blinked out of my daze, suddenly aware of my caramel-colored cashmere sweater and the potential of a stain. "You won't spill, right?"

A smile split his face, and I stopped caring if I ended up wearing the whole ten-ounce cup.

Just pour it on me .

"No, I won't spill. Actually, here." He stepped even closer. A shiver ran down my spine as his strong fingers plunged into the hair at the nape of my neck. He placed the cup on my lower lip and eased my head back.

My senses were full of his firm grip, and creamy chocolate, and the focus of his eyes on my mouth.

It was over as quickly as it started.

I swallowed the liquid. Overwhelmed and bereft.

He'd taken steps away. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths. My breathing a match for his. I didn't have to press my hand to his chest to know that our hearts beat at the same pace. We were trapped in the same maze, twists and turns and dead ends separated us. But we were pulled toward the same center.

His eyes raked over me. The way his eyes drew over the curves of my body was as if, instead of a loose-fitting sweater and jeans, I was wearing nothing at all.

When he met my gaze again, the force of his need pushed the air from my lungs. Then he lifted the cup he'd just held to my lips. Without breaking eye contact, he put it to his mouth, tilted his head back, and drank.

A little over an hour later, glitter littered the floor, and they'd announced the winner of the contest. But I struggled to break from the loop of Will and that damn cup of hot chocolate.

Nothing that erotic had happened in the basement of the Methodist Church before.

Once again, I found myself to be the only person standing next to "our" tree. But in truth, it was Mom's and Rose's accomplishment.

It was stunning.

The longer I looked at it, the more I appreciated the depth and thought they'd put into it. Heavily interspersed feathers cascaded from top to bottom making the tree looked like it might take flight. The white elements were heavier in the lower branches and grew blacker as they ascended. There was even a dancer twirling on a mirror lake tucked near the trunk. Rose's handmade topper, depicting a delicate ballerina draped in white tulle and feathers, of course, with the same ballerina done in black emerging ominously from behind her. The display was opulent and ridiculous.

It was possibly my favorite tree they'd ever done.

I recognized Rose's footfalls descending the stairs. My shoulders tensed, and I breathed through my pursed lips to force my tight chest to loosen. Every time she had ignored me in the past dug little divots out of my heart. But something had shifted in the past twenty-four hours.

It hurt to hope.

"Hey," she mumbled, but it bounced off the cinderblock walls and tile floor.

"Hi," I answered.

"What are you doing?"

Shrugging one shoulder, I looked back to her tree. "Appreciating…"

Saying the word art felt pretentious, even if that was exactly what she and Mom had created.

Rose crossed her arms over her chest, standing a few feet to my left. She took in the bulbs and feathers with a more critical eye than mine. "We were a bit heavy-handed—"

"It's perfect," I cut her off. "You were robbed."

We both looked at the winning Christmas tree, with its Santa's Train theme. Shay, Lawrence, and their mom had done an excellent job. It was wholesome and sweet.

"I do love to win, but I'd rather make this," Rose gestured to her creation with the flick of a wrist, "than that."

"They did a good job."

"It's cute," she acknowledged.

I fixed my gaze pointedly on the black swan prima donna sitting atop the tree. She stared back with disdain and judgment. "And it's not even a little frightening to small children."

She chuckled. "So, like, what even is the point, then?"

I laughed. "Seriously. Now this," I pointed up to the tree, "some kid is going to remember."

"This is core memory material."

We snorted in unison. A little bridge built across the great divide between us, at once intimidating and optimistic.

Have you missed me like I've missed you? I wanted to ask, but I swallowed the words down.

I would take it one snort at a time.