Only Santas in the Building (Under the Mistletoe collection)

Chapter Four

E verything inside me squeezes when I look at Theo. He’s standing across the room, chatting with Mr. Kim from 4D—or, at least, I think it’s Mr. Kim beneath the fake white Santa beard.

Theo’s wearing a red-and-black-plaid flannel with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off his tattoos and strong forearms. There’s a generic Santa hat on his head, the white trim stark against his black hair, and he has an honest-to-God tool belt filled with real tools slung around his hips.

He’s so fucking hot I want to scream.

Then he turns, and I can tell the exact moment when he sees me.

I wouldn’t say his expression is thunderstruck. That implies an almost comical level of shock and surprise. But everything about him stills, and his face goes blank, save for a burning intensity in his eyes. His lips part slightly as his jaw goes slack. After a long moment, he blinks, as if coming back to himself.

I imagine drawing him this way, then try to picture the kind of scenario where such a facial expression would be appropriate.

It’s the moment when the girl in the teen rom-com abandons her glasses and ponytail and descends the stairs in all her prom-ready glory. It’s the moment when her high school crush finally sees her for the beautiful twenty-six-year-old actress that she is.

I drew Starsong’s face like this the first time she met the woman who became her love interest.

I’m not a teen movie heroine or an actress or a superhero, but I have managed to strike my crush speechless, and it fills me with an immeasurable sense of power and triumph.

It’s such an improvement over how I’ve been feeling lately, it doesn’t take much effort to gather my courage to walk toward him.

I manage two steps before a Sam Elliott look-alike intercepts me.

“Hi there,” the man says. “I’m Nate Barnes.”

Mr. Barnes is an older white man with a full head of gray hair, a thick white mustache, and sweet eyes. He wears a sharp red suit, perfectly tailored to his lean frame. I shake his hand and pass him the wine.

“Hi, Mr. Barnes. I’m Evie. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course. You’re the new girl in 3A, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Nice to meet you. Loretta has only the kindest things to say about you.”

I smile. Loretta is Mrs. Greene. “I think she’s pretty great too.”

“I can already tell you’re a vast improvement over the man who lived there before you,” Mr. Barnes continues. “Absolutely horrid. Never came to a single one of my parties. Shame what happened to him, though.”

“Oh, no. Did he pass away?” I infuse my voice with an appropriate amount of horror and sympathy, but I mostly want to know whether he died in my apartment.

“Nothing like that. He moved to Florida.” Mr. Barnes shudders. “A worse fate I cannot imagine. And I say this as someone who was born in Jacksonville. Now, have you met young Theo here?”

He gestures, and before I have time to collect myself, Theo is at my side, so close and so handsome that I struggle to catch my breath.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Queen of Christmas herself.” Theo’s deep voice makes me want to shiver, but I hold it together, even as his warm gaze sweeps me up and down.

“You know who I’m dressed as?” That was my biggest concern with this costume, but I figure it looks Santa-ish enough that it won’t matter if people don’t recognize it.

“That song is a modern classic.” Then Theo leans down and speaks in an undertone. “You look good, Evie. Really good.”

An effervescent fluttering sensation starts in my belly. “Thanks. Ah, so do you. Lumberjack Santa?”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Something like that. I was going for Santa in his workshop.” He jiggles his tool belt, and I hear the sound of sleigh bells.

“Cute.” I narrowly refrain from making a joke about his jingle balls, and am immensely proud of my restraint. Look at me, not babbling inappropriately! I’m already making progress.

“Light bulb still okay?”

“Yep. Turning on and off, just like it’s supposed to.”

He laughs, as I hoped he would. “Aside from not being able to reach the ceiling, how do you like living here so far?”

“I kind of love it,” I answer honestly. “Everyone is so friendly. And lately someone’s been doing something really sweet for me, so I’m trying to think of a way to say thank you.”

He cocks an eyebrow and grins, flashing those little fangs I like so much. “That so? Got any ideas?”

“I was thinking of baking something.”

That seems to surprise him. “Do you enjoy baking?”

“Yes, but I don’t do it often.”

“Ah. Deadlines?”

“That, and I have this condition called Tiny Kitchen Syndrome.”

He nods. “I’m familiar with it. Hey, I built out an extra counter in mine, if you want to come bake upstairs. Might make it easier.”

This is so much like my borrow-a-cup-of-sugar fantasy I want to pinch myself. “You wouldn’t mind me making a mess in your kitchen? I mean, I’d clean up afterward, obviously.”

“Well, I hope I’d get to taste the results.” He grins, then gives a little shrug. “Anyway, I like cleaning. It gives my brain time to work out all the problems I’ve fed it over the course of the day. You know how sometimes you get an epiphany while you’re washing dishes or folding laundry?”

“I love those moments.” I also love that he folds his laundry .

“Me too. But I need to give my brain those breaks, otherwise it can’t crunch the data.”

I elbow him in the arm. “You’re such a computer guy.”

“Not entirely. I like to work with my hands too.”

“Oh, I’ll just bet you do.” The suggestive comment slips out before I can think better of it. His eyebrows leap high on his forehead, and a slow smile spreads across his face. I clear my throat and rush to change the subject. “Um, I’m actually done with my latest deadline.”

“Congratulations. You’re an artist, right?”

“Yeah, I illustrate comic books.”

He looks impressed. “Like the interior pages? All the sequential art?”

I nod. “And the occasional cover too.”

“Wow. That’s so creative. And it takes a ton of skill.”

I grin. “That, and the willingness to sit hunched over my drawing tablet like a gargoyle for the majority of the day.”

His groan turns into a laugh. “Tell me about it. I like my job, but I get antsy being stuck at my desk. Not to mention the constant battle against neck and back pain.”

“That’s why I started yoga,” I say. “So I could keep up my profession’s sedentary lifestyle.”

“Same. Well, not yoga, although I wouldn’t be opposed to it. I run around the reservoir in Central Park when the weather’s okay, and about five times a week I go to the gym down on East Seventy-Fourth and Third.”

“I can tell,” I murmur, eyeing the breadth of his shoulders, then cough into my fist. “Um, you’re a software engineer, right?”

He gives me a curious look. “Yeah. I freelance for a few financial firms. So I understand the pressure of deadlines, the need to block everything else out and let the work consume you.”

“Exactly!” The fact that he gets it excites me in a way I can’t explain. “My family worries that my work habits are unhealthy, but there’s something satisfying about it too, you know?”

He nods, his gaze locked on mine. “There’s nothing like the intense focus that comes with being fully absorbed in a project.”

I can’t look away from him. You know that rare, beautiful moment when small talk takes a surprise turn and you’re suddenly connecting on a deeper level with the other person? That’s happening right now with me and Theo, and I don’t think I’m the only one feeling it.

“Sometimes it’s like being in a different world,” I say softly. “Like when you wake up from a really immersive dream. I stop working and think, Oh, right, this is the real world, not Starsong giving up the quest to return to her planet and finding a new home on Earth. And then I look around and I’m just alone in my apartment with no one to talk to.”

Oh, God. I’ve admitted way more than I meant to. But when I search his face, there’s no judgment, only understanding.

“Feel free to come up and talk to me,” he says quietly. “I have those moments every time my watch yells at me to take a break and I only have my cat to converse with.”

His response is so terrifyingly perfect, I can only address the last part. “You have a cat? What’s her name?”

He winces. “Tink. Her name is Tink.”

“As in . . . ?”

“Tinker Bell, yeah.” He rubs the back of his head and looks slightly embarrassed. “She has green eyes, and while she’s affectionate, she also has a bit of an attitude and doesn’t like being ignored.”

His description makes me giggle. “She sounds like quite a character.”

He rolls his eyes. “You have no idea. If you ever hear any crashing sounds from upstairs, that’s her.”

I purse my lips. “Now that you mention it, you’re oddly quiet.”

“Really?” Relief washes over his face. “That’s good to hear. I never wear shoes inside, and I’ve fixed the floorboards as much as I can so they don’t creak.”

“You did an excellent job. Mine make so much noise it’s like they’re trying to communicate with me.”

He grins. “What do you think they’re trying to say?”

“Probably, Stop stepping on my face .”

He laughs at that, and the look he gives me is sort of ... fond? “You have a great sense of humor, Evie.”

My chest twinges. It was something my grandmother always complimented me on, even if she didn’t understand half of my pop culture references. I try to lighten the mood. “Are you sure that’s not just a nice way of saying, You’re weird ? Because I’ve heard that one before.”

He shakes his head, and his tone is thoughtful. “Nothing wrong with weird.”

Just then, I spot Mrs. Greene’s elegant white coif disappearing into the galley kitchen. And even though part of me is dying to see where this conversation leads, the other part is scared of the emotional territory we’re skirting around.

The second part wins out, and I take a step back. “Excuse me for one second. I need to ask Mrs. Greene something.”

The apartment is filling up, and I have to wend my way through the crowd. By the time I reach the kitchen, Mrs. Greene is gone, but Mr. Barnes is in there, refilling the charcuterie board.

Politeness and the need for a moment alone with my thoughts have me moving forward. “Can I help with that, Mr. Barnes?”

“Please, call me Nate. And sure, if you wouldn’t mind. Everything is here on the counter, and when it’s done, it can go back on the dining table with the other food. Thanks, dear.”

The board is huge, and I take my time neatly arranging the cheese cubes and slices of meat. I didn’t expect to connect so easily with Theo, and more frightening than the little slips of innuendo is the urge to tell him more—about me, my work, my family, my life . I didn’t come here to spill my guts to him; I came here to seduce him. So why am I hiding in the kitchen after one little compliment?

I know why. It’s because it’s the kind of compliment that says he sees me , not just the image I’m projecting tonight. And it’s more than I bargained on.

After a few moments, I hear someone enter the kitchen. I turn, expecting to see Mr. Barnes—Nate—but it’s Theo.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” I say quickly, since I don’t want him to think I’m avoiding him. “Just finishing this.”

“Not a problem.” He pulls a screwdriver out of his tool belt. “Since I came prepared, Nate asked me to tighten the hinges on the top cabinet. It’ll just take a second.”

He comes closer and opens the cabinet next to me. I should probably move out of the way, but as usual, Theo’s nearness makes my brain malfunction and I freeze in place. He smells like a cold forest breeze, but heat radiates from his body. Even though it’s warm in here, I want to wrap myself up in him like a fuzzy blanket and sleep for a week.

He fixes the hinge, then checks the others while he’s at it. As he’s closing the cabinet door directly over my head, my rational brain finally pops back online and tells my feet to move the hell out of his way. I turn to leave, but he steps aside at the same time, and somehow in the confusion, we’re knocked off-balance. Theo’s pelvis slams directly into mine.

My lower back hits the counter, trapping me against him, and he grabs the edge by my hip, bracing himself to keep from falling on top of me.

His eyes go wide. “Shit. Sorry about that.”

And in a moment of perfect clarity, I know it’s time to make my move.

Before he can step back, I clamp a hand on his forearm, holding him in place. “It’s okay,” I say, a little breathless from the impact and from staring directly into his eyes.

His chest heaves, like he’s also having trouble catching his breath. His gaze drops to my lips before meeting my eyes again. “Yeah?”

I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah.”

And somehow, we both know I’m saying yes to something else.

He shifts closer, almost imperceptibly, and my palm slides up a few inches to the crook of his elbow. His other hand grips the counter, effectively caging me in, which is fine because there’s nowhere else I want to be right now.

His eyes are still locked on mine as his head lowers a fraction. “You sure, Evie?”

My lips part as I lift my chin. “I’m—”

“Hey, Theo! We need your height!” someone calls from the living room.

Theo’s head snaps up and he glances over his shoulder. His eyes shut briefly and he mutters, “Fuck.”

Then his gaze returns to mine with such fierce focus that it makes my skin tight.

“We’re not done yet.” His voice is rough and deliberate, and all I can do is nod.

And then he’s gone, leaving me slumped against the counter with only a half-full charcuterie board for company.