Only Santas in the Building (Under the Mistletoe collection)

Chapter Six

W hile Theo’s in the bathroom, I pull on my panties and pick up his shirt. It’s still warm and smells like him. At the moment, I smell like him too. I wrap that fact around me as tightly as I do the flannel.

You are exquisite does not seem like a precursor to Get out of my apartment , so I slip out of the bedroom to peek around.

The hall light is on, along with the one over the stove. Otherwise, the living room is dark, the shades drawn against the yellow ambient light from outside.

From what I can see, his decor carries over the color scheme from the bedroom, this time with tan and white accenting the gray. His desk is brown wood and looks custom made. Unlike mine, which is cluttered with used mugs and nerdy figurines, his contains neatly organized equipment, including two monitors, a split keyboard, a sideways mouse, a set of speakers, a microphone, and what looks like an antique alarm clock, the kind with actual bells on top. His chair is an expensive ergonomic one I’ve been eyeing but can’t afford.

There’s a single framed photograph, but I don’t pick it up. That feels too intrusive, even for me.

Theo also has a ton of plants. Like, at least twenty. They’re everywhere—hanging from the ceiling, perched on the windowsill, even stationed around his desk in small white pots. And they’re thriving . If I needed more proof of his caretaking abilities, it’s right here.

His kitchen is spotless, which is a turn-on but also makes me hate him a little. The appliances are stainless steel, and the cabinets are black with brushed-metal fixtures, way more modern than my kitchen’s dated oak ones. The backsplash is dark-gray subway tiles with white caulking, unlike mine, which are the reverse.

And just like he said, there’s an extra counter jutting out from the wall.

Swoon.

I imagine spending time here with him. His apartment feels so much more like a home than mine does. What if I took him up on his offer to use his kitchen, to chat with him between focused work sprints? What if we both ordered the lunch special from Yummy Thai and sat right at his little dining table to—

“Holy shit!”

A sudden movement from the sofa makes me jump out of my skin. Green eyes flash at me in the light from the stove, and I press a hand over my chest.

It’s his cat, Tink.

Once my heart rate calms, I move toward the sofa with slow, careful steps, not wanting to spook her. She’s gray and blends perfectly with her surroundings. I wonder which came first, the cat or the color scheme?

“Hi, Tink.” I hold out my hand, palm up. “I’m Evie.”

The cat sniffs my fingertips thoroughly, probably smelling her owner—Roommate? Servant? Serf?—on them. Then she deigns to rub her cheek across my nails, and I take that as an invitation to scratch behind her ears.

She starts to purr, and I smile.

“What about us?”

I jolt. Theo is standing at the entrance to the hallway in boxers, socks, tattoos, and nothing else. He really does walk quietly. He holds my sweater, running the white trim through his fingers and examining where it detached from the neckline.

I swallow hard and repeat the question back to him. “What about us?”

“You said this shirt wasn’t made to last longer than tonight.” He looks up from the sweater, and the overhead light casts his eyes in shadow. “Are we going to last longer than one night?”

The fact that he’s asking should mean something, but I’m scared to even guess what that could be.

I shrug and keep my tone airy. “Up to you, buddy.”

He drapes the shirt over the back of his desk chair and pads over to me. Cupping my face, he looks me right in the eye and says in a quiet voice, “Look, I’ve been told in the past that I need to use my words more. I’m still working on it, but believe me when I say you have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Really?” I couldn’t look away from him if I tried. These past few months, I’ve been so stuck in my head, so sure my crush was one-sided ...

He wears a patient expression. “Since the day you moved in. Do you remember?”

“That you helped the movers carry my couch up the stairs? Of course I do. It went above and beyond neighborly duty.”

His thumb strokes my cheek. “Not that part. Afterward. When I tried to ask you out.”

Shock colors my tone. “ You did? ”

“I started to say, If you want coffee, but you cut me off.”

I slap my forehead. “And I said, I only drink tea. Shit! I thought you meant, like, if I wanted a coffee right at that moment . Or maybe you were about to recommend a café in the neighborhood. Not like, did I want a date with you .”

I’m rethinking that whole interaction, along with all the others since. But he’s smiling and rubbing my arms up and down in a comforting caress.

“Evie,” he says softly. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Why does this question scare me more than anything else we’ve done tonight?

Maybe because this is what I actually want, and I told myself I was fine settling for less because I didn’t even have a chance of having more.

But what if I do? What if we do?

“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper, and I say it again, stronger. “Yes, I want to go on a date with you, Theo.”

He wraps his arms around me in a tight hug and buries his face in my hair. “Thank fuck.”

I clutch his big shoulders and laugh. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

But as he’s straightening, my gaze falls on something just past him, something I would have noticed sooner if Tink hadn’t come out of hiding right when she did.

Everything in his apartment is neat, except for a collection of tools strewn across his square dining table. At first, I thought they were extras he’d removed from his tool belt, but now I see there are some extremely specific items that wouldn’t be required for typical home repairs.

Like the half dozen oddly shaped metal blades with rounded wooden handles, all spread across an unrolled sheet of leather. Or the set of paints in tiny plastic cups, next to a couple of clean fine-detail brushes.

I drift closer, taking in the tableau of supplies in the dim light. There’s also a crochet hook and a fancy pair of scissors.

And right in the middle of it all, a spool of red nylon cord.

I suck in a breath.

“It was you.” I pick up the spool and spin around to face him. “It was you!”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Of course it was me. Wait ... You didn’t know?”

My heart is racing and I can barely think straight. “How would I know?” It comes out as a tortured moan.

“At the party, you said ...” He trails off as realization dawns over his features. “You said someone was doing something sweet, and you were going to bake them a thank-you gift.” He chuckles and runs a hand over his face. “I thought you were playing coy and trying to find out my favorite dessert—which, by the way, is lemon bars.”

“Coy?” I shake the spool at him. “What about me makes you think I have the fortitude to play coy?”

Amusement is etched all over his features. “Who did you think it was?”

“Mrs. Greene!” I slump into one of the chairs.

He bites his lip as he considers this, then nods. “Yeah, I could see that. Is that why you were trying to talk to her at the party?”

“Yes, but I could never catch her. Speaking of, can we discuss how she and Mr. Barnes were obviously conspiring to trap us under the mistletoe?”

Now he looks bashful and rubs the back of his neck. The move highlights his chest and arm muscles to a thrilling degree.

“That’s probably my fault,” he admits. “They both know about my huge crush on you.”

I cross my arms and lean back in the chair. “And I’m sure Mrs. Greene guessed that I have a crush on you. That devious woman!”

Then I look at the tools again, incontrovertible proof of everything he’s been saying.

“What I don’t get is why?” I turn back to him. “Why go through all this for me? And why not just tell me?”

He pulls out the other chair and sits next to me. “The why is that you told me your ornaments were in storage and you didn’t have time to get them. And I didn’t tell you because I felt bad about disturbing you the other day while you were working. I didn’t want to disrupt you again by knocking every time I brought one over. I also ... kind of thought you knew it was me and hoped you’d think it was romantic.”

I press my hands to my cheeks, which are growing warm. “It wasn’t the interruption that had me flustered, it was you . You showed up at my door looking so delicious and being all competent and friendly, and I was a complete mess.”

He frowns. “No, you weren’t.”

I scoff. “Um, yeah, I was. Dirty hair, no bra, dishes in the sink? Any of that ring a bell?”

He ducks his head and rubs his temple, like he’s embarrassed. “I might have noticed that you weren’t wearing a bra, but honestly, the rest didn’t register. I thought you looked pretty because you always look pretty, and I was too excited to see you to be distracted by something like used dishes. I know you eat, Evie.”

I blink, still stuck on one point. “You think I always look pretty?”

“Yeah.” He looks bewildered, like this is such an obvious thing he can’t imagine why we’re discussing it.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue with him, to insist that no, I’ve looked absolutely terrible every time I’ve run into him, like a troll lurking under a bridge, but ...

The words beautiful and princess come back to me, along with—this one gives me a shiver— good girl .

Maybe it’s not my place to convince him that he’s wrong.

But there’s still one other thing I need him to clear up.

“So it wasn’t my Mariah Carey costume that made you mindless with lust?”

He nearly chokes. “What? No. I mean, fuck, you looked incredible tonight, don’t get me wrong. But no, Evie, I didn’t suddenly decide I wanted to have sex with you just because you wore a tight outfit.”

“Then why tonight?” I press. “You’ve never given me any hints—” I glance at the table covered with crafting supplies. “Oh. I guess you have.”

He laughs and pulls me onto his lap. Sitting on him, I can better look him in the eye, and I like the way he loops his arms around my waist. It’s a casual move, not sexual, as if he just enjoys holding me close.

“Well, for one thing, you told me your work project was complete. I know you’ve been busy, and I didn’t want to get in the way. For another ...” He shrugs. “We live in the same building. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“And then I kissed you in front of all our neighbors.”

The memory makes me wince, but his grin is huge. “You sure did.”

I glance at the tools on the table beside us. “What are these for?”

“Ah.” He sets me on my feet, then stands and leads me back into the bedroom. “I had a grand plan for today’s ornament, but it turns out my whittling skills are a bit rusty. The first couple of attempts broke, and the paint was still drying on the final when I left for the party. I didn’t want Tink to mess with it, so it’s in the bedroom.”

He flicks on the light and hands me something from the top of the dresser.

It’s a carved wooden reindeer that fits in the palm of my hand.

Tears spring to my eyes.

Theo’s widen in alarm. “Evie, are you—”

I shake my head, gesturing for him to be quiet as I study the ornament. It takes me a moment to sort out what I want to say.

“My work deadline wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t decorate my tree.” Voice hoarse, I tell him about my grandmother and the circumstances that precipitated my move to this building. He draws me over to sit on the edge of the bed and keeps a warm, comforting hand on my knee as he listens.

I clutch the little reindeer the entire time, and when I’m nearly done, I hold the ornament up.

“Grandma had a reindeer like this. Not wood—I think it was needle felted—but it was one of my favorites. I saw this, and it just reminded me so much ...”

I can’t go on, but it doesn’t seem like I need to. Theo bows his head, and when he raises it again, his own eyes look a little wet.

“I’m—” He stops and clears his throat. “I’m sorry about your grandmother. But thank you for telling me. I had no idea.”

“That’s just it.” I wipe my eyes. “You didn’t know the real reason, and you did it anyway. You made me five beautiful, thoughtful ornaments by hand, just so my Christmas tree wouldn’t be naked. How can you be this sexy and so sweet at the same time?”

He chuckles. “I’m not done yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you notice? I put the snowflake on your door twelve days before Christmas.”

My jaw drops. “You’re going to make me twelve ?”

He nods, and I throw my arms around him in a tight hug.

“It’s been good for me too,” he confesses into my hair. “Reconnecting to my creativity. Like I said, I enjoy working with my hands, and you can probably tell I’ve built some of the furniture around here. These days, I spend all my time sitting at my computer, and I’ve missed that side of myself. But that was just a bonus. The real gift was making something for you.”

I press a smacking kiss to his cheek. “I am going to bake you the best goddamn lemon bars you’ve ever tasted.”

His eyes roll back as he moans. “I can’t fucking wait.”

“I didn’t realize baked goods could also make you moan like that,” I tease, and his gaze darkens.

“Anything and everything about you makes me moan.”

“Even my dirty dishes?”

“I told you, I like cleaning.”

Now it’s my turn to moan. “I think that’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He’s chuckling as he pulls me down on the bed.

An hour later, we’re lying under the covers, fully naked. Theo’s arm is slung over my waist, and his head rests on my hair where it spills across his pillow. I’m on my back, holding the little wooden reindeer and running my fingertips over the ridges left by the tools, each one carved by Theo with his own two hands.

For me.

“What are you going to name it?” he asks.

I smile. “Mistletoe.”

Lifting the reindeer over our heads, I turn my face to kiss him.