That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Three

“I take it back.” I drag a hand down my face, trying not to upset Sara. “Hanging lights in the den was clearly not the right move.”

“Why is it so dark?” Sara yelps. “Having only one small lightbulb in here was not a very good plan.” I think I hear her staggering toward me, still in her skates, and picture her falling and breaking her neck.

“Hold on. I’ll come to you. Just stay still until we get those skates off of you. Otherwise you really will fall and crack your skull.” I close the distance between us slowly, my arms out until I reach her. Then I take her hand to help steady her as she eases down onto a crate.

While she works on one skate, I untie the laces of the other, then I gently loosen the boot until I can safely slide it off of her foot. When my palm brushes the bare skin of her calf, goosebumps rise along my arms.

Here I am, in a long-sleeved henley with a Hawaiian shirt layered on top, and this woman’s making me shiver.

Dude. Get a grip .

“There must be a lever or handle or something on this side to get us back out of here,” Sara says, once she’s back in her socked feet. “Help me look.”

“How? It’s pitch black in here. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.”

“We can just grope along the wall.”

My eyes are useless, but my other senses kick in, telling me Sara’s up off the crate, inching toward the moveable wall. Or at least where I think the moveable wall used to be.

So I take a few tentative steps toward the sound of her fumbling, with both my palms out protectively. When I reach the wall, I slide and pat around the edges as best I can. Sara’s to the left of me as we work side by side in the blackness. But despite our best efforts, we don’t come across anything remotely like a handle or a lever to release us from this room.

After a few more minutes of useless searching, Sara groans. “This is officially bad, isn’t it?”

The quiver in her voice spurs me to comfort her. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll just have to call someone to let us out.”

“Yes! Of course!” She lets out a little squeal. “You’re brilliant! Who can you call?”

I pat at the pockets of my jeans. “Oh, no.”

“What? Where’s your phone?”

I wince. “I left it charging in the guest room. What about yours?”

“Mine’s in my cardigan.”

“Good.”

“Which I took off in the living room.”

“Oh. Yeah. Not good.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sara groans. “ I did this to us.”

“You were just trying to give me a memorable night.” I cough out a small laugh. “Mission accomplished, by the way. Merry Hawaiian Christmas luau for the win. ”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” I shrug. “So it turns out you’re human like the rest of us. Humans are allowed to make mistakes.”

“But I don’t want to be human!” Her words are wobbly. “I want to be … Bambi on ice.”

“Well, you did a good enough impression on those skates.”

“Three!” A note of panic hijacks her voice. “What if there’s a time limit on how long we can breathe in here with the wall shut? We’re going to suffocate, and it will be all my fault.”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of air,” I say. “And this could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Not true.” Her protest continues in quivery bursts, punctuated by hitching breaths. “I always try too hard. And I want too much. And … and I ruin everything.” She sniffles. “That’s what happened with us ten years ago, right? I pushed away the one person I wanted to be closer to.” She hiccups out a soft sob. “And now I’ve probably killed us.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Please don’t cry. Or exaggerate.” I move toward her, but since I can’t see even an inch in front of me, I whack my forehead on something hard. “Ouch!”

“Are you all right?” she gasps. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. The edge of that big mirror wanted to meet my head. I’ll just have matching bumps now.”

“Fantastic. Now I’ve concussed you twice,” she moans. A wooden crate creaks as she collapses on top of it, mumbling to herself. “You’re so dumb, Sara. You should’ve made sure he was resting instead of decorating. Stop being so reckless, or someone’s going to get hurt .”

When her voice breaks, I want to comfort her, but I can’t risk another injury in the pitch black. So I fall to my knees, crawling toward the sounds of her sniffling. When I reach her, I tug her off the crate and into my arms. “Shhh.”

She buries her face against my sternum, snuffling like a puppy. “I just wanted to have some fun for once,” she says as I rock her.

She’s so sad and vulnerable, all I want to do is wipe her tears away. “I know you’ve been pushing this Christmas agenda because you feel guilty about me missing the cruise. But the truth is, I’ve been having more fun with you than I have in a long time. And I’m a naturally fun guy.” I smile even though she can’t see me. “So that’s really saying something.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying. I would never—” I cut myself off. I probably shouldn’t complete that sentence. Because the truth is, I haven’t been totally honest with Sara. Mostly, yes. Unless you count that one time.

“So.” She gulps and sniffs, catching her breath. “Where did you hit your head?”

“Here,” I say, touching my brow.

She fumbles up toward me in the darkness until her fingers find my hand. Then she oh so tenderly strokes the ridges of my scalp. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

She pulls away, rising to her knees. No more than a second later, her lips graze my temple, and she presses a gentle kiss to the spot. Her mouth is pure energy—a bolt of lightning—and a fresh shock blasts through me. In the darkness, we’re not just alone. We might as well be blindfolded. There are no witnesses. Not even us.

Sara exhales—a long, soft sigh—and I reach out to cup her face. A single teardrop dribbles onto my hand, and I catch it with the tip of my finger, then bring it to my lips. Salt. Sweetness. Sara.

When I lift a thumb to smooth a strand of hair off her damp cheek, she tips her chin up, drawing in a breath. Suddenly I need to know if her mouth tastes as good as it felt on my forehead.

I’ve kissed Sara Hathaway many times, many years ago, but we’re no longer awkward teenagers learning the ropes. We won’t be kissing for charity either.

Sara’s shallow breaths tell me she wants this as much as I do, but I have to be sure. I want to lock eyes with her—to see the truth there—but the darkness heightens the rest of my senses. She’s cradled in my arms, holding on for dear life, and her sweet scent envelops me. The past disappears. My only focus in this moment is her.

Sliding a palm to the nape of her neck, I gather her close until her body is flush against me. Then my other hand skates along the jut of her chin, tracing a soft line down her throat and over the rise of her collarbone.

“Can I kiss you?” I rasp.

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Yes.”

Merry Hawaiian Christmas luau, Three .