The Christmas Crush

Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Tormenting Lawrence was Elena’s new favorite game. The perfect balm after a wretched day at work. Too bad she was also in agony thanks to the distance between them as they worked.

Lawrence baking made for quite the eye-popping performance. They’d prepared two batches of the cookies, Lawrence making adjustments like a chemist as they went. Physical pain set in as he hand-mixed the dough with a wooden spoon, his awe-inspiring arms flexing. The way he bent over the bowl, the line of his back. That miniscule clench in his jaw she spotted when he concentrated. How a shimmer of sweat formed in the dip of his collarbone. The all-consuming urge to tear that clingy long-sleeve T-shirt right off him.

“You okay, sous-chef?” he asked, flipping over a baked cookie on the pan to inspect the bottom. “You can’t be tired after all that coffee.”

Her throat went dry. “Tired is the last thing I am, chef.”

“Say it again.”

The more she said it, the more she liked how the word felt in her mouth, the more she pictured saying it in … other circumstances. She began to wonder which one of them truly suffered when she said it. A chance to relinquish control, to not be the boss she always had to be. Let someone else plan, drive, decide. “It’s hot in here, right? I’m going to open this window.”

“If you think it will help.”

She kept her eyes on the window as she cranked it open, not daring to look at him as he leaned a hip against the counter. “Yikes, it’s sleeting out there.” Her mind finally gave her a break from the Lawrence channel. Concern took its place. “I wouldn’t have asked you to drive all this way if I knew the weather would turn.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” He joined her at the window. Globs of snow pelted the screen. The air smelled wet. On the street below, the snow had accumulated, looked to be inches high already. A car going about twelve miles an hour crept down the street, then skidded when the driver attempted to stop at the light. Elena seized Lawrence’s arm as the car fishtailed, her knuckles white. “Sheesh. Okay. He’s okay,” he said. “If it’s like this here, the country roads are going to be a disaster.”

“Won’t they plow?” she asked, still holding his arm as if he meant to drive off in that old truck as they spoke.

“You sweet city child. They might get around to it in a few days.”

“How long is it supposed to last?”

He fished his phone out of his back pocket. On the weather app they saw a ninety percent chance of snow through the night and into the morning hours, looked into each other’s eyes, silently wondering what to do. He tapped on a news app next, tipped the phone toward her so they could both read the headline about unsafe driving conditions. The highway was already backed up with multiple accidents.

“You can’t leave in this. It’s not safe.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

She detected uncertainty as he said it, his eyes flying back to the window. No more playing around; she had to convince him. Not a worrier at heart, she was surprised she couldn’t shake the fear he’d end up spinning off the road and getting injured. She turned him toward her, held both of his arms while she looked up at him. “Please?”

His eyes flicked to the microwave clock. “I can’t leave Sugar all night.”

Elena let go of him and wrung her hands uselessly by her side. Poor Sugar. Any dog would go crazy alone for so many hours. Lawrence went to the sliding glass door to her balcony and pulled back the drapes. It was even worse without the streetlights. A total whiteout. He wouldn’t be able to see two feet in front of him out there.

“Um.” He tapped on his phone screen again. “Let me see if Trey can walk down and get her. He’s a couple houses from me.”

The grip on her stomach loosened. Lawrence sent the text. If he got in an accident, she’d never forgive herself for letting him leave.

They stood in silence, waiting for a response from his friend. The beep of the timer blared, jolting her. She pulled the cookies from the oven, set the sheet on the stovetop to cool. At the phone’s chime, she spun back to face Lawrence.

“He says it started coming down there a few minutes ago. He’ll go right now.”

She held her hands to her chest. “That’s a relief. You can stay. At least until we see if things improve.”

The phone chimed again.

“He says … wait. Never mind.” Lawrence’s face reddened. Elena averted her glance to spare him the embarrassment. What would they do all night? Her sofa was cute, but it was miserable to sleep on. No support. And Lawrence’s legs would hang off the end. As would hers, for that matter.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and hurried to her room. She stuffed discarded clothes into the hamper in her closet, straightened out the pillows on her queen bed. In an effort to keep herself honest, she hadn’t tidied up the room, incentive to keep him out of it. She spritzed sandalwood pillow mist on the duvet.

In the adjoining bathroom she changed out the hand towel, then dug in the medicine cabinet for a spare toothbrush. She found a hot-pink one printed with her dentist’s address. Lawrence didn’t seem like the toxically masculine type, and he didn’t have much choice.

Thinking of teeth, she brushed her own, gargled with the mouthwash that kept her breath sweet through the morning. In case they woke up with their heads close together. Yes, that was why she freshened up. From a tray on the vanity, she took a perfume roller, glided the ball over the skin at her throat. Surely it would be okay to leave on light makeup for one night. She didn’t want to scare him into the storm if it was still snowing in the morning.

Back in her room, she heard a tap on the partially closed door. “Come in.”

Why did she sound like a chirping bird? You’d think a man had never crossed the threshold.

Lawrence poked in his head. “Everything all right? I’d rather die—literally—than stay here if it makes you uncomfortable.”

She sat on the edge of the bed with a graceless plop. “Don’t be silly.”

“Sugar’s safe.” He held up the phone to show her a picture of the downy pooch licking his best friend’s face. “I can chill on the sofa, if you—”

“No, no. This is fine.” Did he want to leave? Maybe he was trying to let her down easy? Her own face felt as hot as his had looked a few minutes ago. Be nonchalant. Stop acting like this is freshman year and you have five minutes before your roommate returns.

She made herself lie back against the pillows propped against the upholstered headboard, another estate sale find. In the past, she’d prided herself on the boudoir vibe she had going; now she wondered if the plush bedcover and tasseled pillows came across as stuffy. The half-burnt-down incense on her dresser, a dusting of ash beside it. Fairy lights above the bed.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Lawrence asked, still hovering in the doorway.

“Of course not.” There was that poised, polished voice she relied on. Then she patted the empty space beside her with a too-enthusiastic thwack.

Lawrence stretched out beside her, an inch or two between them. It was getting late and she had to work in the morning. Sleep. Yes. They would sleep, and everything would be less awkward when they woke up. She clicked off the bedside lamp, leaving only the fairy lights.

“Sorry, are you ready to sleep?” she asked, eyes on the wood-beaded chandelier. “We turned off the oven, right?”

“Sure. And, uh, yes. I turned it off.”

“Do you need a glass of water or anything?”

“I do not. Thank you.”

The antique gold clock on her nightstand ticked in the silence. Her heart beat in her ears. She sensed there would be no going back after tonight, no more pretense that she wasn’t getting invested in him. Body and heart.

“My grandma said situations are only as uncomfortable as we make them,” Lawrence finally said.

She chuckled. “Your grandma sounds like a smart lady.”

“She is.” The bed frame creaked and the mattress jiggled as he rolled to his side. He brushed an escaped strand of hair off her forehead, tucked it behind her ear. “Except now we’re in bed together talking about my nana, which is not the mood I was going for.”

She laughed; he touched the tip of her nose. In the low light the blue of his eyes looked deeper, less like water, more like late-evening sky.

“You told me the other day you didn’t want to rush things. Personally, I think it would be impossible for us to rush anything, because I feel like I’ve been waiting for you a long time. Long before we met.” He kissed her, slowly, in a way that made her realize she didn’t need to worry. His kiss proved him more confident than he gave himself credit for. “But I also made that big speech about being respectful. So, I’m in a bind here. How far is too far?”

“We should go ninety percent, like the chance of continued snow,” she said, almost tripping over the words in her haste. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

“I mean, I could go to one hundred percent if you wanted.”

“One hundred percent, then.”

He slid a hand over her stomach, up her rib cage. Her breath stopped, then so did his hand. He groaned, exasperation clouding his handsome features. “Only problem is, I didn’t trust myself to have self-control earlier, so … um … I didn’t bring anything with …”

She balled up her fist and hit the empty space next to her, shot a glance at her nightstand. “I have this thing about trying to balance the reproductive health burden placed on women by never purchasing condoms myself. I’m regretting my high ideals.”

She covered her face with her hand to hide her growing mortification. Situations are only as uncomfortable as we make them.

Finger by finger, he pried her hand away. Another kiss, the tempting pressure of his lips, the taste of him increasing her remorse. He moved on top of her, balanced on his forearms as she reveled in the weight of his body. “We’re agreed on ninety percent, then?”

She hooked her leg around his. “Absolutely, chef.”

It was all over from there. Well, ninety percent over.