The Holiday Inheritance (Naughty and Spice)

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Briggs

Christmas Day

Ren thinks I’m getting up to check on the fires throughout the night, which is true. I am. I wouldn’t normally leave them burning for so long, but this storm is a fucking monster, and I don’t want the radiators to struggle to keep up. But this time, I’m actually going to sneak down to the den and make her a stocking.

I hate that I’m not able to get out of here and get her a gift, but just because I can’t do that doesn’t mean I can’t try to make her first Christmas in England a special one. I’m not sure if it’s that fact that I’m exhausted because it’s damn near four in the morning or if we’ve just somehow misplaced the stockings that Katharine, Ren’s great-aunt, used every year. I even climbed up into the damn attic, searching for the things. It’s a wonder that Ren hasn’t gotten up to look for me.

So, socks it is.

I laugh to myself as I pull my clean socks out of the tumble dryer and then make my way to the pantry. It’s full of snacks and sweets since Mary does most of the shopping and has a sweet tooth like I’ve never seen. She always claims that she buys all that stuff for the kids that run around the estate in the summers, but that doesn’t explain why she has to restock through the winter.

“This will have to do until I can get to the shops,” I whisper as I pull chocolates and sweets from the hidden stash. Even though the socks I was wearing the other day are tall and thick, it’s still a struggle to fit a ton of stuff in them. But, oh well. It’s the thought that counts, right?

Moving back to the den, I lay the “stockings” under the tree in the far corner. Whoever thought hanging them above a burning fireplace was fucking insane. Not only is that a serious fire hazard, but all the chocolate would melt. I smile to myself and then take a moment to breathe in the Christmas joy. I miss my sister and her little minions, but I don’t think my heart has felt this light in years—decades, maybe. It’s an intense feeling, knowing that someone who could be the love of my life is right upstairs, waiting to celebrate her first Christmas in England.

I’m trying not to let myself move too quickly. I mean, shit, we’ve not even known each other a week. And I know how crazy that sounds. When I took a few minutes to call my sister earlier today—well, yesterday now, I guess—she interrogated me like I was on trial for murder.

“Guard that heart of yours,” she said. “I know how hard it is for you to find someone you can actually stand to be around, so this is big news.” The laughter was very clear in her voice. “But it also means you might jump in too quickly, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

She was right; it has been hard to find anyone I can stand to be around for the long haul. Some might call me picky, but I just never wanted to settle for someone who wasn’t going to give me everything I needed out of a partner. But Florence is different; I can feel it in my damn bones. The way she looks at me, speaks to me and listens . I promised Tess that I’d behave, that I’d treat her well while also protecting my own heart.

I just don’t think I really need to, is all.

“No, you didn’t!” Ren squeals, covering up her laughing as she looks at my clean socks stuffed with sweets. I even made sure there was Christmas music playing on the TV in the background. Really proud of the scene I set, I must say. “Please tell me those are not your socks.”

I grin at her and shrug. “Couldn’t find the stockings, so I decided to make do with what we had.”

“Amazing,” she says, snorting with laughter as she walks over to the tree. She sinks down and crosses her legs, an impressive feat that my old knees could never accomplish. “Come on, then.” She gestures for me to come sit down next to her. I do, but it’s a bit slower.

“When did you do this?” she asks, her eyes wide with delight as she begins to dig through the chocolates.

“When I got up last night to check the fireplaces. I really figured I’d be able to find the stockings somewhere, but I swear I left no stone unturned and couldn’t find a single one. Even went up to the creepy attic.”

“How in the world did I not hear you?” She pulls out the Terry’s Chocolate Orange and then suddenly throws her arms around my shoulders, pulling me close in an aggressive fashion. “Thank you,” she whispers when we both finally stop laughing. “Thank you so much, Briggs.”

“Hey, hey.” I tug her into my lap, holding her close and rubbing circles on her back as she buries her face in my neck. “It’s okay, Ren, really. It was nothing. Just some sweets in my socks.”

She pulls back a little, making sure she can look me in the eyes as her hands rest on my shoulders and her thumbs run along the edge of my jaw. Which reminds me, I really need a trim. The beard is getting out of control.

“I don’t think you understand,” she says, her voice filled with emotion. “Do you realize that you could’ve just not done anything? Like when you couldn’t find the stockings, you could’ve just abandoned the idea. But you didn’t. You filled your damn socks .” Another snort of laughter. “Honestly, even you trying to find the stockings is huge. I’ve always had to drop hints or beg my ex-partners to do fun, romantic things with me.”

I hum and play with her hair that falls over one of her shoulders. It’s messy from sleep and all the fun things I kept her up doing last night, but she’s so beautiful like this. The sun is out, helping to melt some of the snow and shining through the window and onto the tree. The warm light of the fire flickers across her features as she tries her best not to cry.

“Is that what we are, princess?” I ask, finding the courage I didn’t think I’d have so soon. “Partners?”

“Would you like to be?” she questions, looking at me from under those pretty, blonde eyelashes.

I take a breath, attempting to steady my heart, which seems to be trying to break free. “I think I’d like to be,” I admit as I try to hold her gaze. I don’t want her to think I don’t want this in any way. I do. I really, really want this. But I’ll understand if it’s too quick for her.

“Are you trying to ask me out, Mr. Davies?” Her eyes are playful now, and I pull her even closer, my palms resting on her perfect ass. “Because if so, I think you should just come right out with it.”

I shake my head back and forth slowly, grinning from ear to ear at how this is playing out. “Miss Florence Dona?—”

“Anne,” she interrupts. “Anne is my middle name.”

“Miss Florence Anne Donahue,” I correct as she nods. “Would you like to go steady?”

Her head falls back for a moment, my favorite laugh of hers exploding through her. “I think I’d like that very much, Mr. Briggs…?”

“Oh, I’d rather not,” I grimace as I nervously laugh. Eugene is not a name you brag about.

“You have an embarrassing middle name?” She lights up at the idea. “Oh, that’s great, honestly. Because you’re too amazing. It’s good to know you at least have one thing about you that isn’t so perfect .”

“I am not perfect by any means?—”

“Shh,” she says, pressing a finger over my lips, her smile ornery as hell. “You don’t have to tell me now. In fact,” Ren continues, her hands roaming over my cheeks and back into my hair, “I think I’d like to thank you properly for the Christmas stockings, anyway.” She grins and shrugs. “Before you ruin it with your horrendous middle name.”

I begin to give her a piece of my mind, but her pouty lips cut me off as she leans in and kisses me. Our mouths open, and our tongues dance together while our hands explore each other’s bodies. She fits against me like she was always meant to be here, and it sends a pang of sadness through me that my parents will never get to meet her. Because, damn, they would adore her.

Who knew that I, grumpy-as-shit Briggs Davies, would fall for an American woman. It’s all very King Edward the Eighth of me.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers against my mouth as our kisses slow.

And as I sit here, my woman in my arms, the fireplace warming the den, and “It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas” playing in the background, I realize just how happy I am that the old Rover got stuck. Happy that the snowstorm came, happy that it was me who offered to pick her up, happy that she came down to the kitchen that night—even if it did get me kneed in the nuts.

I smile as I kiss her again and again.

“Happy Christmas, Florence.”