Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,66
were drunk and being idiots. The best the police could figure out was that she got scared and tried to cross the street without checking for oncoming traffic first.”
Landon’s voice tightens, and his hands fist on his lap. “Two weeks before Christmas, her family finally removed her from life-support. She’d been on it for a month.”
The chill inside me from a moment ago turns into an arctic freeze. “Oh, God, Landon. I’m so sorry.”
“I was working for an engineering firm,” he says, without acknowledging my reaction. “I couldn’t get my head in the game after Sarah died. So I joined the military, figuring I was supposed to do something bigger.”
“That you were supposed to protect those weaker than you?”
He nods. “My mom tried to convince me to become a cop—not that she and Dad were thrilled with me walking away from my job. It was safer, she said. But I didn’t want safer. I didn’t want to be a coward like those guys who harassed my girlfriend.”
At what is no doubt a confused expression on my face, he clarifies. “They didn’t stick around to help her after the car hit her. They ran off. Witnesses reported what they’d seen, and the cops pieced together what had happened.”
“You’re definitely not a coward. I might’ve only known you for a few weeks, but even I can see that. Never mind facing down the enemy while you were a SEAL, you’ve braved being a kindergarten teacher without any formal training or experience with kids.”
He laughs, the tightness in his body visibly lessening. “You might have a point there.”
I lift my chin and give him a smug grin. “I know I do.” The grin fades. “I really am sorry I took the risk when I knew better. And I’m sorry I did this”—I gesture at the Christmas decorations with the sweep of my hand—“without asking you first.”
“That’s all right. Sarah died seven years ago. For the most part, I’d thought I had moved on. I guess I haven’t.”
“You have nothing to feel guilty about, Landon. She chose not to listen to you. That’s not your fault.” I give his hand a light squeeze.
He nods. “You’re right.” Now, if only he sounded more convinced.
Eager to change the topic, I ask, “How was your meeting?”
“Long,” is all he says, clearly eager to avoid that topic, too.
I push myself off the couch. “I was going to make hot chocolate and popcorn and watch a Christmas movie. Did you want to join me? Or we could watch something else.”
“A movie sounds good.”
While the hot chocolate heats, I make the popcorn.
“Did you find anything?” I ask Landon, who’s searching Netflix while I’m getting everything ready.
“You really want a Christmas movie?”
“Yep. It’s tradition.” My tradition.
“They’re mostly romances.”
“Watching a Christmas romance isn’t gonna kill you. You might even learn something from it.”
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I highly doubt it.”
I take the remote from his hand. “Always a skeptic, huh?”
“You know how many Christmas romances my mom and sisters made me watch growing up?”
I shake my head, lips pressed together to keep from laughing at his perturbed expression.
“Way too many. And they were never educational like my sisters claimed they would be.”
I had no chance of holding back the laugh after that. I might have not met Kathy and Evie—and probably never will—but I was already in love with them based on everything Landon had told me about them.
“Didn’t they make your father watch them, too?”
“My father was a lot smarter than I was. Or maybe it was my mother who was the smarter one. She had a list of things that needed fixing around the house, which Dad never got around to doing. But he always suddenly found time to do them whenever my mother and sisters decided it was time to watch a romance.”
That makes me laugh even harder.
Still laughing, I scroll through the selection and pick one that I’m sure Landon will hate, just because. I’ve seen it before, so I know it won’t be super cheesy. No point giving him any ammunition.
He groans.
“Part of your cover,” I tell him, “is that you have to watch the movies I want to see. And that includes Christmas romances.” I fuel my tone with the right amount of smugness and wink at him.
“But that’s only when we’re in public.” He reaches for the remote in my hand.
I bat it away. “Usually a cover means you have to live it twenty-four seven. There are no halfway in-betweens on this.”