The Meaning in Mistletoe - Rachael Bloome Page 0,25
the corner of her mouth quirked. “And that’s a problem?”
“It sure is.” He took another languid sip before explaining, “Sadie Hamilton is famous around here for her hot chocolate. I can’t tell her I prefer someone else’s.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Her stomach fluttered, pleased by his response.
“You said a woman named Fern taught you how to make it?” he asked, disrupting her moment of contentment.
“Mm-hmm…” she mumbled evasively, burying her face in the mug of hot chocolate, nearly scorching the tip of her nose.
“You said she raised you?” he continued with a soft, tactful tone. “Were you adopted?”
She squirmed, wishing they could work on the puzzle in companionable silence instead. “No, not officially.”
To her relief, he didn’t press further. But he regarded her closely as he took another sip of the rich, sultry drink.
Kat shifted beneath his gaze, conflicted by the warmth and kindness reflected in the deep pools of blue. Suddenly, every instinct to avoid intimacy at all costs slipped away like a fragile wisp of steam. “My mom wasn’t around much during my childhood. We didn’t have what you’d call a stable living situation.”
His features softened as he rested the mug on his knee, giving her his full attention.
Kat stared into her own cup, too self-conscious to look anywhere else. “We were in and out of a women’s shelter most of my life. And eventually, Hope Hideaway became my home. And Fern, the caretaker, became more like a mother to me than my own.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been rough.”
She shrugged, touched and a little flustered by the compassion in his voice. “There are people who’ve experienced far worse. I was lucky to have Fern. Without her, I don’t know where I’d be.”
“You still keep in touch?”
“I live and work at the shelter now. My mom—” Kat hesitated. She hadn’t even shared this much with Penny. Perhaps she shouldn’t go any further. But then, she’d come this far. And somehow, opening up to Jack seemed to lift a heavy weight from her shoulders. She sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly before continuing. “My mother passed away my senior year. Fern took me in and made sure I graduated high school. Then, she offered me a job with room and board.” Her voice cracked and she quickly cleared her throat.
Without saying a word, Jack laid a hand on top of hers, squeezing gently. His rough calluses felt oddly reassuring, and she didn’t pull away.
“Fern sounds like an incredible woman,” he said kindly.
“She is.” Overcome with emotion, Kat felt her lower lip start to tremble.
Whatever you do, don’t cry.
Blinking against the stinging sensation at the backs of her eyes, she tried to think of something else—anything to deter the burgeoning tears.
“And she makes the best hot chocolate,” Jack added, coming to her rescue.
Grateful for the welcome levity, Kat smiled.
Somehow, he’d known exactly what she needed.
And in that moment, Kat was startled to realize what she needed… was Jack.
Listening to Kat’s story made Jack’s chest tighten, and the sudden, intense urge to protect her from pain surprised him.
Rattled, he abruptly rose and reached for her mug. “Refill?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
As he strode to the kitchen, Jack grappled with his emotions, which felt too strong for his own good.
Standing at the stove, he gazed out the window, watching the snow cascade from the sky, coating the world in a blanket of white. The setting should have been peaceful. They’d notified Penny and Trudy that Kat would be staying with him until the storm cleared and they were safe and snug inside the cabin.
But instead of resting assured, Jack’s pulse skittered in an agitated, erratic rhythm. The cozy, intimate environment seemed to be lowering their walls and inhibitions. And the vulnerability made him feel at once wary and wonderful.
Carrying their hot chocolate back to the couch, he asked, “Would you like to watch a Christmas movie?”
“Sure. That sounds fun.”
“Any favorites?”
“Do you have Holiday Inn?”
Jack stumbled on the edge of the carpet, barely preventing the steaming hot beverage from winding up in her lap. Gulping a sigh of relief, he carefully set both mugs on the coffee table. “Yeah, I do. My sister and I watch it every year.”
“Oh, I don’t want to hijack a tradition. We can watch something else.”
“No, it’s okay. I’d like to watch it with you.” The words left his lips before the sentiment had fully evolved in his mind. But the spontaneity didn’t make them any less true. And he knew Lucy