“I’d rather know why you didn’t call.”
He blew out a harsh breath. “I—I freaked out,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “What happened between us meant something to me, Jane. It scared me. And I bailed on you like some sort of chicken shit, too scared to face you.”
“Yeah, you did,” she agreed without hesitation.
Chris rested a hand over his heart, a slight smile kicking up the corners of his mouth. “Ouch. Yeah, I probably deserved that.”
“You did. Trust me.” She turned her attention back to the box and withdrew another ornament—this one she’d painted, one of her favorites. A little black mailbox sitting on a tree branch covered in white, sparkling snow and a bright red cardinal nestled within. It reminded her of her grandparents’ mailbox for some reason, and she shook her head.
Sentimental over a mailbox. Now she was really being corny.
“It’s pretty,” Chris said, nodding toward the ornament.
Jane handed it to him and he admired it. “I painted it when Lexi was a toddler. Went through a crazy crafting stage back then.”
“You like to create with your hands, huh? You do good work.” He turned the ornament this way and that, kept it clutched in his hand. “I’ll hang it up. Did you make anything this year?”
“Not really. I can’t do much crafting with my hand now.” She stared down at her left hand and bent her fingers as much as she could. “I can’t even really make a fist.” She missed working with her hands. Had even optimistically brought her sewing machine with her when they moved, in the hopes of using it again.
“I’m sure practicing will help,” he suggested helpfully.
“The pattern I used for my aprons was pretty easy.” And she’d been asked more than once by her mom’s and sister’s friends, who’d seen the aprons she’d made, if she would sew one for them. The machine was set up in the basement, the box of leftover fabric she’d kept nearby. She’d gone through the box a few nights ago, smiling at all the forgotten bright colors and patterns.
Immediately she’d called her mother, who came over the next morning and helped her cut out fabric. She’d messed around with it a bit, thought about making Christmas presents. But would they turn out good enough?
Chris took her hand in his and stroked his thumb over the top of it. His touch sent waves of heat sizzling up her arm, over her entire body. She held her breath, watched in silence as he brought her hand up to his mouth and brushed the softest, sweetest kiss across her knuckles.
“I’m an idiot. Say you’ll forgive me.” His aching whisper twisted her insides, made her entire body throb. As far as an apology went, it was simple yet incredibly effective. “Please.”
It was the please that did it. Oh, she was too easy. “I forgive you. Sort of.” The words stumbled out of her mouth, needy and wanting, and she cleared her throat, tried to clear her head, too.
He smiled, a low chuckle sounded, and all rational thought fled her. In the background, she heard Lexi scold Logan for moving yet another of the tree’s ornaments, but all she could focus on was the glowing look in Chris’s eyes. And the movement of his lips against her scarred hand.
How her scars didn’t seem to bother him whatsoever.
“I’ll make it up to you.” He kissed her again, and if she’d been standing, she would’ve swooned when she swore she felt the barest swipe of his tongue against her skin. Instead, she leaned heavily against the box, thankful it was there to prop her up.
“Make what up to me?” Yes, definitely all rational thought had left, because she had no clue what he was talking about.
He smiled as if he knew he’d scattered her brain cells to the wind. “The way I acted and left you that morning. I bailed on you and I shouldn’t have. I just…panicked.”
“Why? And you not calling these last few days hurt my feelings more.”
Her honesty was like picking at a wound; she saw it in his eyes.
“I gotta tell you…I don’t usually do commitment,” he said, his voice hoarse. As if the words were hard to get out. “I never have. My parents had a…really bad marriage. I learned from them.”
“Not every relationship is bad,” she said softly.
His gaze met hers. “I’m starting to realize that.”
The silence between them grew charged, heavy. She wanted to grab him. Kiss him and drag him back to her bedroom where they could shut the door and become lost in each other.
But then she remembered the children and the tree and the ornaments. They needed to finish decorating, and then she needed to get the kids to bed.
“I’m sorry. I’m a complete ass,” he said, and he brought her palm to his face. She let go of his hand, cupped his cheek, his skin so smooth beneath her fingers, and she stroked him there. His lips parted, his eyes closed, and when he opened them again, the heat and desire she saw reflected in their depths was breathtaking. “Let me make it up to you.”
“What do you have in mind?” She had many things in mind, most of them too scandalous to even consider, since her children surrounded them. But that problem could be solved in a matter of an hour or so.