“Your parents don’t do parties?” she asked.
Kieran didn’t talk about this. Not to Burke, not to his friends at the sawmill, not to anyone. But Leslie had shared so much today about her life with him, and he’d gotten to see these layers of her that he wouldn’t have if she hadn’t been so determined to let him in.
He was learning there was value in letting people in.
He cleared his throat. “My parents aren’t with me anymore, but when they were alive, they did love the holiday season.”
“Oh, my gosh,” she whispered, her pretty steel-blue eyes filling with sorrow. “I’m so sorry. We don’t have to talk about this.”
“No, it’s fine. They passed away in a car accident five years ago. I was lucky. I got a lot of time with them. Not enough, but a lot. I made it to adulthood before I had to lose them. Anyway, they left their house to me, and that’s where I live now. My mom used to decorate it to the nines. Tinsel and a big tree that we cut down together as a family. She would set out these snowman snow globes she used to collect in every open space of the house for display at Christmas. She was always baking at the holidays so the house smelled like cookies and sugar. I just remember it being the best time of year.”
“And then they passed.”
“Yeah, but the change happened even before that. My brother, Burke, and I grew up. Or grew out of the season maybe. We got entrenched with life outside of my parents’ home. That’s natural, I suppose, but looking back, I wish the change hadn’t happened. I wish we’d made the holiday a big deal every year until we lost them. The last few years, I remember bailing on family traditions to do other stuff. Work overtime, take a girl out, hang with friends, sit at home doing jack-shit. I just didn’t have that interest anymore. But this?” He jerked his chin toward the house. “Even if a lot of the conversation was shallow, it was still a good night. Still good for the soul.”
She had a faraway look in her eyes as she stared through the window at the partygoers standing around a piano, singing Christmas songs. Only half the party had left. The lingerers had spiked eggnog in their systems, and it had relaxed the stuffy atmosphere.
“Were your parents otters, too? And Burke?”
Confused, he asked, “Otters? Oh!” He swallowed hard and tried to remember his lies. “Otters. Right. Yep, the whole family are shifters. Now it’s just me and Burke…left to carry on the…otter genetics.”
“When can I see your animal? Or is that too personal? Are you quiet when you change? Do you need privacy?”
God, she was cute. And sexy. And inquisitive and non-judgmental and fun, and she really was the best of the Wilsons. Maybe she was the best woman he’d met in all of Missoula.
“Maybe I’ll let you see him someday. Not tonight, though.” He pushed off her car. “You’re starting to shiver, and I think I’ve had enough watching you freeze your ass off for one day.”
She giggled and nodded. “Next time it’s bring-your-pretend-girlfriend-to-work day, I promise to dress much warmer.”
She was parked on the curb, right out in front of the mansion, and his truck was down the street a ways since he’d been running late. That was his big regret of the night. He wished he was driving her home right now so he didn’t have to worry about her getting back safe on the icy roads.
Kieran opened the door for her, and she lingered near him. “Thank you for tonight. You are the right choice for this job.”
This job. Right.
“Can you text me when you get home?”
“Worried about my safety, pretend-boyfriend?”
“A little. I’ve seen you walk, and it’s not pretty. I can’t imagine how bad you drive.”
Her cute laugh echoed through the street. She swatted his arm. “Turd.”
He wanted to kiss her. There was this moment where she was right there, so close he could feel her warmth and hear her racing heartbeat, and he wanted to lean in and press his lips to hers and see if she smiled then.
But he hesitated. This was a job. This was a job. She’d said no romance, and if he kissed her, he would complicate something that was a beautiful distraction from the monotony of his life. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun with another person.
A kiss would ruin that. He knew it, which is why he hesitated. She seemed to wait for him, looking up at his face, searching his eyes. And then she broke the moment with her awkwardness.
“Righty-oh. I’m getting in my car now.” She climbed in, not gracefully, and waited for him to close her door. She rolled down her window. “Goodnight, Pretend Boyfriend.”
Kieran shoved his hands deep in his pockets and stepped back so she could pull out of the parking space. He lifted his chin and took one last mental picture of her all dolled up with her hair done. Pretty girl. Sweet girl.
“Goodnight, Pretend Girlfriend.”
Chapter Eight
Who is the turd now? Kieran texted Leslie. You said you would text when you got home safe, and now I’m wide awake wondering if I need to come scrape you off the side of the highway. Stop stressing me out and tell me you’re home. Send.
After a few minutes of restlessness in his bed, his phone dinged with a text message.
Dear Kieran, I forgot to text you, which probably didn’t surprise you. No need to scrape me off the highway. I’m in my tiny house all nestled up with a facemask and a very sexy pair of pajamas.
A selfie came through. In it, Leslie had a bright blue face mask on, a giant smile, her hair all piled on top of her head again, and a bright teal tank top. Her tits looked perky and grabbable. Sexy girl.
He took a picture of himself, frowning from his bed, squinting at the phone. He sent that and a Glad you aren’t dead text.
She sent him a picture they’d taken together tonight at the dinner table. Her mom had griped at their manners in front of everyone, and when Leslie put her phone down and withered under her Mom’s glare, he’d squeezed her hand under the table to comfort her. She’d held it for a while before she finally relaxed and started having fun again.
He’d liked that he knew what to do to steer her back in the right direction that kept a smile on her face. Leslie was really special. Happy little hearts like hers were meant to be protected, not broken down.
In the selfie, they were both leaned into each other, all dressed to the nines, their cheeks resting on one another. He was smirking, and she was openly grinning. God, she was a stunner.
He saved the picture just as another text came through.
Good luck yelling at those spruce tree people tomorrow. Give ’em hell!
Be ready at six pm tomorrow. Dress warm. For real this time. Sleep tight, ya weirdo.
I might not wear pajamas for our holiday adventure tomorrow. But knowing me, maybe I will, just to keep you on your toes. See you tomorrow, Sexy Otter.
He laughed and shook his head, his cheek making a scratching noise against his pillow. What would she do if she found out what he really was? The smile fell from his face. What would she do?
If she found out he lied, would she pull back?
If she saw his real animal, would she be scared?
He set the phone on the table and stared out the window into the dark. Outside, the moon hung low in the sky, and snow fell steadily. He had to keep the window blinds open so his animal never felt trapped in the bedroom.