She nodded, her eyes moving to his hand still settled on his jaw.
His week’s worth of facial scruff was scratchy beneath his palm, and he let his hand drop to his side as he waited for her to explain her definition of rejection. Because he didn’t see it that way. Not really. “That wasn’t rejection,” he finally spoke his thoughts, feeling the need to defend himself.
“I asked you to be my first kiss. You said no.”
He grimaced at her words. “Ella, I hardly call that rejection. I mean,” he said while holding a hand up between them, “you were fifteen, and I was eighteen. I was about to join the Army, and you were also drunk on Beckett’s secret stash of Tennessee moonshine. What’d you expect me to say? Me saying no was the right thing to do. That’s not rejection.”
Beckett was Ella’s oldest brother, now the sheriff of their small hometown, Walkins Glen. He hadn’t always been the grumpy “good boy” he was now. Beckett used to raise hell back in his day. Just like himself, he supposed.
“It sure felt like rejection to me.” Ella shrugged. “And by the way, I was drunk because you were enlisting.”
As he processed her admission, a strange, achy sensation filled his gut, then he muttered, “You were still too young. And also, a Hawkins.”
“Is that how you’ll always see me? A Hawkins?”
No, in his eyes, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. With the biggest heart on the planet. He saw her as so much more than he could possibly put into words, and yeah, maybe she was far too special and too sweet for him . . . but that still wasn’t what held him back.
This wasn’t some fairy tale where he was only mistaken as the villain, and the princess would somehow turn Jesse back into the prince she deserved.
“Ella,” was all he managed to get out.
“Okay, what about when I was in college, then? And I asked you to take my virginity? I was of age. That was rejection.”
Jesse took a step back and gripped the nape of his neck, pushing the collar of his coat down to squeeze and work at the sudden tension there. “Tequila. Still a Hawkins.” And well, Iraq. “So no, that doesn’t qualify as rejection, and any man that would have said yes to you while you’d been shooting tequila should be dragged behind one of your daddy’s horses for a good mile. Maybe more.”
“I didn’t have much tequila that night.” She pursed her lips and a contemplative expression crossed her face.
He looked around at the couples passing by for a moment before returning his attention to her. “Regardless, there were a lot of reasons for me to behave, but it wasn’t that I didn’t want you. That I rejected you.”
Fuck. Was that the first time in his life he admitted to this woman he had wanted her? Was that the first time he’d let the words slip free from his normally locked lips?
She was quiet for a moment, probably absorbing his confession the way a priest did before absolving someone of their sins.
“But also . . . Iraq,” he admitted. “I’d just come home after a bad deployment.”
She angled her head, continuing to try and get a read on him. “Is there such a thing as a good deployment?”
He swallowed. “The ones where everyone comes home alive, yes.”
“Oh.” She lifted her gaze skyward at his heavy words.
“Listen, I really can’t stand here and have a conversation about this. I don’t want to know who gave you your first kiss. Or who took your . . .” He cleared his throat, unable to work the words free, which had her eyes back on his face. “But I don’t need you thinking I rejected you in the past because I didn’t want you. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.” And there he went again with the truth.
Was it the Christmas tree? The magic of New York at the holidays he’d seen in movies growing up? What in the hell had him opening up now at thirty-five when he’d never been able to say jack shit to Ella since she turned eighteen and he’d taken notice of her as a woman? And if he was being honest with himself, more like when she was seventeen. When he’d noticed her long runner’s legs were also fit for the runway.
“Okay.” Her soft voice floated into the crisp December air. “I think I’d like to go back to the hotel. I’m tired.” She faked a smile, one lacking her teeth. “I didn’t have a nap like you did.”
“Ella,” he called out after her since she’d barely finished her words before starting to walk away.
He’d messed up. Somehow ruined her night. And he’d be getting an earful from his sister via text in the morning. But more importantly, he hated seeing Ella sad.
“Ella,” he said again once catching up with her. When she spun around to face him, she had tears in her eyes and didn’t that make him feel like an asshole.
“It’s the cold air making them water.” She swiped at her cheeks, but the little break in her voice gave her away.
“Don’t be sad. Why are you sad?” He reached for her palm, finding it cold, so he placed it between his hands to try and warm her up. They hadn’t thought of packing gloves for the trip.
“It’s nothing. Please.” The plea in her tone had him letting go of a deep breath, and he released her hand and nodded.
They walked in an almost painful silence back to their hotel, which was only a few blocks away. He doubted she’d be able to walk much farther in those heels too. Not that he wouldn’t have carried her if she’d asked, but based on her change in mood from sassy at the club to “just lost her dog,” he doubted she’d let him.
Once in their room, Jesse tossed his coat onto the chair on top of hers as she rushed into the bathroom and shut the door. Are we in a fight?
He went to the window and drew open the floor-to-ceiling silver drapes, revealing the sight of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. He pushed one hand into his pocket while working the top few buttons of his shirt free with the other hand.
“Are you sure it’s okay if I sleep in here?” he asked once he heard the bathroom door open a few minutes later.
“There are two beds,” she said from behind, but he’d yet to turn. “Plus, we established you’re not interested and that Rory keeps wasting her time.”
“We established that, huh?” He slowly faced her, lifting his other hand from his pocket.
He stilled at the sight of Ella standing in front of one of the beds in an oversized black tee that said “Cowgirls Do It Better” in pink print. The shirt went to her mid-thighs, showing off her long, golden tan legs. Her toenails were red to match her fingernails. But she’d scrubbed the makeup from her face, so her lips were no longer red.
“I think you’re missing something.” A bra, for one. Just because her shirt was black didn’t mean he didn’t notice her nipples.
She folded her arms. “And what’s that?”
“A pair of pants.” He forced his gaze to remain eye level, so he didn’t check her out again, then he undid the last few buttons of his shirt and removed it.
He lost eye contact with Ella when her focus slid to his chest and stayed there. “I’ve seen you shirtless on the ranch a million times, I, um.”
And he’d seen her legs in her Daisy Duke shorts and cowgirl boots too. But yeah, it was different because they were alone in a hotel room in Christmas-y New York.