A Very Merry Bromance (Bromance Book Club #5) (37)

“Let me do it,” he said, his voice like melted caramel.

Probably she should have swatted him away. Probably she should have backed away from his reach.

Probably.

But she didn’t.

Colton took his time tugging the belt into a knot, somehow managing to also reel her closer to him with every twist of the fabric. When he was done, he moved his hands to her hips and closed the remaining minuscule distance between their bodies to a mere inch. The heat of his fingers soaked through her coat and her clothes, but it was nothing compared to the scorch of awareness when he dipped his mouth close to hers. “You give any more thought to that unresolved agenda item?”

Yep. A lot. Pretty much nonstop. “Nope.”

“Too bad,” he murmured, his lips hovering over hers. “Because I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

Her common sense finally slapped her weakening willpower. “I think we have other pressing issues to discuss first.”

She walked to the small dining table adjacent to the living room to retrieve the manila envelope with the information Evan had put together. She turned back around and held it out. “Here. A formal proposal.”

“Great. I look forward to your thoughts on this too.” He rolled the envelope and wrapped both hands around it. “Ready to go?”

“Do I get to find out where we’re going this time?”

“You sure you don’t want to be surprised?”

“One hundred percent sure.”

“We . . .”—he dragged the word out—“are going to decorate my Christmas tree.”

“Please tell me that’s a euphemism.”

Colton waggled his eyebrows. “It can be.”

Gretchen rolled her lips in to hold back the smile threatening to ruin her aloof act. When that didn’t work, she turned away and pretended to be looking for something.

Behind her, the door opened. “Stop stalling.”

“I’m not stalling. I’m looking for my purse.”

“You’re trying to hide that smile from me.”

She plucked her purse from the dining room chair and turned around, mustering the darkest scowl her features would allow.

“Sorry. You’re still adorable,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He waited in the hallway for her while she shut and locked her door. “Not that I’m ungrateful for this experience—”

“Yes, you are.”

“But can I ask if there’s going to be food provided at any point this evening?”

He leaned in, one hand propped on the doorframe behind her. “I’m going to force-feed you sugar plums and gingerbread cookies.”

“I need meat.”

“Oh, I can definitely give you that.”

She rolled her eyes and ducked under his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” he said, trudging behind her. “I plan to feed you, and meat will be provided. I have a ham in the oven.”

She was halfway down the stairs but stopped and wrenched her head over her shoulder. “You have a ham in the oven?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She continued on the stairs. “I’m just confused about the fact that you know how to cook one. Or anything, for that matter.”

“I’m a grown-ass man. Of course I know how to cook. And ham is the superior Christmas meat, as far as I’m concerned.”

“But you could afford an entire fleet of personal chefs.”

“Indeed, I could. But imagine how disappointed you’d be in me if I admitted to using one.”

They reached his car, and she let him open the door for her this time. The coy smile decorating his lips suggested he was this close to pointing it out, but the quiet politeness as he helped her in said he wasn’t going to chance her wrath. Smart man.

After he shut the door, he jogged around to his side, and she used the moment to study him. He wore what she was quickly coming to think of as his uniform—a T-shirt under a long shirt atop a pair of well-loved jeans, and his red vest.

He grinned at her when he got in. “Do I meet with your approval?”

“No. Those clothes look terrible on you.”

His laughter bounced off the windshield and echoed throughout the car. “You should know, honey, that I’d rather be insulted by you than be fawned over by anyone else.”

Before starting the car, he tossed the rolled-up envelope in the back seat. She twisted around to look at where it landed on the floor. “What the hell?”

“We’ll look at it later.” He started the car. “So, I could torture you again with some holiday tunes or—”

“Whatever or is, let’s do that.” She clicked her seat belt in place.

“Or we could talk about the book.”

She might have growled. “Is there a third option?”

“Sure.” He pulled onto the road. “You could finally tell me why you walked out on me that morning.”

And there it was. The question she dreaded more than any other. And though she knew a conversation about it likely couldn’t be avoided forever, she was going to do her damnedest to try. “The book. Definitely the book.”

“So you did start reading.” He flipped his blinker at the stop sign, stopped for an oncoming car, and then hung a right. “What do you think so far?”