Page 185 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
I shake my head. “I’ve got a joint session scheduled with them after the new year. Hopefully they can survive that long without drawing blood.”
Coach groans as he and Rocky start heading toward the commotion. “From your lips to God’s ears.”
Grant walks over after he notices Coach Jones and I’m already shaking my head at his jealousy.
“Your spidey senses telling you someone was trying to push up on your girl?”
“My spidey senses told me I was about to have to come over here and kick someone’s ass.”
I laugh, loud. We both do. He’s become one of my favorite pastimes, too.
“You ready to get out of here, Eslin Saunders? I hear the bride and groom are headed to Italy in the morning.”
I frown. “In the morning? Won’t he miss matches if he’s gone?”
He grins. “Their last official match was earlier this month so he won’t be missing anything.”
“He’s got some good bosses, I tell ya.”
He kisses me and I melt into this man.
“Come on, Sunshine. I’ve got something special for you.”
Chapter sixty-two
Presents & Permanence
Grant
My palms are sweating, and that never happens to me.
I’ve spoken in front of thousands, faced down boardrooms full of sharks, but this? Planning out every last detail with Marlow, even down to the little white lie that she and Declan had already jetted off to Italy, has my stomach in knots. They are going—just not until after the next two matches—but I needed Eslin to believe they were gone so I could pull this off without interruption.
Tonight is hers. Her Christmas gift. A piece of magic I’ve been dying to give her.
I lead her through the glass doors of our building, her hand snug in mine, her eyes covered with the black silk blindfold I slipped over her in the car. She gasps, laughing nervously, tugging at my arm.
“What is going on, Mister?” she asks, her voice half a whisper, half a giggle.
“It’s still Christmas,” I murmur, brushing a kiss against her temple. “And I’ve got a surprise for my lady.”
Her fingers tighten around mine as I guide her toward the elevator, the marble floors echoing beneath our steps. I can feel her pulse in her palm, quick and uneven, like she’s bracing for something big.
“Relax, Es,” I say softly, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ve got you.”
When the elevator doors slide open and we step out onto my floor, she stiffens again—but not with fear. With anticipation. I smile to myself, leading her into the penthouse, where the scent of pine and sugar cookies still lingers from earlier in the week.
I stop us in the middle of the living room. “Okay, sweetheart. Ready?”
She nods, breathless.
I pull the blindfold away, and her gasp nearly undoes me.
The entire room is a Christmas fever dream—the kind she confessed to me once she never really had as a child. Every piece of magic she missed, I brought to life.
In the corner, a full antique train set clatters cheerfully around the tree, the lights twinkling like stars. Near it, a towering Barbie Dreamhouse stands tall, flanked by rows of dolls—vintage classics side by side with brand-new ones, each one pristine, waiting for her. A bright-pink Barbie Corvette gleams beside a small boat. The Corvette scaled perfectly so she could climb in and drive herselfaround if she wanted. Ribbons of tinsel drip from the ceiling, candy canes dangle from garland, and stockings are lined up across the mantel with her name stitched right in the center.
Her hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes flood. “Grant,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “Oh my God. What is all this?”
