Page 29 of Big Package

Cole could have left. I expected him to.

Instead, he stayed. He broke down the shipping boxes, moved a display stand I’d been meaning to move for weeks, and straightened a crooked stack of gift baskets by the register.

“You’re merchandising,” I said.

“I moved a box.”

“That’s how it starts,” I teased.

For someone who claimed to like his life uncomplicated, he’d spent a surprising amount of time making mine easier.

The last customer left a little after six. I locked the front door and flipped the sign to CLOSED, and Cole locked the back one after taking out the last load of cardboard. The shop always felt softer after hours with the window lights reflecting against the dark glass and the scent of cinnamon lingering without voices to compete with it.

“You could have left hours ago,” I said.

“Could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He slid his hands into his pockets. “Wanted to make sure you were set.”

“That’s all?”

His jaw tightened.

I crossed the space between us. “You give me part of an answer and then expect me to pretend I don’t notice the rest.”

“Maybe there isn’t a rest.”

“There’s always a rest with you.”

I stopped close enough to smell the cold air still clinging to his flannel. “Do you regret kissing me?”

“No.” His answer came immediately, and the tightness in my chest eased.

“Do you want to do it again?”

His eyes darkened. “Yeah.”

“Then I’m going to make this very easy for you.” I reached for the front of his shirt and pulled him down to me.

Cole met me halfway. The kiss was nothing like the first one. There was no hesitation this time. His hands came around my waist as my arms slid over his shoulders, and when he pulled me against him, the teasing between us disappeared. His mouth moved over mine, slow at first, then harder when I opened for him, and the shop faded away until all I could feel was the solid heat of him and the edge of the counter against my hip when he backed me into it.

He broke the kiss long enough to look at me. “Tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all it took. His hands slid under the hem of the sweatshirt I still had on, warm against skin still cool from the snow, and the contrast sent a shiver through me. I tugged at his flannel until he shrugged it off.

“You wear too many clothes.”

His mouth brushed the corner of mine. “It’s December.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

He kissed along my jaw, and when his mouth found the spot below my ear, my fingers tightened in his shirt. His hand slid higher, tracing my ribs before stopping just below my bra.