Only You Read online

  Hugh takes the lead and I follow. He’s somehow able to pay attention to the path in front of us while also keeping an eye on the ground and checking regularly on me. His strides are confident as opposed to my tentative steps as I pick my way over roots and rocks and dips in the earth. He reaches back for me several times, grasping my hand to assist me. At one point the incline becomes so steep it’s as if we’re climbing straight up. If it weren’t for Hugh, I have a feeling I’d either have to drop to my hands and knees to crawl, or grasp nearby low-lying branches as leverage.

  I’m about to forsake what’s left of my pride and beg for a rest when sunlight hits my face. Blinking against the bright rays, I see we’ve reached a small clearing. Several feet ahead of us, the ground evens out in a wide expanse before dropping off. It gives me the energy I need to surge ahead and reach the top.

  My already-strained breathing hitches at the sight laid out before me. After a moment, I sense Hugh’s presence. “You weren’t kidding about this view.” The city stretches out below us, a mixture of trees, fields, and grid-like patterns of streets, with the river snaking through the middle. Many of the trees have lost their leaves by now, but I bet this view was spectacular in October and early November.

  “Not the best time of year for optimum viewing,” Hugh says, his shoulder brushing mine as he shrugs. “Still quite lovely, though. Makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.” He strips off his backpack, letting it fall to the ground before stretching his arms over his head. I turn in time to see his shirt ride up, exposing a few inches of bare skin. Bare skin dusted with dark hair leading south into his cargo pants. I glance away quickly so I won’t be tempted to gawk. Or touch.

  “I’m not gonna lie, I was about ready to start cursing you,” I tell him. “Now I have to face how woefully out of shape I am and decide whether to do something about it or go back to my couch potato ways.”

  He chuckles, dropping one arm around my shoulders. “You could hibernate through the winter and then start fresh when the weather turns nice. On the way back down, you’ll see the trail I meant for us to take is more manageable. Maybe today will inspire you to start hiking.”

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful in the spring when everything starts to bloom again.” I feel a sudden chill when Hugh’s arm slides from my shoulders and he moves away to grab his backpack. From the depths, he pulls a plaid blanket—or is it a tartan since he’s Scottish?—then drops his bag again. I watch as he wanders the clearing, presumably looking for a spot to set up.

  He stops in a patch of weak sunlight, where he kicks aside a few rocks and pinecones, and spreads the blanket on the ground. “This suit you?”

  I nod and he motions for me to sit. A small moan forms in the back of my throat the moment I’m off my tired feet. I’d love to kick off my shoes, but with the amount of sweat I’ve shed in the last hour, I’m sure I don’t exactly smell daisy fresh. I settle for loosening the laces and letting the tongue of my runners hang out.

  Hugh unpacks a small feast from his bag. I have no idea how he managed to fit all those containers in there, along with several bottles of water, plus the blanket we’re sitting on. “Is that backpack made from the same material as Santa’s sack? Something that makes it magically bottomless?”

  He pauses to look at me, his eyes twinkling in that mischievous way I’ve come to love. “You really have it all figured out, don’t you?”

  I give a nonchalant shrug, even though my heart is beating out a samba rhythm in response to the double-whammy of those sparkling eyes and even brighter smile.

  “Actually, it’s a mini TARDIS of sorts,” he says, patting the bag. “Bigger on the inside.”

  “You know, it would make sense if Santa were a Time Lord,” I say. “Able to manipulate the space/time continuum and travel the world in one night.”

  Hugh ducks his head, laughing under his breath. “A girl who not only gets my Doctor Who joke, but runs with it. I think I’m in love.”

  By some miracle my answering laugh doesn’t sound shaky. He’s kidding, Ivy. Obviously kidding, and yet my heart gives an extra hard thump at his words. “If I’d known it would be that easy, I’d have pulled the nerd card a lot sooner.”

  “I’ll have to inspect that nerd card later, compare it to my own. For now, I’m realizing I should have asked if you have any food allergies or aversions.” He motions to the containers before popping the lid on the closest one.

  I stretch my legs and lean back, supporting my weight on my palms. “Nope. I’m easy.”

  One of his eyebrows quirks as he glances my way. The tilt to his lips makes me realize what I just said. His eyes sweep over my stretched-out form and his other eyebrow rises to meet the first.

  I sit up quickly so he doesn’t think my words, paired with my half-prone body are some kind of invitation. “About food. Easy about food. No allergies, and I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything you feed me.”

  His laugh is a low rumble. “I knew what you meant.”

  His smile continues its slow stretch, making the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that has my libido revving to match the pace of my heart. If he keeps looking at me like that, I might become easy in other ways too. More fun ways.

  Finally, he breaks eye contact and it feels like I’ve been released from some magical hold. He hands me a reusable plastic plate and motions to the open containers—sandwiches, grapes, cheese, and raw vegetables with dip. I fill my plate and watch as he does the same.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been on a proper picnic before,” I say. “Bridget and I sometimes eat takeout in the park during lunch, which kinda feels like a picnic, except this took actual effort.”

  “Unless I bought it all in the premade section of the supermarket and put it in containers to look like I put in effort.” He pops a grape into his mouth.

  I freeze with a sandwich triangle halfway to my mouth. “Did you?”

  He eyes me, his face blank. After a moment, he starts to chuckle. “No. All my own work. Had you going, though.”

  “Har har,” I say dryly, but I can’t help the giggle that follows.

  “Tell me more about Bridget,” he says.

  Surprised by the statement, it takes me a moment to decide where to begin. “We’ve been friends for a little over six years. We both started working at Quest at the same time, and we clicked immediately. We would spend all day together at work, then hang out most nights. Right from the start, I was like part of her family. She had her own apartment at the time, but her parents would invite us over for dinner regularly.” My throat tightens thinking about the countless family dinners we had, the day trips we took together with no destination in mind, the nights spent curled up on the couch watching movies.

  Hugh’s hand on my leg draws my attention. “Bridget’s dad passed away, right?”

  I nod, blinking rapidly against the sudden stinging in my eyes. “Two years ago. It was like losing another parent. My own parents were amazing, but they were so busy we didn’t have a lot of quality family time. Then my aunt and uncle were so distant and cold, I spent a lot of time feeling isolated. We had dinner together every night, but it was always a silent affair. Mealtime wasn’t for talking, and food was little more than a necessity. With Bridget’s family, we had these elaborate meals, and there was always laughter and conversation. Her dad was hilarious and smart, and he genuinely cared about me and what was going on in my life. If I miss him this much, I can’t imagine how much Bridget misses him.” My voice wavers and cracks on the last few words. I stuff a big bite of food in my mouth to keep from crying.

  Hugh inches closer to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. I angle toward him and he pulls me in tighter, running his hand slowly up and down my back. In the years since my parents died, I’ve heard endless words of comfort, but I’m glad Hugh doesn’t say anything right now. His presence, the warmth and solidness of his body, his now-familiar scent wrapping around me, brings more comfort than any words could.

  Once I
’m certain I won’t burst into tears, I ease away from him, meeting his eyes briefly. “Thank you.”

  “Any time.” The tiny, reassuring smile he offers makes me want to cry all over again, but for a completely different reason. I told him earlier how nice it felt to be seen and understood, and that’s exactly how he makes me feel all the time. It’s heartening and yet scary as hell at the same time.

  Hugh shifts so he’s no longer directly in my personal space. He’s still closer than he was originally, yet not so close we have to contort into awkward positions to make eye contact. “Have things changed since Bridget became your boss?”

  I tilt my head back and forth. “Yes and no. She’s still Bridget. She’s still my best friend and soul sister. A lot changed at once, though. She started dating David and got promoted within a few weeks, so she’s busy and has less free time. We went from working side by side every day and hanging out all the time to her being in the big office and working longer hours or being with David. It’s been an adjustment, but that’s part of getting older, right? Things change, people change, life changes.”

  “I think you missed your calling as a psychologist,” Hugh says.

  “Ha. Maybe that can be my next profession.”

  “Are you in the market for a new profession?”

  “No?” It comes out sounding like a question, which makes Hugh’s brows arch. “Maybe? I don’t know. I like my job well enough and I’m good at it. Lately, though…” I trail off, sighing. “Lately it feels like I’m doing it by rote. I’d been feeling that way for a few months, and then when I started working at Santa’s Village, it made me realize how bored I am at my day job. At the Village, I’m always on my toes and always doing something different. Something fun.”

  “So why don’t you quit? Find a job that excites you and challenges you?”

  I sputter out a laugh. “It’s not that simple. Not every job is fun or exciting. And quitting doesn’t guarantee I’ll find something better. Or find something at all.” I think of Celia and her trouble finding and keeping a job. Mind you, that says as much about her as it does about the current job market, but still. “My job may not thrill me, but it keeps a roof over my head and pays the bills.”

  “Money isn’t everything, though, is it?” he asks.

  Without thinking, I say, “Spoken by someone who has tons of it.” My hand flies to cover my mouth, even though it’s too late to take the words back. Heat floods my cheeks. It takes me a few seconds to gain the courage to meet Hugh’s eyes. His expression is unreadable. I shift my hand enough to say, “Remember how you said you don’t expect me to be perfect or say the right thing? Please keep that in mind while I remove my foot from my mouth.”

  He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry. You’re right. I wouldn’t have to work another day in my life if I didn’t want to. I’m privileged and I can acknowledge that privilege. Doesn’t mean I’ve never struggled, though.”

  “I know, which is why it was a stupid thing to say.”

  “It wasn’t.” When I shoot him a skeptical look, he leans forward and takes my hand. “It was honest. I appreciate honesty. Besides, you’re cute when you blurt things out and even cuter when you blush.” His free hand reaches for my face, the backs of his fingers brushing my cheek. On cue, more blood rushes to my cheeks. I’m probably now as red as the plaid blanket we’re sitting on.

  Hugh doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles as he continues stroking my cheek, then lets his hand fall to clasp my hand in both of his.

  “Anyway,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’ll think about it. My job, I mean. It’s hard to think too much about it these days when I’m working non-stop and barely have time for much else. I’m not sure my brain can handle the deep thoughts that would come with quitting my job and deciding what to do next.” Speaking of my brain not handling deep thoughts, it’s hard to concentrate with Hugh’s fingers moving over the back of my hand, making little swirly patterns on my skin. “Maybe I’ll take some time off and write a book. Secrets from one of Santa’s elves.”

  His lips twitch. “You’d have an extra advantage since you’re dating Santa.”

  My gaze darts up to meet his. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”

  He lifts my hand, stopping mere inches from his mouth. “I was the one who said no labels or strings, wasn’t I? Guess I’m going back on that already.” His warm breath ghosts over my fingers. I never knew the hand was an erogenous zone, but that light breath of air and the proximity of his full lips are turning me into a puddle of lust. “Regardless, you’re closer to Santa than most.”

  “It’s kind of a nice place to be,” I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

  Those wonderfully full lips curve. I can’t take my eyes off them. He brings my hand the rest of the way to his mouth and brushes a kiss on my knuckles. The feather-light movement is like a jolt of electricity to my central nervous system. My whole body is suddenly on high alert, including my nipples, which are standing at attention.

  Hugh’s gaze slides to mine. From the way his small smile turns devilish, I have a feeling he knows the effect he has on me. “Can I kiss you, Ivy? Really kiss you?”

  Unable to speak, I give my head a jerky nod. With my hand still clasped in his, he closes the distance between us and presses his lips to mine.

  I have a moment to register how chaste the kiss is before he pulls away, his eyes seeking mine. I can’t imagine what he sees in my expression, but whatever it is must be what he’s looking for. His hands move to cup my face, and his lips return to mine, pressing lightly before his tongue flicks out and sweeps over the seam of my mouth.

  Our tongues meet and entwine. We’re still in that slow, almost experimental stage of a first kiss. I swear the way his tongue glides over mine is the most sensual thing I’ve ever experienced, especially paired with the warmth of his body and his woodsy scent filling my nostrils. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a first kiss with anyone—hell, a kiss, period—and I have to say, Hugh is knocking it out of the park.

  All thoughts flee my mind as the kiss deepens and Hugh pulls me closer. A moan escapes me when he nips my bottom lip. The sound seems to do something to both of us because suddenly our gentle, exploratory kiss has turned much hungrier. His hands shift from my face to move restlessly over my back, while mine slide up his neck and into his hair.

  My legs had already turned to mush and now my entire body feels boneless. When our momentum begins to take me backward, I go willingly, sighing when I hit the soft blanket. Hugh eases away to look at me. His glazed eyes fill me with a mixture of excitement and power, knowing he’s as affected by me as I am by him. I yank him to me once more, and we both let out a surprised sound when our lips mash together. Within a second, we’re back to nearly devouring each other.

  Hugh hovers over me, supporting his weight on one elbow while the other hand settles on my hip. My body aches for his touch and it’s all I can do not to arch up and rub against him. And yet, in the back of my lust-befuddled mind, I respect the fact his hands are remaining in a neutral position, especially since we’re technically in a public place where anyone could come along without warning. From the way he’s clutching my hip, I suspect it’s taking effort to keep his hands from roaming, which turns me on even more.

  Time passes in a blur. I have no idea whether we stay this way, tongues and limbs entwined, for minutes or hours. I’d happily remain here all day, but awareness slowly seeps in, and I realize both the ground under the blanket and the air around us are growing cooler. A shiver rolls through me. Hugh must sense it’s different from the other involuntary shudders my body has been giving, because he pulls back.

  He blinks his bleary eyes a few times, and I do the same. I trace his kiss-swollen lips with my thumb and he nips at it, smiling lazily. My fingers move from his mouth over his cheeks, which are dusted now with the barest hint of a five o’clock shadow. He closes his eyes and grasps my hand, pressing his lips to my palm.

&nb
sp; “This is my new favorite way to spend a Saturday,” he murmurs.

  “Mm, me too. Too bad we won’t be able to do this again, at least not here. Maybe we could come again in the spring.”

  His grip on my hip loosens and his gaze slips away from mine. Oh. Right. I guess part of the ‘no labels’ things means no planning ahead. Way to spoil the moment, Ivy.

  “Never mind,” I blurt, sliding out from under him. I sit up and begin hastily collecting the containers from our picnic. My hands are shaking from embarrassment and the fact all my blood is still pooled somewhere near my core. Hugh shifts around in front of me and gently grasps both my hands in his.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to make plans with you, Ivy,” he says. “I’d promise to do all sorts of things with you, fill up your entire calendar for the winter and all of spring if I could. But I don’t believe in making promises I’m not sure I can keep. I don’t want to lead you on and get your hopes up only to return to Scotland and…”

  “Leave me here a brokenhearted mess, unable to go on?” The words come out more sarcastic than intended. I expect annoyance in return, for Hugh to think I’m some needy woman who would demand reassurances and attention. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling a bit needy after that scorching kiss, though. And a little reassurance would go a long way right now.

  “I don’t have such a high opinion of myself as that,” he says, lips twitching. “I’d never want to hurt you, though. The logical side of me knew I shouldn’t pursue you because it would be complicated, but the other side of me…” He releases one of my hands to touch my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek. “The side of me that can’t stop thinking about you…”

  My heart does a little happy dance at his words. “I can’t stop thinking about you either. So if having a chance to be with you means no promises and no plans beyond Christmas, I can do that.” My voice rises the tiniest bit on the last part, making it sound almost like a question. Betrayed by my own subconscious.

  “I wish things weren’t so up in the air,” he says. “I wish I could tell you for sure if I was staying or going, and suggest we date for real, see where this goes. But until I know for sure, I can’t. If this is going to be too hard, if you’re worried about developing feelings or truly being left a ‘heartbroken mess’ as you so eloquently put it…” He pauses, giving me a cheeky smile that makes me laugh weakly. “Then maybe we should stop right now. Let today be a one-time thing and remain friends.”