Yet here she was in a pair of baggy camo print leggings and an overlarge sweater with the words Good Vibes Only stitched across the front, her dark hair piled into a messy bun on the top of her head. His breath hitched in that familiar way. He didn’t think his reaction to her would ever change.

“Were you asleep?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest like she was gearing up for an assault.

He shook his head. “Watching an old movie.”

She rose on tiptoe to glance past him into the house. “What movie?”

“Die Hard.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a Christmas movie.”

Her mouth twitched. “Yippee-Ki-Yay.”

Just the hint of her smile could melt his heart. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Can I come in?” She looked ten kinds of uncomfortable making the request, and he realized he was showing a subtle lack of manners by leaving her standing there in the first place.

“It’s nearly midnight,” he said, but stepped back to allow her to enter.

She looked at that oversize watch she always wore. “A minute past now. I’ve never been in your grandma’s house.”

He flipped on the hall light he hadn’t bothered with when answering the door. Standing in the intimacy of a darkened house with Angi might be too much of a temptation, even for Gabe.

But the light didn’t help at all because she was so close that he could see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and a bit of white powder—flour, he guessed—near her jawline.

His fingers itched to brush it off, but he kept his hands to himself.

Mine.

The word ricocheted through him again, but he ignored it.

Angi Guilardi did not belong to Gabe.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked, because that’s what people did when a guest arrived.

“No, thanks.” She followed him down the hall and into the cozy den situated off the kitchen. His grandmother’s house had been built in the 1940s and had the small, choppy rooms indicative of architecture in that decade. In the months he’d spent living there, Gabe had come up with an imaginary plan for updating the house that involved knocking out walls and redoing the plumbing and electrical.

Ridiculous musings because the house didn’t belong to him. Not to mention that it would be easier and probably less expensive to buy something that was more in line with his taste anyway. Gran’s decorating style consisted mainly of floral wallpaper and delicate lace doilies covering every surface.

Still, if he had the opportunity, he’d make this house his own. It was the only place that had ever felt like home to him. Plus, the greenhouse and gardens out back were incredible.

The television glowed blue in the darkness and then burst into a bright yellow shine when Bruce Willis blew up something.

Gabe reached for the lamp on the side table, but Angi’s hand on his arm stilled his movement. “Leave it,” she said, then took a seat on the sofa, patting the cushion next to her. “I haven’t seen this movie in ages. Look at how handsome he was back in the day.”