“Good.” Easton stared at me intently. His scrutiny made me uncomfortable. I self-consciously wiped at my lips in fear I might have dribbled. His gaze flicked to my lips and back.

“Easton? Is something wrong?”

He almost jumped as if prodded out of his trance. “Sorry. I… You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you. I don’t feel beautiful.”

“Well, you are.”

I looked away, breaking eye contact because I didn’t have the courage to hold it any longer.

Easton clutched my hand, entwining his fingers with mine, and led me to the brightly lit tree. “I missed the tree lighting.”

“We knocked on your door earlier, but no one answered.” His hand in mine felt so good and so right. I should’ve pulled away, but I didn’t have the strength to resist even this simple gesture of…of what? I didn’t know. Holding hands was a gesture of affection in my book, but I didn’t know what was in his playbook anymore. I willed myself to stop my analysis and enjoy the moment, a hard thing for someone like me to do, but I gave it my best shot.

“I was doing some last-minute Christmas shopping.”

“I see. Did you happen to buy mistletoe?” I regretted the words as soon as I’d blurted them, but what the hell, I’d own them.

He reached in the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a sprig of mistletoe. “Never leave home without it.”

“You don’t? Do you wander around kissing random women all day long?”

“No, only this one.” He held the mistletoe over our heads and leaned down for a soft yet toe-curling, body-melting kiss. My heart danced to the tune of the Christmas music playing in the background, as the magic of the holidays filled me with hope and joy. Yeah, I was a regular walking Christmas card. I’d tripped into a scene right out of a Hallmark Christmas movie and had no interest in changing the channel. I’d allow myself the small luxury of enjoying my fantasy a little longer.

He gazed down at me and raised his glass to clink it against mine. I’d forgotten I was holding mine and was amazed I didn’t spill a drop. I sipped from the mug, never taking my eyes from him. Something in the depths of those brown eyes gave me hope, even as I warned myself not to read too much into things. He was here, and so was I.

“I’m glad you told me about the kids,” he said.

“Even if it was seven years too late?”

“It’s never too late. You didn’t know, and as soon as you did, you contacted me. I see that now. I’m sorry for being a dick in the beginning.”

“I understand. I really do. I felt so dirty, and not in a good way, finding out a man other than my husband was the father of my children, and I didn’t even suspect it.”

“Well, you can get dirty with me anytime. I won’t mind.”