Snowbound - Harlequin.com

JANICE KAY JOHNSON 213
Their small group gathered in front of the fire that
evening, sipped hot spiced cider and talked about
Christmases past. With the multicolored lights on the
tree, the deep comfortable chairs and the crackling fire,
the modest sense of companionship seemed to suffice
for everyone. They dispersed at an hour that would have
seemed absurd to her at home, murmuring, “Merry
Christmas,” as if they meant it—and, in the case of the
curmudgeon who liked to plant himself at the kitchen
table all day, as if he were surprised to mean it.
In bed, Fiona and John made love with the same, astonishing
passion they’d felt the first time, sweetly
tempered with patience and newfound knowledge of
where to touch to please each other.
On Christmas morning, while they were still in bed,
John presented her with a small, wrapped gift. Smiling,
she had to scramble from bed, hurrying with bare feet
on the cold floor, to get his from her suitcase.
They unwrapped simultaneously, John seeming
pleased with the selection of DVDs she’d bought, all
movies she loved and he hadn’t seen. Wrapped with
them was a pair of tickets to her local multiplex. He
stared down at them.
A little worried, she said, “For when you come to
see me.”
“Thank you.” He nodded. “Open the box.”
His gift was a pair of earrings, pretty ones with
central diamonds surrounded by tiny rubies, but she
was oddly disappointed. No, that was silly—how could
he know enough about her life to give her something
deeply meaningful?