Twelve Dates of Christmas by Laurel Greer

Author:Laurel Greer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-08-09T17:06:26+00:00

Chapter Ten

“I can’t believe you brought the game warden to dinner. Since when is hot ’n’ brawny your thing?” Bea’s face lit with mischief as she sipped her wine. She’d pulled Emma from the kitchen into the relative quiet of the living room. The sprawling farmhouse was bright, whites and pale blues and comfortably decorated. No-nonsense like their mother, who was usually too busy with the ranch to fuss with throw pillows and color palettes. A lot of the decor in the main rooms was leftover from when Emma had lived at home and had loved nothing better than to take care of the small details that tied a space together.

“We’ve been working together this week. He’s our neighbor. I was being neighborly,” Emma said through her teeth.

Maybe inviting Luke along had been foolish. A decision made in a post-sex haze where she misjudged how family would draw the wrong conclusions. The naked yearning in his eyes when she’d talked about eating with her family had tugged hard on her sympathy strings. And it wasn’t like the Halloran table was exclusive. Her siblings frequently brought friends along. Gray had a firefighter pal with him tonight, in fact.

“Neighborly,” Bea said. “Likely story. I saw how you were looking at each other during trivia.”

“Like he drives me around the bend?”

“Not enough to stop you from inviting him for dinner, though.”

Not enough that I stopped myself from inviting him into my bed, either.

Bea sat on the wood floor next to the Christmas tree and pawed through the wrapped gifts, checking the names written on the tags.

“Bea, God, a little tact with the presents,” Emma said, leaning against the side of the upright piano. “What would the Seattle society matrons say?”

Bea rolled her eyes. “Just because I’m marrying someone who runs in corporate circles doesn’t mean I’m going to become an intrinsic part of them.”

“You don’t have to live in each other’s pockets, but you should have some common ground,” Emma said.

“We do,” Bea’s fiancé said from the arch separating the living and dining rooms. He looked the same as he had the one other time Emma had met him, on a weekend trip to Seattle when he’d spent most of her two days in town at his office. Dirty blond hair, an “I make deals on the golf course” tan and a wardrobe better suited to some snooty private club.

Calling him the white bread of men was an insult to carbohydrates. Not much was better than ripping open a freshly baked French loaf and slathering it in butter, but there were a lot better options than Jason.

Why Bea lit up whenever he came in the room, Emma didn’t know, but really, who was she to criticize? She hadn’t done much better with her choices.

You’re not going to find him if you’re comparing your dates to a damn checklist.

Was Luke right? Did she need to let go, be open to finding someone different from the man she’d always envisioned, like Bea had done?

“I plan

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