Booked for Christmas

continued, “I owe you an apology.”
Intrigued, Sophie’s hands went still. “For?”
His steady eyes held hers. “I can see now that I’ve been too harsh on your books. Gina told me today about some more of the people on the list—folks who don’t have very much levity in their lives. I guess I got so caught up in how the stories don’t resonate for me that I forgot about all the others out there who need happy, fluffy stories exactly like yours to keep them going. So this is me, officially saying I’m sorry. I’m planning on writing a post for the column, too.” He gave her a half smile.
“Wow.” Sophie sat back in her chair and breathed out. “I never in a hundred thousand years would’ve expected this—a full-blown, impassioned apology from the Lone Wolfe himself.” She looked up at the ceiling. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”
“Don’t make me regret it, Hart,” Wolfe said, faux-frowning at her, his thick dark brows pulled together.
Sophie laughed and picked up a sugar cookie decorated to look like a Christmas tree. After nibbling on it for a bit, she said, softly, “The stories don’t resonate with you.… Why is that, do you think?” She thought—but didn’t speak—of Hannah the mortician. What had he decided? Was he going to get back with her?
Wolfe took a thoughtful sip of cocoa before setting the snowman-themed mug back down. “My past relationships, I guess. My friends’ constant breakups. And my parents’ marriage. None of it exactly inspires confidence, does it?” He gave her a piercing look. “By the way, your tarot card was totally wrong. I wouldn’t say my ex wanting to get back together with me is exactly an ‘exciting new relationship.’”
“Maybe the tarot card is talking about a different new relationship that’ll happen once you’ve cleared the way for it.” Sophie paused and nibbled on her cookie some more. “Unless … unless you decided you want to take Hannah up on her offer?” She felt like she’d swallowed a peach pit that had lodged somewhere in her diaphragm, growing wings and beating against her rib cage.
Wolfe held still for a long moment, long enough to make her squirm. Then he shook his head. His eyes didn’t leave hers for a second. “No. I’m not taking her up on it; that’s a path I don’t want to ever go down again. I had a lot of time to think while I was snowshoeing and moving the boxes, and … Hannah isn’t right for me. She never has been. To be honest—”
Sophie frowned a little, her cookie forgotten on her plate as he abruptly stopped talking. “‘To be honest’ what?”
Wolfe cupped his hands around his mug and looked into the cocoa before looking back up again. “Once we broke up last year, I realized I felt … happier. Like a giant boulder had been lifted off my chest.”
Sophie sighed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She wrapped her arms around herself, looking past Wolfe to the window and the night-blackened snow. Suddenly, she felt very lonely.
As if he could read her thoughts, Wolfe said, “Well, you might get your wish. Sounds like you might have something pretty exciting coming your way.”
Sophie looked at him blankly. “Huh?”
“You pulled The Lovers from the tarot deck last night, right?”
Sophie smiled a little at that. “Yeah, it’s a pretty good card for someone looking for a meaningful relationship.”
“Like you are.” Wolfe said it as a statement, not a question.
Sophie nodded and held his gaze. “Like I am.”
The moment bent and split and flowed around the two of them. Sophie felt like she was suspended in a long tunnel, at the end of which sat Wolfe. She felt pulled toward him, almost against her will. Before she could fully think about it, she stood and walked gingerly across the floor, around the table and toward him, her heart pounding furiously the whole time. He watched her come, his eyes dark and hooded. And then, when she was a step away, Sophie thought, What the hell am I doing? I just told Jonah I wasn’t ready for anything.
She coughed and broke eye contact. “I can get your cup if you’re done with it.” She looked back in time to witness the brief flash of disappointment on his face. But it was gone so quickly, she thought she must’ve imagined it.
“Sure. Thank you.” His voice was just as formal as hers.
Sophie reached to take his cup and he reached to pick it up. The result was that their hands met in the middle, his big, warm palm cupping the back of her much smaller hand. Sophie gasped and leaped back as if he’d had one of those joke electric shock buttons hidden in his palm. Her hand jerked out in front of her, sending the not-actually-empty cup of hot cocoa flying. It sprayed an arc of cocoa all over Wolfe’s pale blue sweater, soaking him.
“Oh, shit!” Sophie squeaked, staring in horror at what she’d done. Clumsiness level: Expert. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s fine. It’ll wash out.” Wolfe looked down at his sweater with less horror than Sophie would’ve expected, but then she was very protective about her clothes.
“It might not, though.” She limped over to the kitchen sink, wet the dish towel hanging off the oven handle, and hobbled back to him as quickly as her puffy ankle would let her.
“You’re going to re-injure that ankle,” Wolfe said, disapprovingly. “If this is a ploy to get me to carry you around, it’s not going to work.”
“Ha-ha.” Sophie turned a chair around to sit in front of him and began to dab at the hot cocoa on his sweater with the wet dish towel. “I’m hoping getting the worst of it out will help limit staining.”
It was only when Wolfe stiffened under her hand that she realized she’d been dabbing him in slow, circular, rhythmic motions all over his torso through his wet sweater. Awareness lit her mind like a Christmas tree lighting up the dark. She wasn’t