Hate Me

I’m wondering where Aiden is when my nose perks up at a wonderful aroma. I wrap the throw around me, wander out to the kitchen, and find him surrounded by a mess of pots and pans.

He looks adorable.

All I want to do is curl up in this moment and never come out. It's moments like this one that give me the strength to keep doing what I'm doing.

I know that Vincent's going to find me eventually.

We can keep the initial filming under wraps, but once they start the big action scenes in March, I’ll be easy to find. And once I a

But not until I’ve taken away everything he loves—then and only then—will we be on a level playing field.

Me against him.

“Whatever you're doing out here smells amazing,” I say to Aiden.

“I thought I'd cook di

“Sorry,” I say, even though I'm totally not.

He wipes his hands on a towel, pulls my cashmere throw open, and smiles. “Naked and wearing cowboy boots. That is straight out of my dreams.” He pulls me into a hot kiss that tastes of red sauce.

“What did you make?”

“Chicken Parmesan. Salad. Cheese bread. Want some wine?”

“I’d love some.” I love you, I want to say, but a softly playing song catches my attention and stirs up a childhood memory. “Hey, that song. Can you play it again?” 

“Sure,” he says, hitting repeat on his phone.

I listen to the lyrics. A man is saying that he should have been a cowboy.

I can see it in my head.

Daddy and me in the barn at Grandpa’s ranch. We’re brushing his horse after a long ride when this song comes on the radio. Dad is singing it to me and Grandpa is laughing. Daddy picks me up and twirls me around, still singing.

“Earth to Keatyn,” Aiden says, startling me and making me realize he’s now standing directly in front of me.

“Oh, sorry. I was kind of stuck in a memory. My dad used to like that song,” I say, smiling as the singer continues to croon.

I close my eyes again and savor it.

Aiden pushes my chin up, so I open my eyes. “Tell me.”

“Every summer, I go to my grandparents’ ranch in Texas. When I was little, my dad went with me. This song, I remember him singing it in the barn. Us dancing. Him telling me he loved me and would miss me on his trip. It was . . . um . . .” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “It was the trip. The one where his plane went down . . .”

Aiden caresses my face. “What did your dad do?”

“He was a mod—,” I say without thinking. “A, um, moderator. He worked for my grandpa.”

“Oil and gas? Like your mom?”

Shit. I can’t remember what I told him my mom does. What if that’s not what I said? Shit. Shit. Shit.

But why would he say that unless it’s what I told him?

Then I remember telling him about possible oil in the Ukraine.

I take in a deep breath and change the subject. “Wow. That smell is killing me. Can we eat soon?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay to just tell me.” He smiles sweetly and kisses me. “And, yes, we can eat now.”

During di

“And to a fun weekend,” I add, winking.

“I’ll toast to that.” We clink glasses and sip our wine.

After a cozy di

There’s a little smile playing on his lips and his eyes look sneaky. Kinda like they did the day of my speech when he gave me the glass clover for luck.

He holds my hand as we walk through the living room and then gestures for me to walk up the stairs first.

He’s totally got something up his sleeve.

But when I get to the top of the stairs, I can barely believe my eyes. 

In the corner, all lit up, is a gorgeous Christmas tree strung with the prettiest pastel garland and topped with a silver star.

Tears immediately spring to my eyes as I stare at it. The Christmas decorations have been up in our dorm for a few weeks, and Katie and I strung some lights around our window, but it’s just not the same.

This makes my loft look and feel even more like home.

“It’s beautiful.” I turn around and throw myself into his arms.

He hugs me, kisses the top of my head, and says, “I thought we could decorate it together.”

“Did you get ornaments too?”

He untangles himself from my arms, goes behind the tree, and sets shopping bags down next to the coffee table. “You have to open each one. They all kind of have meaning.”

“Really? What kind of meaning?”

“You’ll see. Open them.”

I sit on the couch next to him and open the first box. It’s a beautiful, brightly-colored blown-glass fish. “It’s so pretty!”

“What do you think it means? For us?”

I think about it. “Um, we ate fish in St. Croix.”

“True. Think some more. When did we see pretty fish?”

“When we went snorkeling!”

“And what happened when we went snorkeling?”

“Your back got sunburned?”

“And how did you try to help me with that?”

I laugh and grin. “So, you’re telling me that this fish reminds you of the shower?”

“Yep,” he says with a naughty little smirk. “That was fun.”

“I’m still kicking myself for giving you that washcloth to cover up with.” I lean over and give him a kiss. “I think you should put this one on the tree.”

I open another box and find a glass Ferris wheel. “Aiden, are all of these going to make me cry?”

He puts his ornament on the tree, then kisses me. “They’re supposed to make you happy.”

“I’m crying because I am happy. And because, seriously, this might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He gives me another kiss. Like our first kiss on the Ferris wheel. Perfectly amazing.

I walk over and put the Ferris wheel high up on the tree, just like we were when he kissed me at the top of it. Then I excitedly open another one. This one is an adorable piece of chocolate cake. “The peace offering?”

He nods.

“That cake was really good. And I like peace with you better than fighting.”

He gives me a steamier kiss this time, but I push him away after a few minutes. “I have a lot more ornaments to see! You need to stop kissing me.”

Of course, what does he do?

Gives me about ten more kisses.

I open a Santa, a nutcracker, and a nativity scene, which he tells me are just because it’s Christmas and every tree needs them. Then I open a Santa taking a bubble bath, the bubbles a pearly pink glass.

“Hmm. Let me guess. Our bubble bath. The one where you wore your swimsuit?”

He laughs. “Maybe after this, we’ll take a bubble bath without swimsuits.”

“I’m done opening ornaments for tonight,” I tease, putting this one on the tree.

“You’re bad,” he says, swatting me on the butt.

Which was probably the wrong thing for him to do, because it inspires me to jump on him, knocking him flat on the couch, and attack his face with sloppy kisses.

“Oh, ick,” he laughs. “This is going to take all night at the rate you’re going. No bubbles until the tree is decorated.”

“Fine,” I pout.

“How does that song go? You better not cry, better not pout?”

“Speaking of that, we need Christmas music playing.”

He takes a sip of his wine and then says, “You’re right. And we should turn on the fireplace.”

I jump up and down a little. “Yes. You do the fire. I’ll turn on the music.”

“Much better,” he says, pulling me onto his lap when we’ve both made it a little more Christmas-y in here. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“You,” I reply.

He gets a little twinkle in his eye. “Are you offering sex to Santa?”