Mama taught me to be kind, but not stupid. She used to serve the homeless with a small knife strapped to her thigh under her demure dress. She’s the one who gave me my box cutter. I go to step around the human roadblock looming over me, but he catches my wrist.

“Let me by, buddy, or this could get ugly.” I lay a beam of steel in the warning words.

“Pep, it’s me.”

I stop tugging at my wrist and squat a little so I can see under the hood.

“Rhyson?”

He gives a little nod, but doesn’t answer. His expressive mouth, the dramatic slope of his cheekbones, the sharp jaw line covered in the lightest layer of scruff, come into view under the hood.

I pull him out into the hall and around the corner to a deserted classroom. It may be Glory Falls, Georgia, population next to nothing, but they have cable now. And Internet. They are as connected to the world as anywhere else, which means many of them will know Rhyson. I feel protective of him. I don’t want him poked and prodded, bugged and bothered for autographs and pictures. For him to be here, something must have gone horribly wrong at his parents’ house. The last thing I want is for him to leap from that frying pan into this fire.

As soon as we’re in the classroom, I close the door behind me and lean against it. He shoves back the hood, and his dark hair predictably flops forward. He slides his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Surprise,” he says softly, his mouth slightly creasing to the right.

“What are you doing here, Rhyson?”

I don’t want him to think I’m upset that he’s come, so I soften the question, reaching up to push his hair back. At least that’s what I tell myself. It has nothing to do with the fact that he smells so freaking good and looks even better, tall and broad and strong, and did I mention tall?

“Is it okay?” An uncertain frown takes over his face.

“Of course.” I step closer. “I just . . . what happened at home?”

“That place is not home.” Bitterness flavors his words, calcifies his expression. “Those people . . . it was all a setup, Pep. Just like I thought. They didn’t care about meeting Emmy, or the fact that Grady wants to make things right with them, or even about Bristol. I’m not being conceited when I say it was ultimately about me and weaseling their way back into my career.”

“What happened?” Hurt on his behalf cracks through my words.

“Can we talk about it later?” A smirk lightens the heavy line of his full lips. “I’m loving the hair net, by the way.”

Horror. That is the only word to describe how I feel when my hands encounter the meshed netting confining my hair. This man has seen me with guacamole on my face. With sweaty armpits and smelling like day-old hamburger grease. Without a scrap of makeup. And now, we can add the most unflattering hair accessory known to womankind to the reasons he should not want me. Should not still be looking at me like he would sop me up with a biscuit if he had gravy.

I rip the net off my hair, shoving it into the front pocket of the apron that covers me almost neck to ankle. This may be the single most unflattering moment of my life, and it’s witnessed by the man I’m more attracted to than any other living creature on earth.

Typical.

“How did you get here?” Let’s just move beyond the hair net and maybe he’ll forget. That wicked glint in his eye tells me that’s wishful thinking, but I have to try to regain some dignity.

“Mostly by plane.”

“Funny. No, I mean how did you find me?”

“A man of my means, my wealth, my resources? You don’t think I could find one small woman if I applied all that to the search?”

“You called San and asked for the address, huh?”

“That’s exactly what I did, yes.”

My head flops forward onto his chest. His wide, sensitive hands span my waist and draw me in, inch by inch, until I’m pressed against him. We shake with laughter together. His amusement vibrates into my chest, and I know mine echoes back to him. Is it even that funny? Or are we just happy to be together on Christmas Eve, regardless of what familial explosion united us?

I think that’s it.

CHRISTMAS COULD COME AND GO, AND I’d be fine standing here all night with my girl’s arms wrapped around me and mine wrapped around her. Yeah, that’s how I think of her. As my girl, even though she won’t admit it yet. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and I’ve got her now. She’s in my possession, so she’s mine. Her head is tucked under my chin. My fingers rest on the sweet curve of her hips. If I shifted my hands down just a few inches, I’d be cupping that round, tight ass. But I’ll keep being good for a little while longer.

Not much longer though.

She moves in closer and stiffens. Does she feel how hard I am? How her scent, her softness, and her breath at my neck, all affect me? And I’m in a church, for God’s sake. Is that blasphemous? I have no idea how this church thing works, but I can’t check an erection at the door. Sorry.

The door behind us opens so quickly I jump back like a guilty choir boy. The woman standing there is tall and imposing. No one thing about her is attractive, but something about the way her ordinary features cooperate on her face is pleasant and compelling. Her hands seem stuck to her hips and her light blue eyes are glued to Kai.

“Kai Anne, I’ve been looking for you well nigh ten minutes, young lady.” One broad, work-roughened hand gestures back out toward the hall. “All them folks gotta eat before service, and you’re in here—”

Her eyes snap to me, and back to Kai, and then back to me. She blinks three times, her eyes stretching owlishly.

“Rhyson Gray!” Her hands fly to her cheeks, and she starts gushing like a teenager. “Oh my gosh! Rhyson Gray is in our church basement. I can’t . . . well, as I live and breathe. You know Rhyson Gray, Kai Anne?”

Kai’s mouth hangs open and she closes her eyes briefly before looking back to the woman at the door.

“Aunt Ruthie, I—”

“You didn’t tell Aunt Ruthie about me?” I cut her off.

I know it’s ridiculous, but it irritates me that she hasn’t told the most important person left in her life about us. Whatever “us” is, the people who matter most to me know that Kai matters a lot.

“Rhyson, I—”

“You’re dating Rhyson Gray?” Aunt Ruthie’s face goes from fangirl to fuming in a millisecond. “How could you not tell me that?”

“Of course we’re not dating.” Kai catches me looking at her like she just stuck a pin in my eye. “I mean . . .”

“Of course we’re not dating?” This is the wrong time to press the issue, but hearing her make it sound so farfetched infuriates me.

“You know what I mean, Rhys.” Kai swallows, her discomfort evident, and shifts from one foot to the other. “Could we not do this now?”

I’ve already ruined one Christmas dinner, no need to piss on another.

“Right. Sorry.” I step forward and extend my hand to Aunt Ruthie. “I’m Rhyson, which I guess you know. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I love your music,” Aunt Ruthie says unnecessarily since I gathered that. “Not just the new stuff. I heard you play once in Boston when you were only thirteen.”

That’s unexpected. Aunt Ruthie’s shaking up my stereotypes about the cultural inclinations of Glory Fall’s citizens.

“Aunt Ruthie, we can talk about music later,” Kai interrupts. “Is it almost time for the service? I haven’t seen any sign of Ms. Hargrove, and she and I need to rehearse at least a little.”

“Rehearse?” I ask. “Are you singing tonight?”

Kai’s eyes widen and her jaw goes slack.

“Ugh. I am. Maybe you could stay in the basement?”

Kai never sings around me. She’s kept her voice under lock and key since the day I corrected her breathing and encouraged compression exercises. It’d be great to hear if she’s taken my advice.