Booked for the Holidays (Park Cove Series Book 1)

by Chelsea Curto

Tell me to run, Bridget. Tell me to get out of your space. Tell me where to kiss you first. The column of your throat? The shell of your ear? The spot above your chest that’s a constellation of freckles? Tell me this makes you happy.

Bridget smiles and nods along to the story my mom is sharing with her as she uses a peeler. Instantly, the room feels brighter, in a way it hasn’t in years. Everything is warmer. A bit more serene. The air is lighter. My shoulders are less heavy, a sense of peace circling through the space.

“Maybe you do listen,” he whispers. His thumb drags out of my mouth. I’m weak, truly pathetic, when I lean forward, not ready to give him up yet. “Look at you. That wasn’t enough, was it? You want more.”

“I guess we are friends. I’m not seeing her again.” “Why not?” “Because she isn’t you, Bridget.”

“This pussy would turn sinners into saints, finally having something to worship.”

“I’m a ruined man and I don’t ever want to be put back together. I’m going to be distracted for the rest of my goddamn life.”

And fuck, I love her smiles.

I want to live life with this man by my side.

A smile on his handsome face, looking at me like he’s decided, too.

Every time I look at him, I want to smile. I do smile. Even when he’s irritated. Even when he’s tired. Even when he’s asleep and I wake up before him, studying him in the early morning light. I’ve been smiling for weeks. Every time I look at him, I want to find an excuse to keep talking. I want to ask him a question or two, or three, and wait for his answer. Every time he touches me, it’s like the first time all over again. Fireworks in the night sky. An earthquake, the ground shaking beneath me. Pleasure and bliss, delight and awe. Every spot he touches is magic.

Nothing else matters except thick-framed glasses, paint drip boots, flannel shirts and Bowie tattoos. Midnight kisses and rides in trucks with an army of Christmas trees.

Because I’m falling in love with someone who brings me the kind of hot chocolate I like. A man who tells me he’s proud of me and acknowledges my efforts. A man who pulls out his cell phone, shyly asks if he can take a photo with me, and blushes when I say yes. We grin from ear to ear, a chocolate mustache coating Theo’s top lip. A man who sees me, all of me, and still leans close, squeezes my knee twice and whispers, “Stay the night with me?” Yeah. I’m head over heels for this man.

“You don’t deserve one holiday, Bridget. You deserve them all.

“I’m going to do my best to get you to smile like that every day damn, because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I finally figured it out. It’s ours. Our story is my favorite. In every realm, on every page, I’m yours. The chapters with you are my favorite, and it’s a tale I could read over and over again, never growing tired of it. You are the love of my life, Bridget Boylston. The reason I went through years of suffering, because whatever higher power out there knew I needed you, specifically, to be complete. And, fuck, are you not my perfect other half.”

“You’re booked for the holidays for the foreseeable future, Boylston. Every last one of them. Because I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, either.”