A December Bride Quotes

“Unable to bear the silence, she looked over her shoulder. Seth was leaning against the door, arms crossed, watching her, an enigmatic smile on his face. The golden glow of the lamplight washed over his face, highlighting his five o’clock shadow. She was suddenly aware that her hair had come loose from her ponytail. That her worn jeans and T-shirt were probably smudged with who-knew-what. This wasn’t how she’d imagined looking when Seth kissed her. Why hadn’t she done something with herself while he was gone? But judging by the look on his face, he didn’t care about any of that. No longer needing the fire’s warmth, she moved away, lifting her chin and tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “What?” “I won,” he said quietly. “Won what?” Did he hear the tremor in her voice? His lips twitched. “Our deal . . . sleigh by midnight . . . the kiss . . . Ring any bells?”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“That was something, wasn’t it? Trust was a good place to start. Especially after the kind of betrayal she’d been through. It made him want to prove he was the kind of man she deserved. The kind of man who’d love her for better or worse. The kind who was faithful and true.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“Your identity doesn't come from your address.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“I can’t believe you did this.” He leaned close, his warm breath stirring the hair at her temple. “It’s going to cost you.” She stifled a smile, remembering their bet and the subsequent payout. “And I’m not settling for a kiss this time,” he said. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah.” He leaned in and feathered her lips with a kiss. “But we’ll start there and see where it goes.” Her smile quickly faded as he kissed her again, and soon all she heard was the beating of her own heart.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“He rang the bell beside the double doors and took her cold hand, bringing it to his lips. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?” She looked into his eyes, released a breath she didn’t know she’d held. She smiled. “Twice.” He had a way of calming her. Just by being there. Thank God he was with her tonight. Between this dinner and Stanley’s upcoming decision, she was a wreck. “You look pretty handsome yourself.” “I know. Some foxy lady told me my shirt matches my eyes.” Her lips twitched. “Who says foxy?”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“You know I’m crazy about you,” he said. She bit her lip, half afraid her own confession would come tumbling out. Half afraid it wouldn’t. She was crazy about him. She was falling so hard and fast, she was dizzy with it. “You don’t have to say a word,” he said. “It’s all right there in your eyes.” “Think so?” “Know so.” A teasing light entered his eyes. “And I’m always right, you know.” She gave a wry smile. “One of those, are you?” “Know what else I’m right about?” “I can hardly wait to find out.” He brushed his lips across hers, drawing back with a tender smile. “Jack’s going to eat his heart out tonight when he has to sit across the table and know what he missed out on.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“You underestimate me, Layla. I’ll make it happen.” She gave him a wary look. “How?” “I’m not giving away my secrets.” His eyes lit mischievously. “But I’m willing to bet on it: suitable sleigh, right here, by midnight tonight.” Now she was suspicious. “You know someone who has one.” “No, I don’t. Scout’s honor. Now are you taking the bet or not?” She turned her face from him, her eyes narrowing on him. “What kind of bet?” “Name your price.” She stared at the house, thinking. “If you don’t find one, you have to . . .” Her gaze climbed to the roof. “Do the roofline.” She smiled big. He looked up, squinting against the light, then back to her. “Fine. I’m not losing anyway.” He pulled his keys from his coat pocket. “Time’s a wasting.” With one last smile over his shoulder he headed for his truck. “Wait, what about you?” He turned in the snow, giving her a strange look. Then he slowly started toward her. It took all her willpower to keep her boots planted as he came within inches of her. “If I win . . . ,” he said, those blue eyes warming her clear down to her toes, “I get to kiss you.” His lips twitched as his eyes slid down to her mouth and back up where they held her hostage. Layla swallowed hard. With a final look, he traced his steps to his truck, only turning once he reached the door. “And, Layla . . . ,” he said with a smug grin, “I will win.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“Gingerbread men. Her eyes skated over the misshapen forms. White eyes of varying sizes stared back. Fat buttons lined the fronts. The icing that outlined the cookies was sparse in places and globby in others. A laugh bubbled up at the pathetic sight of them. But it got stuck in her throat, held by the growing knot. The gesture caught her in the gut, like a sucker punch, leaving her breathless and teary-eyed. What Murphy lacked in artistic ability he made up for in heart. She pulled in a breath, the scent of ginger filling her nose, and thought it might just be the best thing she’d ever smelled.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“Why didn’t you ask me out?” Layla blurted, suddenly needing to know. She bit the inside of her lip, cursing her impulsive tongue. Her heart beat erratically, thumping hard against her ribs. “Two summers ago when we volunteered at the theater? I kept thinking you might.” His hands paused on a spool of twine as he looked at her, his eyes somber. “I wanted to. But I was coming off a difficult relationship—I needed some time.” Regret laced his voice. “Chloe Peterson.” He nodded. She’d seen them around town for about a year. The grapevine claimed she’d cheated on him with Chris Geiger, but who knew? “I was about to ask you out,” he said. “But before I could . . .” “Jack.” His eyes skimmed over her face. “You have no idea how many times I’ve regretted waiting.” Her face warmed under his perusal. Her pulse skittered. “Wonder what would’ve happened.” One corner of his lips tipped up as a look of serenity passed over his face, displacing the regret. “Who knows. Maybe we’d be engaged for real.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“As much as he might lie to himself, tell himself it was real, it wasn’t. All the public displays in the world didn’t give him the right to kiss her or hold her or even touch her. Her response made that clear enough. And yet, he’d thought he’d seen something in her eyes. Something promising. Something hopeful. Maybe Layla’s feelings were starting to change. Maybe she’d be willing to give him another chance. Or maybe it was only wishful thinking.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“She started to step down, but he hadn’t moved. His hands still rested on her waist. They felt nice. Strong and sure. The step evened their heights, bringing them eye to eye. Calling attention to the silver flecks flashing in a sea of blue. To the perfectly sculpted nose trailing down to a nice set of lips. Bowed on top, generous on bottom. His thumbs moved at her waist, sending a shiver up her spine. Her eyes swung back to his and locked there. His words from earlier came back to her. A guy can dream. Did he really have feelings for her? The look in his eyes said he did. They said that and so much more. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Layla’s lips tingled with want. Her hands tightened on the metal rung. No, she couldn’t want Murphy after what he’d done to her and Jack. He leaned in. The movement sent panic flooding through her. She stepped down, slipping past him. “I think I’m about done for the night.” She couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“Have you decided where we’re going on our honeymoon?” “What?” “I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii for Christmas.” She nudged his arm. “You seem to be forgetting there isn’t going to be a wedding.” “I could get into a warm, sandy Christmas. Although now that I think about it, Maui would be better. Less touristy, more private.” “You’re delusional.” His gaze bounced off hers, wearing a disarming half smile. He stared off into the distance. “A guy can dream,” he muttered into the wind, and Layla wondered if she’d heard right.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“You shouldn’t be flirting with other guys.” “What? I wasn’t, I was just—” “Talking and laughing and tossing your hair—otherwise known as flirting.” Of all the nerve. “I was not— Who do you think you are?” He leaned in, driving his point home. “Your fiancé.” She lowered her voice. “In case it got past your radar, we’re not actually engaged.” His mouth tightened. A shadow flickered across his jaw. “But everyone thinks we are, and if they see you flirting with every Y chromosome that struts by, nobody’s going to—” “He’s a friend, Murphy. I have lots of male friends, and I do not flirt with them. And even if I did—none of your business, pal, fake engagement or no. Now, if you want a pizza, I suggest you find your table. We close in thirty minutes.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“Can I help?” “Hold this.” She handed him the wreath as she climbed the ladder. It wobbled on the hardwood floor. “I guess the floor’s not level.” “Part of the old house charm.” At the top she stretched high, reaching for the bottom of the picture hanging on the wall, then handed it down to him. The ladder wobbled as they swapped pieces. She grabbed onto the sides, but it wobbled again. When she looked down at Murphy, he wore a roguish smile, and his eyes held a mischievous sparkle. “Stop that,” she said. “What?” “It was you.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She spared him a look and climbed to the highest safe rung, hoping he had the good sense not to fool with the ladder anymore. The wreath wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward. She tried to hook it on the nail that had held the picture. Missed. She rose on her toes. Just out of reach. She breathed a laugh. “Sheesh.” After another try, she lowered her arms for a rest. The ladder moved. “Stop it.” She steadied herself, then realized the ladder wasn’t wobbling. It was vibrating as Murphy climbed up behind her. “What are you doing?” “Helping.” She tightened her grip. “Get down. It isn’t safe.” “This is the heaviest-duty ladder I sell. Since neither of us weighs three hundred pounds, it’ll be fine.” He stopped behind her, the ladder stilling. The warmth of his chest pressed against her back. The clean, musky scent of his soap teased her nose. Her throat went dry. Her heart flittered around her chest like flurries in a snowstorm. He took the wreath, leaning closer, reaching higher. His thighs pressed against hers. His breath stirred the hairs at her temple. A shiver skated down her spine. Her legs trembled, and she braced a hand against the wall. This is Murphy, Layla. Remember? The guy who practically threw Jessica at Jack? The guy who didn’t bother mentioning that your fiancé was hooking up with your cousin? Even as the thought surfaced, Beckett’s words came back to her. Had she blown Murphy’s role out of proportion? Her thoughts tangled into a snarly knot. Murphy settled the wreath against the wall and leaned back infinitesimally. “That where you want it?” His lips were inches from her ear. If she turned her head just a bit— What the heck, Layla? She gave the wreath a cursory glance. “Yeah.” She didn’t care if it was upside down, backward, and flourishing with a moldy infestation. “Can you get down already?” “You seem a little tense.” His tone teased. Did he know the effect he was having on her? “You’re shaking the ladder, and your weight is straining the capacity.” Her fingers pressed against the wall, going white against the oak paneling. “Have it your way.” He leaned in, his lips close enough to brush her hair. “Let me know if you need any more help.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“She’d stared at the darkened ceiling half the night wondering about what Murphy had said. Turning the comment every which way. And every way she turned it, she ended up with the same view: Murphy had feelings for her. She couldn’t believe he might love her—though his answer to Dad’s question suggested otherwise. And she definitely wasn’t about to address the subject with him. Last night had been awkward enough.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“How can you stand this? How can you field questions and look all . . . swoony, and do it with a straight face?” He stilled. And didn’t speak for so long she was ready to shake the answer out of him. She regretted the shadows now because she couldn’t see his eyes and didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. But she could feel his tension in the rigid way he held himself. Could hear the stress of his shallow breaths. “It’s easy,” he said so softly she strained to hear. The last notes of the song rang out, fading into the night. Only her heartbeat, thumping hard and heavy, punctuated the silence. “I just tell the truth,” he whispered.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“You okay?” She jumped at the sound of his voice, so close. “No, I’m not okay.” He stood in front of her, his face too shadowed to read. “I can’t stand this anymore. I’m lying to my father, and our friends think we’re planning a wedding but we aren’t, and someone’s going to figure that out, and even if they don’t, how are we going to get out of this when it’s over?” Her voice rose as she went. He set his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, baby, you’ve got to pull it together.” She shrugged his hands off. “What’s with the baby stuff?” She didn’t like it. And she didn’t want to think too hard about why.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“Fog plumed in front of his face with each breath, and his blue eyes sparkled under the lighting. A fat flake landed on his eyelashes. Layla unconsciously reached out and wiped it away with her gloved thumb. The look in his eyes shifted. She couldn’t break away from his gaze. His hand tightened around hers. Suddenly she felt warm. Too many layers. She needed to ditch the scarf. Maybe the coat. What was wrong with her?”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“You can call me Seth, you know.” She shrugged. “You used to.” She used to do other things with him too. Like laugh and touch and make small talk. “Jack always called you Murphy. I got used to it.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“Would you like to dance?” She arched a delicate brow. “With you?” He reached for his drink. “I’ll take that as a no.” “Feel free to ask someone else, Murphy.” He wasn’t leaving her now, even if he wanted to dance with someone else—and he didn’t.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“A curly wisp of hair had come loose from her updo, kissing the side of her face. Seth longed to brush it behind her ear, to feel the silky smoothness of her skin under the pad of his thumb. He clenched his fist before he followed through and got his hand smacked away.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“He watched her now, peeling away from her great-aunts. Even with the fake smile, she was the most beautiful woman in the room, with her long dark hair, flawless skin, and wide green eyes. She was long-legged, with curves in all the right places. But that wasn’t why she’d dug so deeply under his skin. No, it was her feisty spirit that drew him most. The way her eyes sparked with emotion. The way she stood up for herself and those she cared about. Layla was flat-out amazing.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“Layla had hardly looked at him since they’d left Chapel Springs except to shoot him disdainful looks. He couldn’t seem to say anything right. Even when he’d complimented her appearance—and he’d meant every word—she’d twisted his words.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“She stared into his eyes. He had a way of catching her completely off guard. Always had. Even back when they’d been friends, back before she and Jack had gotten together.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride

“His eyes drifted to hers again. It was all she could do to hold his gaze. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel like he was seeing all the way inside. She hadn’t seen that gaze since the summer they painted sets at the community theater. She’d liked it then. Now, not so much.”
― Denise Hunter, A December Bride