Page 17 of A Newport Christmess

Landon slowly dropped it into place, and I shimmied further under the tree. My fingers felt oddly uncooperative, likely from all the work I’d been doing on the gingerbread, but I managed to tighten the bolts. “That should be good,” I called when the clamps were secured around the trunk. With another quick scratch of my neck and cheek, I scooted backward, standing to face him with a self-satisfied smile.

“Thanks for …” His brow wrinkled, and his focus went to my cheek. “What happened to your face?”

I placed my hand on the spot where he’d fixed his gaze—the spot that still itched despite having been scratched twice now—and the heat of it radiated into my hand. “What do you mean?”

His gaze dropped to my neck. “Are you allergic to pine trees?”

“Not that I know of. But my family always had a fake tree, so I guess I’m not sure. Why?”

He stepped closer, and I felt self-conscious under his careful consideration. “You’re developing hives. Look at your hands.”

My gaze dropped, and my stomach churned. Raised welts dotted the skin from where the wrist of my sweatshirt ended to the tips of my fingers, a pinkish-red color filling in the surface between them. Did my face look this bad? Instinctively, I covered my cheek and searched for a mirror.

“The closest mirror is in the bathroom,” Landon said, apparently aware of what I was looking for.

I hurried to the half-bath and flipped on the light, mortified to find the same red splotches overtaking the entire left side of my face and neck. Leaning in closer, I stared at the hives congregated on the itchiest spots. Not only did it look awful, but my skin was abuzz and angry, begging to be placated. My fingernails made glorious contact.

“Don’t.” To my horror, Landon stood just outside the bathroom, watching me. “Scratching will only make it worse. And don’t rub your eyes.”

With one innocent warning, he somehow summoned the itch to reach my eyes. It took every effort to stop from shrieking in utter desperation at the sensation that was slowly consuming me. “And what do you suggest I do?”

“Are you having any difficulty breathing or feel you might vomit?”

I drew in a deep breath to test my lungs and shook my head.

“Good. Do you have Benadryl?”

I tapped my foot in a quick rhythm as some sort of release from the irritation. “Fresh out,” I said with more of a bite than was necessary. Stupid itching.

“Go shower and change your clothes. I’ll run and grab some medicine.”

That was all I needed—to be further indebted to Landon. I glanced back in the mirror, allowing my eyes to rove over my unsettling reflection that now resembled an exaggerated version of my teenage self mid-breakout. My shoulders fell. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be back in fifteen. If you have a difficult time breathing or if you vomit, call an ambulance.”

A wave of panic shot through me. “An ambulance?”

“They have epinephrine in case you go into anaphylactic shock. But I don’t think you will if hives are your only reaction so far.” He stepped back, leaving me plenty of room to exit. “Now, go shower.”

I stepped out of the bathroom, stopping in front of him. “You’re not going to go all Psycho and murder me while I’m showering, are you?”

He quirked his head and lifted his chin like he was thinking about it. “Nikki and Kade will be here tonight, so it would probably be best to keep my murderous rage bottled until then.”

My grimaced smile made my cheek skin stretch, intensifying the itch, and I turned from him to make my way upstairs. Hopefully, a shower would ease this unbearable discomfort. When I reached the top, I glanced back to find Landon standing in the same place, watching me.

His gaze dropped, and he ran a hand over his jaw.

“Could you lock the door on your way out?” I asked.

“You bet.” He stepped backward, out of sight.

“Thanks,” I called, relieved to be free of Landon’s perceptive gaze. My fingers settled on my cheek, eager to finally ease the unrelenting itch.

“Make sure you don’t scratch,” he called back, like I was the most predictable person he’d ever met.

I dropped my hive-speckled hand and groaned loud enough for him to hear my immature reaction.

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