Page 4 of A Crawford Family Christmas

“Flatterer.”

“True.”

For a minute, we just stand there, breathing in the quiet. Somewhere back near the barns, Johnny’s intentionally singing something wildly off-key, but out here, it’s just us.

“You did it,” I whisper. “You made a home for everyone here.”

He kisses the spot just below my ear. “Only because you made a home for me first.”

My pulse stumbles when his hand drifts down, resting at my waist. “Roe,” I murmur, half a warning, half in want.

He turns me, eyes dark with heat even in the soft glow. “Just a kiss, Buttons.”

It’s not just a kiss. It never is with him—slow and hungry, tasting like cinnamon and winter air, the kind that melts your bones and steals your breath. My hands find his shoulders, his flannel warm and rough under my fingers, and he groans against my mouth.

When we finally break apart, we’re both smiling.

“Ten minutes are up,” I say.

He traces my lower lip with his thumb. “Worth every second.”