“Where you off to?” Cam came up to him just as Nash was pulling on his winter boots.

“Got to step out for a bit. I’ll be back.” Behind him, Tink pounded down the hallway and didn’t stop until he slammed into Nash’s legs.

“Uncle Nash can I come?” The kid looked up at him, those eyes of his amplified by his glasses, and the yearning he saw there made his heart constrict. Tink hadn’t left Nash’s side since the day before, when his sister had arrived for Christmas. Without her husband. Again. It didn’t take long to find out the break was now permanent; the bastard was living with some other woman and hadn’t seen his kids in two weeks. Tink was a smart boy. He knew something was up, but because of his age, he had no tools to handle it. He’d been whiny, wasn’t listening to his mother, and was generally being a little shit.

Nash felt for the kid. He bent down. “Not this time, bud.”

Tink made a face and stomped his feet. “I don’t want to stay here. It’s boring.” He emphasized the boring part and pushed his glasses up his nose. He was dressed in the ugliest Christmas sweater imaginable, with matching pants. The kid was adorable, and normally, that quivering bottom lip would be enough, but this wasn’t a trip Nash could take him on.

“It’s nasty out there, Tink. I wouldn’t go unless I had to.”

“Then why are you going?”

“A friend needs help, and I said I’d come. You wouldn’t want me to disappoint her, would you?”

Slowly, Tink shook his head. “No.”

“Friend?” Cam grinned and reached for Tink. “Come on, little man. How about we play another round of Crazy Eights?” The card game was enough. Tink’s face transformed, and he yanked on Cam’s arm.

“Okay. But I want to dealt the hand.”

“You mean deal.” Cam pointed toward the kitchen.

“That’s what I said, silly.” Tink scampered back the way he’d come, and Nash reached for the door.

“Tell Mom I had to step out.”

“And where do I say you’re going when she asks?” Cam shrugged. “You know she’s going to.”

Nash didn’t bother to answer. He pulled out his gloves, tugged on a knitted black hat, and headed out into the storm. It took at least twenty minutes to get to the Coach House—normally a five-minute drive from his parents’. Luckily, his Jeep was four-by-four, or it might have taken longer. When he arrived, he spied Honey waiting outside, and as she ran for his vehicle, he reached for his cell. He left a terse voice mail for Terry, the guy in charge of his snow removal. He paid premium dollars to have his place done first, and it was obvious they hadn’t been by since early morning.

“Hey,” Honey said breathlessly as she slid into his truck. “Thanks for coming.” Her teeth chattered, and she shivered violently as she reached for her seat belt.

“You want to tell my why you’re outside in this crap wearing a jacket that might be okay for fall weather and boots that are definitely not waterproof?”

Another shiver racked her body. “We need to go to the coffee shop downtown and grab Brooke.” Her cheeks were pink when she turned his way, and something bloomed in his chest when her eyes met his. “Thanks for coming, Nash. I didn’t know how else to call.”

“No worries,” he replied gruffly as he put the vehicle into gear. He wouldn’t admit it, but the fact she’d called him when she was in trouble meant something. He just wasn’t sure what that something was. Or maybe he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know the why of it.

“What’s going on?” He maneuvered down empty streets, glad he didn’t have to deal with traffic as well as the storm. The wipers made a rhythmic sound as they swished back and forth, clearing the fast-falling snow.

Honey rubbed her hands together. Hell, she didn’t even have mittens on. He glared at her now. And no hat. Was she trying to freeze to death?

“This girl I’ve been helping out, Brooke, she called. She’s in trouble, and I told her I’d come get her. But my car—”

“Doesn’t have winter tires because apparently, I know nothing about living in Michigan in winter.” He’d only told her at least five times to get them.

She gave him a look of annoyance. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d need them.”

“It’s Michigan. You need them.” Nash tossed her his own look of annoyance. “You might also want to invest in some mittens and a warm hat.” He glanced down. “Maybe some good boots. Heat escapes from your head and your feet. You want to keep those puppies warm.”

“Can we not? Jesus, Nash, you sound like my father.”

“He must have been a smart man.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Right. Shit. He sighed and turned onto the street that led to the town center. “All I’m saying is that out here, you need to dress for the conditions. Snow is pretty and all, but it’s dangerous. You don’t want to get stranded in a storm unprepared.”

“Noted.” Her answer was clipped.

Nash gripped the steering wheel. Why did they have to fight? Why couldn’t she admit he was right? Why couldn’t she just listen for once?

“There she is,” Honey said, sitting straighter as she peered through the windshield. Nash followed her gaze and spied someone standing in the alcove that led to Coffee Corner. The sidewalk hadn’t been shoveled, and as they pulled up, it was obvious the young girl was cold. Honey jumped out before he had a chance to put the Jeep into Park, and he slid a few inches before the vehicle came to a stop.

He watched in silence as Honey hugged the girl and then led her to his truck. She wore an overly large pea-green coat, hood up, with a dark purple hoodie underneath. It was pulled down low so Nash couldn’t get a good look at her as she slid into the backseat.

He didn’t say a word, and when Honey was back inside, seat belt secured, he made an illegal U-Turn and headed back the way they’d come. Hell, in this weather, the local police were sitting at the stationhouse, warm and toasty, unless they were forced outside, and Nash didn’t blame them one damn bit.

He pulled the Jeep around back of the Coach House, had a hell of a time carving a path through the snow, and cut the engine. He entered the security code and stood aside while Honey ushered the young girl inside. Honey paused, her arms around the girl, and looked over her shoulder. “Thanks, Nash.”

“No worries.” He watched her closely, and something stirred in the air. His heart thumped so loud, he wondered if she heard it. He realized he wasn’t ready to leave yet. Wasn’t ready to let her go. The girl’s face was averted, but he had a feeling she was paying close attention. “Brooke, have you had anything to eat?”

She looked up then. She was a cute little thing. Big blue eyes. Wide forehead. Clear skin. Bruise on her cheek. Anger punched him in the gut, but Nash did what he could to hide it. Anger did nobody any good because it always made things worse. This young girl had already been through something violent, and he sure as hell didn’t want to add to her misery.

She shook her head, and he smiled. “How about a burger and fries?”

Brooke looked up at Honey, who said, “He does make a damn good burger.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Brooke said. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you have bacon?”

“Sure do.” Nash moved past them and headed toward the kitchen. “How about cheese?”

“Yes, please.”

“Gravy for your fries?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, what about me?” Honey asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Nash paused at the doors that led to the kitchen. He smiled at that.

“I already know what you like.” He disappeared from view, and that was too bad. If he’d turned around, he would have seen something on Honey’s face he’d never seen before. Ever. Full-on, unabridged surprise.

Outside, the wind howled, and in the kitchen, Nash heard the fury of it as ice pellets continued to lash at the large building. He turned on the fryer and grill and got busy fixing a gourmet meal of his famous burgers and fries. Honey liked hers well cooked with onions and mushrooms, while he was a full-menu kind of guy and opted for the works. He grabbed some cheese curds from the walk-in and heated up some gravy. By the time he had everything ready, at least thirty minutes had passed, and he headed up to Honey’s apartment.

Hands full, he didn’t knock and looked up in surprise when the door opened just as he was about to kick the bottom of it. Honey stood there, a half smile on her face.

“You’d never make a career as a thief, Booker. I heard you coming a mile away.” She opened the door wide and indicated he should walk through. The young girl, Brooke, was sitting on the sofa, knees tucked under her body, a curious look on her face. The bruise was darker, and he had a feeling by night’s end, it would look worse. Nash set down the large tray on the counter and nodded to the girls.

“Take a seat.”

Honey and Brooke shuffled over to the island and sat down. Nash handed them each their plate, complete with condiments and cutlery.

“Wow. You made poutine?” Brooke dug in hungrily and barely managed to get her words out, considering the steaming-hot fries in there.

“I did. I figured it’s Christmas Eve, so why not dress things up a bit?”

At the mention of the holiday, Brooke’s face shuttered and she glanced down. Nash handed Honey her plate and watched closely as she inspected her burger. “You pay attention, Booker. I’ll give you that.”

It was a backhanded compliment, but it made Nash feel good. He sat down with his own plate, and the three of them ate. He made small talk and learned a few things. He knew Brooke’s mom, for one. She’d been ahead of him in school by a few years but had dropped out when she’d gotten pregnant with Brooke. It had been quite the scandal. He remembered her as a pretty little thing, popular and outgoing and a regular on the honor roll. After her boyfriend got her pregnant, she’d disappeared. He heard they got married way too young, and it made him wonder.

“So, Brooke. What’s your mom up to these days?” He pondered asking the question because he knew it was none of his business. But something about the young girl tugged at his heartstrings. She had attitude, that was obvious, but her center was soft and mushy and easily hurt, which meant her bravado was a mask. She was in a bad place, and he wanted to help.

Brooke wiped at a spot of gravy on her mouth and shrugged. “Well, she doesn’t work, if that’s what you’re asking. My dad died in some freak accident when I was like, five, so she gets some kind of insurance payment every month. I think my grandparents set it up that way. They tell folks it’s because she’s bad with money, but that’s a lie. She’s bad with booze. She’s an alcoholic.” She sounded bitter. “She spends all her cash on bourbon or weed or worse.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Brooke made a sound of disgust. “Don’t worry about it. She’s a loser.”

Nash had been brought up a certain way, and calling your mother a loser, regardless of the circumstance, wasn’t in his makeup. “That sounds a little harsh.”

Brooke nailed him with a look and didn’t bother to hide the anger in her eyes. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know me. You don’t know her.”

“No.” He sat back and kept his voice soft. “You’re right about that. I haven’t seen your mom in years. But I remember who she used to be. Some people have a hard time navigating life, you know? They need help.”

“Not everybody wants it.” Brooke shook her head. “Her boyfriends are more important than I am. Getting drunk or high is more important than I am.”

He believed her. Of course he did. Nash knew not every family on the planet was like his. And Lord knows, the Bookers weren’t perfect either. But this right here wasn’t right. This young girl feeling this way, wasn’t right. What could he do to ease her pain? In the end, he figured there wasn’t much, unless cooking a meal counted.

“I hope one day, your mom gets better.” Nash tossed his napkin and took a moment. This wasn’t anywhere near his wheelhouse. “For her and for you.”

“That will never happen.” Brooke sounded sure of herself, and Nash let her have that. She was young. Only sixteen, if he remembered correctly. What did a kid that age know? Sometimes too much…but even then, young kids rarely saw the big picture. They dwelled in the here and now and all the pain that went with it.

Nash looked at Honey and found her gaze on him. He thought of the things she’d shared a few days earlier and knew the reason she’d bonded with the young girl. Brooke obviously reminded Honey of herself.

Brooke pushed her plate away. “That was really good. Thanks.” She looked at Honey, and in that moment, her exhaustion was palpable. The skin beneath her eyes was paper thin and bruised. “I’m going to crash, if that’s okay.”

Honey got to her feet. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you where everything is. You can take a shower and get some sleep.”

Nash cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, which wasn’t much considering he’d done all the fixing in the bar kitchen. He’d just finished wiping down the island when Honey appeared.

“She’s already asleep. Didn’t make it to the shower.”

“Good. She needed it.”

Her hair was down, and she’d changed into a simple white T-shirt and loose pants. The woman had not a stitch of makeup. Nothing to plump her lips or emphasize her eyes. She didn’t need any of that stuff. She looked so damn good. So damn off-limits. With his heart thudding against his chest, Nash turned and looked for his jacket. It was time for him to go.

“She’s a great girl. She just needs some time and some direction.” Honey sounded small and subdued. Slowly, Nash turned back to her. Her big eyes shone in the light.

“She reminds you of yourself.”

Honey nodded. “My mom…” She shrugged, and it looked like she was struggling for the right words. “My mom wasn’t a bad person, although for the longest time, I thought she was. Just like Brooke, I thought she was a loser.” She walked toward the large window in the living area, the one that looked out over the parking lot. It was frosted and rattled as another sheet of ice hit it.

“God, some of the things I said to her. Vile, hurtful things. And to her face. She just took it because she was used to taking shit from people.” A pause. “She did some bad things. Some inexcusable things.” Honey spoke slowly, as if she were remembering. “But her heart wasn’t black, you know? At least that’s what I believe. She wasn’t strong, and life beat her down. She made bad choices and did bad things but…” Honey rested her forehead on the windowpane. “I still remember how she used to brush my hair. I remember her smile and touch…the way she smelled like flowers. I remember the pink wallpaper. The baby squirrel she handfed.” A few moments passed. “It died. The squirrel. And we buried it in the backyard. A bad person doesn’t bury a small baby squirrel.” Her voice was now a whisper. “A bad person doesn’t dance in the rain or smell like flowers.”

“No,” Nash replied. “I think you’re right about that.”

The air was charged, it seemed. An invisible energy that electrified and slid across his skin with a heat that was unmistakable. It took everything in him not to go to her. Not to put his arms around her and hold her so close, he’d absorb her pain.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she said turning around to face him.

He nodded. His mouth was dry at the look on her face, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to speak even if he wanted to.

“Do you think your family will mind if…” Her voice trailed off, but she didn’t look away.

He managed to get his shit together. “If what?”

Her eyes shone up at him, and damn if Nash Booker didn’t feel his heart skip. It was like he was fifteen all over again, standing in front of Beth Sanders with his heart in his hand and a hope as big as the Grand Canyon.

“If you stayed here, with me…” She licked her lips, and her eyes dropped. There was no mistaking where her thoughts were going.

The thing was, he wanted this more than anything, but they’d been pussyfooting around the same dance for weeks now. “I’m done playing games, Honey.” He took a step forward. “I want to stay. I want you naked, and I want to be inside you. I want to fuck you slow and hard and watch you come because I made it happen. But the back-and-forth and the second-guessing has to stop. If we’re going to do this, let’s just do this. Throw the dice and see what happens. No trying to reel in whatever this is. No putting it in some damn box we have no name for and pretending it never happened.”

Honey seemed to consider that for a few moments. Then she walked toward him and, without saying another word, slid her hands up along his body until they hooked around his neck. She rested her cheek against his chest, and slowly, his arms encircled her. He held her close. He absorbed her pain. He ignited her passion.

The night had barely begun, and already, Nash thought that maybe this was the best Christmas Eve he’d ever had. There had been giving and receiving. And there would be lots more to come.

Wasn’t that what Christmas was all about?