Jace had the worst timing ever. He not only had no game, he had negative game.

Which is why the woman he couldn't get out of his head had to ask whether he regretted kissing her.

It was late. The clock had gone past midnight.

But there was a part of him that was afraid that whatever was happening between them would be just a dream if he let things go until the morning.

He carefully untangled himself from the blanket and stood.

"I have to get him in bed," he whispered. Bo had finally succumbed to sleep and heaven knew, he'd be up at the crack of dawn. Christmas did that.

"Will you wait for me?" he asked.

She looked a little like a frightened deer in too-bright headlights. But she nodded.

He scooped Bo into his arms, blanket and all. He'd tuck him in with the afghan as long as the boy would stay asleep.

Bo murmured, turned his head, and tucked it beneath Jace's chin. But miraculously, stayed asleep as Jace traversed the squeaky floorboards in the old farmhouse.

The nightlight was on in his son's room, giving Jace enough light to gently lay the boy on the bed. He ended up pulling the afghan off and tucking Bo's Ninja Turtle bedspread over him.

Then he stood looking down at his son.

What was he doing? With Amber.

She was an amazing woman. He knew, because she cared so much about Bo.

If he and Amber started a romantic relationship and things went sour, Bo would likely lose the one woman who'd been a steady presence in his life since Patricia had passed.

Was it worth risking that, just because Jace was attracted to her?

On the other hand... just how long would Amber be content to stay on as Bo's nanny? Next year, when he went to first grade, Bo would be in school all day long. She might get bored. Start thinking about other jobs she might like better. Or find another family to care for. Or find a man to make a family with of her own.

He didn't want Bo to lose Amber, but what if he did nothing, and she walked out of their lives anyway?

Certain that Bo was down for the count, he brushed a kiss across the boy's forehead. He loved this little guy.

He and Patricia had planned on a houseful of kids.

Did Amber want kids of her own?

On the heels of that errant thought, he slipped down the hall. This was crazy. Before tonight, he'd barely noticed that Amber was a woman. Now he was thinking about marriage. Kids. With her.

But somehow, the thought wasn't as frightening as it should've been.

He stalled in the hallway, watching Amber before she noticed he was there.

She stood in front of the rocking chair in the corner, looking down at something sitting on the back of it. She reached out to touch it, and he remembered he'd left the bow tie there. The one he hadn't been able to tie.

She picked it up, ran the silk through her fingers.

He stepped into the room, and she jumped, quickly putting the tie back where it'd been.

He gestured to it. "I couldn't remember how to tie the stupid thing," he said.

She looked a little lost.

"Patricia always tied it for me." He stepped behind the couch. With the couch and coffee table between them, maybe he'd have enough space to keep his head clear. He cleared his throat. "I was putting it on tonight and fumbling with it and, somehow, I just couldn't do it."

Some indefinable pain passed over her expression. She glanced briefly at the wall—no, the picture—behind her, then away.

The family portrait he often stared at when he felt lost. Last time, it'd been at the loss of two baby calves early in the season. He'd always shared those losses with Patricia, and it was silly to think he could find comfort from a painting, but it was something.

"I should've YouTubed it," he blurted, because he didn't want Patricia between them, not now. "Or asked you to tie it for me." Though she'd been gone for the afternoon, appearing at the party like Cinderella or something.

"I don't know how to tie a bow tie, either." She smiled, but there was something sad in it. "I'm not"—she gestured to the portrait. "I'm not like Patricia."

Screw the distance between them. He rounded the couch in a few strides.

He reached for her, because he couldn't help it. "I don't want you to be. It's you I can't stop thinking about."

Maybe it was selfish, but he'd already admitted to being a self-centered jerk. He couldn't not kiss her again.

But he also didn't want to take away her choice.

He let one hand slide along her jaw. Slowly, savoring the moment. The fingers of his other hand buried themselves in the hair behind her head. He tipped her face up.

Her eyes were shadowed. Haunted, maybe. Was that because she believed he expected her to be like Patricia?

He leaned in slowly. If she wanted to refuse his kiss, push him away, he'd obey.

But she didn't.

"I see you," he whispered, just before he brushed a kiss to her lips.

He pulled back slightly.

"I'm kissing Amber," he whispered before he plundered her mouth.

She tasted like Christmas. Like peppermint candy canes and hot chocolate and something indefinable that was just Amber.

He didn't want to stop kissing her, but he made himself pull away. Put a foot of distance between them.

They needed to talk.

Except he looked at her, saw her wide eyes, dazzled expression, the lips he'd kissed pink and plump.

And he reeled her back in. Took her mouth again.

She responded again, kissing him back hungrily. Her fingers clutched the back of his shirt.

He could fall for her so easily...

Some dormant sense of self-preservation roared to life, and he ended the kiss. He stepped back a good yard this time, shoved his hands in his trouser pockets.

"I'm an idiot," he said.

She flinched.

"Strike that," he went on quickly. "I've been blind. It took that fantastic dress for me to notice you—and now I can't seem to figure out how I've missed that you..."

He didn't know how to say it.

She was here. A part of their lives, his and Bo's. She was important.

She was Amber.

Amber felt giddy and delirious from Jace's kisses.

And his words...

She'd waited so long. Dreamed that he would finally notice her.

But he also looked conflicted.

He took one hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair. Hair that was already mussed. Had she done that, when she'd kissed him? She hadn't realized.

"Look, I don't want you to feel pressured," he said. "We live under the same roof. If you're not interested—"

"I am," she said quickly. Too quickly. A sudden bout of shyness overtook her, and she looked down as heat filled her face. "I've been... interested for a long time." She'd almost blurted out in love with you.

Wouldn't that be fine. Making a declaration like that when he was just now noticing she was alive.

"You have," he repeated the words, not really a question. Almost a half-laugh. As if he couldn't believe her. His lips moved, but she didn't hear the word he said. Maybe "blind."

"I really want to kiss you again," he said.

Her heart leapt at the honest confession. At the heat in his eyes. For her!

But he was still over there, and now he'd shoved both hands in his pockets.

"But I'm afraid if I do, I'll forget all about assembling Bo's new bike. And I need to go check on the animals in the barn."

Oh, my goodness. For a while there, she'd forgotten the clock had chimed, turning the day over to Christmas. She had gifts to put under the tree.

"Can I help?" she asked, still unable to shake the sudden shyness that Jace's kisses had instilled.

"As long as you promise only to distract me a little bit."

Heat flooded her face.

He groaned. "And if you keep blushing like that, I'm going to have to kiss you again."

She pressed both hands against her burning cheeks.

Jace strode to her and gently pulled both wrists away down. He laced their fingers together. Brushed one gentle kiss across her lips. Leaned his forehead on hers. "There's a huge part of me that wants to run with this. But I think we have to be smart about it. We're not the only ones to consider, right?"

Of course. It was right that he'd be thinking about Bo, too.

"Can we take things a day at a time?" he asked.

She nodded, bumping his forehead, and then giggled like a schoolgirl. She pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle the embarrassing sound.

She just couldn't contain her joy.

Jace wanted to be with her.

He squeezed her hand. "I'm going to the barn to get that bike."

But he didn't move.

He kissed her instead.

A few breathless moments later, she asked, "Are you sure it's safe?" Because she was fairly sure the snow was still coming down outside. She couldn't seem to look away from Jace's dear face.

"I've got a line tied from the house to the barn," he murmured.

And kissed her again.

He was only holding her hands, not touching her anywhere else, but she felt lost in his kiss.

And she didn't want to be found. Ever again.

Another breathless few moments later, and he pulled away, dropping her hands and backing up until he was out of touching distance.

"I'm going to the barn."

He ran a hand through his hair. Grinned at her.

She couldn't help grinning back.

Jace fought his way through the snow out to the barn. The snoozing horses didn't give him a second glance as he did a walk-through past each stall to ensure the animals had food and water to last until tomorrow.

The eight-week-old puppies were curled around their mama where she'd burrowed into the hay, almost blending into it. His neighbor owed him one, especially for the six trillion times Bo had asked if he could have one. Jace planned on letting his son have a dog when the boy was big enough to take care of it himself. Jace had gotten his first dog when he'd been eleven.

For a moment, his brain flashed with a memory. Amber and Bo in the barn, visiting the puppies. Amber had cuddled one in her lap as Bo had asked for a puppy for the hundredth time. When he’d said no, she'd hidden a split-second flash of disappointment by pressing her face into the dog's soft fur.

Or maybe he'd only imagined it.

Satisfied that the animals would survive the snowstorm, Jace grabbed the big box he'd hidden in the tack room, then started back through the near-blinding snow. This was a crazy storm, not the type they usually got this far south.

He was thankful for the clothesline he'd strung from the house to the barn in a "just in case" maneuver. It meant he didn't have to worry about missing the house and wandering off in the storm.

And it meant his mind could wander on the one thing it'd been stuck on all night.

Amber.

Light shone out of the living room window, illuminating a rectangle on the ground. Through the window, he could see Amber carrying an armful of gifts to the tree. She crouched down, out of sight for a moment, and then straightened, arms empty.

She stood alone in the window, one arm wrapped around her waist. Then went to the mantle, where she picked up... that funny little elf. Bo's grandma had bought it last year, and darn if he didn't forget to move that thing after Bo went to bed. Every night.

Except... Bo hadn't complained of a forgetful elf this Christmas season. He'd been full of giggles over breakfast more times than not because of the elf's silly antics. One morning he'd been incognito with Bo's action figures. Then elfie had been hiding in a cereal box in the kitchen, with just his head and shoulders visible. The elf had carried messages to Santa from Bo and had carried on a multi-day conversation in notes, always signed with a teenie flourishing signature.

All because of Amber.

Jace hadn't given it much thought, other than being thankful he didn't have to remember to move the elf every night.

And Amber hadn't mentioned it or even expected thanks. She'd brought Bo a fun Christmas experience that had resulted in joy and wonder, and she’d not expected anything for herself.

She did that a lot.

Like making some of Jace's favorite meals without being prompted. If she'd tried it once and he'd commented that he loved it, the meal appeared in the rotation.

Or doing the chores that Jace absolutely hated—laundry and vacuuming—with a joyful attitude.

Or writing the silly notes that he sometimes found in his brown-bag lunches that he took to the barn. He'd always thought she'd done them on Bo's behalf, but had she sent them just because she wanted to make him smile?

I'm interested. I have been for a while.

He'd been so blind for so long. It was a wonder she hadn't lost interest and found someone who appreciated her sooner.

Jace felt an urgency to do something for her. The gift he'd bought—suitable for a nanny, not for someone special in his life—didn't feel adequate anymore.

But it was already Christmas morning. There was no time for shopping or even making something by hand.

I don't really have family.

Her words from earlier in the evening reverberated in his brain. He'd seen the shadows pass over her face more than once tonight.

Was there something keeping Amber away from her family? If so, maybe he could help her patch things up. Wouldn't putting her family back together be an irreplaceable Christmas gift?

When snowflakes began sticking to his eyelashes and obstructing his view, he realized he'd been standing looking in the window for far too long. Amber had moved out of view. Probably waiting on him, since he'd asked.

He hurried the final few feet to the back door and bustled inside, setting down the bicycle box to stomp the snow off himself before he hung up his overcoat and took off his hat and gloves.

He reached for his toolbox, usually kept in the mudroom just below the bench, which did double-duty—a place to sit and put on boots or a catchall for this week's junk.

The toolbox wasn't there.

Please tell him it wasn't out in the barn. He remembered using it to replace a headlight on the tractor earlier in the week, but he'd thought he'd brought it back to the house.

He blew out a sigh. This night was getting longer and longer. He'd tell Amber to get some rest and put the bike together himself.

But when he carried the box into the living room, his toolbox was sitting on the coffee table, the lid open and a hammer, screwdriver and wrench all set out.

Amber.

She sat cross legged on the floor, a cup of something steaming held between her hands.

"I made you some coffee," she said with a shy smile. "Since we might be up for a while."

"Oh, I can't—"

"It's decaf. Or you can have my tea."

He stood there holding the big box, grinning like a loon. "How do you always know what I need?"

Her lashes lowered and she started to blush.

He set the box on the floor, quickly grabbing the coffee mug to keep his hands occupied. "Are you trying to get on the naughty list? Because you promised only to distract me a little."

She glanced up at him.

He mock-glared. "You've reached your limit, young lady."

She gave him a salute, which dissolved them both into giggles.

He put down the coffee mug and reached into his pocket for his pocketknife, so he could slice open the box and get started.

He wasn't as young as he used to be. This staying up late was for the birds.

Unless he had Amber in his arms.

He almost sliced into his hand as his concentration wavered.

He pocketed the knife and pointed his index finger at her. "Young lady..." he said in a warning voice.

"What?" She was smiling. "I'm just sitting here. I'm not even doing anything."

"You just sitting here is enough."

She laughed outright. "Oh, yes. I'm very distracting in my high-class outfit." She straightened her spine and used one hand to pass over her pajamas, top to bottom. "You barely noticed me in my three-hundred-dollar dress."

She said the words as a tease. He knew it.

But was there a hint of vulnerability behind her words?

He sat on the coffee table, hands on his knees. "Amber, you're not invisible."

She sipped her tea. Hiding?

"After Patricia, I..." He shook his head. This wasn't about Patricia, not really. "I think I've been noticing you for a long time. It just took tonight to really wake me up." He held her gaze. "I don't want to go back to sleep."