All I Want For Christmas (Only Us Billionaire Romance Book 0.5) Read online

  "Mistletoe puppy kisses." Logan tried to laugh, but it was a rusty, unfamiliar sound.

  She smiled, but then just as quickly it fell. "We have to find Dotty."

  His eyebrows creased. "What?" he asked. For a moment, he was back at the hospital. He'd rushed there but it was too late. Dotty was gone. What was the matter with him? He had to get his head straight. He blinked a few times and the room came back into focus along with Clara's voice.

  "The dog. The little dog. Last time she disappeared it took three of us three hours to find her." Clara scrambled, looking under tables, desks, behind shelves, and in the other enclosures. "Don’t just stand there, help me find Dotty." Her sweet voice turned commanding. She rustled Dolly's favorite bag of treats. She crawled around. She called her softly.

  Ryder returned to the puppy room and the small white dog bounded toward him. The dog reminded him so much of regret and guilt, he almost couldn't stand it. Nonetheless, he picked her up.

  Clara appeared and exhaled a sigh of relief. "You found her."

  "Actually, I think she found me." Dotty nuzzled him. It was small, but he felt something inside of him cracking open, letting in a little light. A subtle lift of his lips met Clara's relieved smile.

  She tilted her head. "Please don't let her out of your sight again. I have to let the others out."

  In groups of four, Clara brought the other shelter dogs onto the terrace for fresh air and a potty break. The sun dipped lower, bathing the city, and her, in silver light. Her skin was smooth and he could tell the summer sun brought out freckles across her nose. Her brown eyes were big, her nose like a button, and her lips were soft. So soft. A kind of softness he willed himself not to entertain. The elf suit hid her smooth curves but they were there nonetheless. She was perfect and infuriating with that big heart and holly jolly attitude about Christmas because it made his own come to life and pound a little faster—something he wasn't sure he was ready for.

  A few minutes later, Ryder found himself still holding Dotty as though stunned, cemented, glued to the spot. Was it the girl or the dog or both? He blinked a few times, coming back to his senses.

  Clara's hands brushed his again when she took the puppy from his grasp. Ease and comfort came over him, like a warm blanket on a cold night.

  "Feel like doing a good deed?" Before he could answer she said, "Grab the pooper scooper and have at it." She thumbed the door behind her that led to the terrace. "Angel Ears Animal Shelter and its residents will be ever so grateful."

  He harrumphed but went anyway. The dog terrace wasn't ideal, but he needed some fresh air—well, relatively speaking.

  When he went back inside, she refilled the water and food bowls. He tugged his damp clothing from his chest.

  "Chilly?"

  "I think my shirt is officially a Fudgicle."

  "Like a fudge Popsicle?"

  He nodded and removed his soiled jacket.

  "Offer stands. I think the neon green sweatshirt would look great on you." Her eyes twinkled.

  He grabbed it from her, smirked, turned around, and pulled his shirt over his head. A whoosh of cold air pebbled his skin and he couldn't ignore Clara peek at him and then glance away.

  To maintain his energy and stamina for the stage, he worked out most days. His friends back home joked about his strong muscles, but when they played rugby, they wanted him on their team.

  She turned the music back up. Santa Claus is Coming to Town played through the speakers. "I wish I had my phone." Then she jumped to her feet. "You have your phone. I have an idea!" she shouted.

  A dog barked in response.

  Dotty trotted over to Ryder and begged him to pick her up. Clara bent over and gave him the small dog. She licked his cheek before finding a comfortable position.

  Clara beamed. "She likes a guy with whiskers." She wiggled her fingers in the scruff of his jawline and laughed.

  Her fingers melted the tension there. Ryder found himself wanting her touch to linger, to hear her laugh more. He exhaled because he didn't have time for desire or attachments. He was leaving on a global tour and hearts were too fragile a thing to leave behind. He knew firsthand. It was easier not to get involved.

  "I was going to record videos of the puppies playing and share them online, inviting people to visit the shelter to adopt. You know, last minute shopping." She bounced on her toes, hardly able to contain herself. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before she turned her focus to the puppy in his arms and lowered onto flat feet. "Of course, I have to screen them, their homes, make sure it's the right fit…"

  "How late is your shift?"

  She shrugged. "As long as it takes."

  "You really care about these dogs, huh?" He'd never met someone so committed to being good. No, that wasn't true, but lately, the people surrounding him had one thing on their mind: fame.

  "How could you not care about them?" she asked, taking Comet's muzzle in her hands as he tried to lick her again. "So that was my original idea. But since I don't have my phone you can post for me."

  He did a quick shake of his head. "Me? No way. I'd better get going anyway." He glanced at the clock as Dotty snoozed peacefully in his arms. He had the urge to flee, to get out of there. He'd already scooped the poop. That was probably enough of a good deed for the day. Although, he probably wouldn't mention it to his manager.

  "But you're locked out and alone…"

  That last word hollowed him out, reminded him of what this day forced him to remember in all its tinsel and evergreen filled glory.

  Nonetheless, the truth of this hung in the air between them. He felt the density of it in his bones. Clara's chin lifted as if she chose to see the proverbial mug of hot cocoa as half full, but there was something lonely about her expression too. He wasn't the only one alone on this holiday. She had the dogs, but it didn't seem like she was rushing off to spend time with her family.

  Her sweet, but demanding, voice came back to him. "You haven't checked your phone once since we've been together. You made no mention of a Christmas party or gathering."

  "It's by choice."

  She met his gaze and he was sure she saw the lie in his blue eyes.

  "No one should be alone on Christmas Eve. Not people. Not dogs."

  "What about you?" he asked.

  "I have these guys." She gave the few by her side each a good pat. "Come on. We have to do a few more things and then we'll come back before Dotty even realizes she misses you."

  "Dotty?" he asked, confused.

  "The dog. The one who adores you. Who'd you think I meant?"

  He hung his head because for a moment he was back in that cold hospital room where the file at the foot of the empty bed read Dotty Ryder. He missed her more than he could bear.

  Clara returned the dogs to their enclosures. "Don't worry guys, I'll be back soon." After dimming the lights, she locked up. Snowflakes began to fall. They were so few he could count them before they melted into her brown hair and her outstretched palm. She gazed around in wonder.

  She started to walk along the street, lit with window displays and lights, the lampposts festooned with holiday garlands, and that magic in the air his grandmother loved so much.

  When he didn't follow, she called, "I'm going to bake cookies. Maybe something sweet would melt the lump of coal in your heart."

  He didn't move, not even when she turned the corner. The snow dotted the shoulders and arms of the bright green sweatshirt. He had the odd thought that he was frozen there, caught between the past and the future. What was and what could be. It was this thought and the vision of Clara giving him the green sweatshirt that acted like a traffic light, giving him the reminder to go and shaking him from his stupor.

  He followed the small footprints she'd left behind. When he caught sight of her elf hat bobbing ahead, he shouted, "You think you know what I need?" He wasn't even sure and that's what made him the angriest. Maybe in her infinite elf wisdom, she actually could help, but he wasn't sure if he was ready.


  "Cookies? Sweetness?" If she said anything else, he couldn't hear her as a truck passed.

  He strode toward her. "You have no idea. All I want for Christmas is to be left alone." But his tone lacked the usual grit and fight.

  She wiped her eyes, lifted onto her toes, and raised her chin. "Fine. Be alone. But answer this. Why'd you come back to tell me that?"

  He stewed as the snow continued to fall, harder now and forming a thin layer on the sidewalk between them. He crossed his arms in front of his chest because he wasn't sure or he didn't know if he had the inner strength to climb out of the hole of grief and loss.

  At last, his lips quirked because she looked ridiculously adorable in her costume. "Because I like cookies and I'm hungry. I never got to drink my coffee and my scone went flying into the road. If I hadn't run into you and your loser boyfriend—" But it went back farther than that even though he didn't want to admit it. The grief went back months.

  She held his gaze like a staring contest, like a dare to make the first move back toward the surface above the pit of loss and pain. "Ex-boyfriend, thank you very much."

  "And I left my keys there and—" He interrupted himself and his voice lost its power as he gazed into her eyes. His hand drifted to her cheek where a single tear trailed toward her hairline. "Are you crying?" It could have been the cold, but his chest constricted at the sight of her sadness.

  She jerked away.

  His hand gripped his forehead. Panic swept through him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

  "L Ryder. You, of all people, did not make me cry." Her voice was strong, true.

  "Then who did?"

  Chapter 5

  Clara

  Ryder raced after Clara on the sidewalk. "I'm sorry if it was something I said or—" His eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't tell me it was the loser boyfriend? You can't let a guy like him—"

  "Ex," she corrected him again. "And no. Not everything revolves around you and losers like him. At least you had that part right." She pulled out her keys, unlocked the main door to her building, and stomped up the stairs to the fourth floor.

  She took off her wet shoes in the hall and left the door open an inch when she heard Ryder's heavy footsteps following.

  Without her phone, she kind of needed him. Warmth flooded her that had nothing to do with the clanking radiator or his cell phone. Was it his broad shoulders, strong arms, and jeans that hung just so? The glimpse of the rippling muscles in his back when he changed out of his stained shirt and into the green hoodie? She shook herself out of the fleeting fantasy. It couldn't be his voice or the softness she glimpsed under his pain. She didn't have time to think about mysterious and miserable rock stars. She had to find homes for the puppies.

  What she needed was his phone and potentially his social media following, unless she wanted to schlep across town and knock on Penny's door. There wasn't time.

  She made a mental note to remember to grab a check and pay for the hoodie when she went back to the shelter. She hoped all the ingredients for the cookie recipe were in the kitchen. She couldn't call her brother to pick up some baking soda like Emma did to Penny. Tears pierced her eyes again, just as they had minutes ago. She missed him terribly. She sniffed and squared her shoulders.

  After washing her hands, she pulled open the cupboard and dug around for the cookie recipe ingredients. She popped a few chocolate chips in her mouth. A hesitant knock, followed by the creaking of the door, and a low, accented voice said, "Your flat is super tiny."

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Ryder watched her. With contempt? Curiosity? Something else? She couldn't be sure. He closed the door behind him.

  "It's a studio," she answered without turning. She'd had enough of his hot and cold attitude, but mostly the hot. He was right, the flat was small, but so was she. With him there, it felt extra tiny. She couldn't let herself fall for him with his perfect face and alluring voice. His petulant attitude was not attractive. However, she wanted to warm him up to the Christmas spirit. That and the puppies was her mission.

  He spread his arms. "I can practically touch one wall and the other."

  "That feature happens to be very useful. Can you please grab me the bowl on top of that shelf?" she asked, pointing to a ceramic bowl that belonged to her mother. She studied the recipe and began to measure. "You can wash your hands and help."

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his gaze floated from her to the twinkle lights bordering the ceiling, her brother's favorite painting, and everything else she never bothered to put away because she didn't often have company.

  "The sink is in the bathroom. Don't mind the mugs. I have to wash them."

  She looked into the cupboard for a flour sifter, and when she turned, they bumped into each other. They both halted as though not sure what to do or where to go next. Options were limited.

  Warmth stamped itself where they touched. Clara was keenly aware of her right knee, her hip, elbow, the side of her hand, and the quick pace of her heart.

  "Close quarters." His voice was suddenly low, rough.

  She swallowed. "Yeah. It's just me here usually so…"

  He backed slowly away and took off his hat to reveal perfectly tousled brown hair. Perhaps one of the perks of being a rock star was perpetually styled hair. She tried not to laugh to herself. She wore the same braids since the night before and didn't even want to know what the rest of her hair looked like under the elf hat.

  She returned to the counter with the flour sifter. "This recipe is from my friend Penny—she was kind of swooning over you at the Grind."

  "Yeah. I'm used to that."

  "Are you?" She leveled him with her gaze. He may be attractive, but her apartment was too small for a big ego. "Well, for your information, I'm not swooning." She brushed some flour from her hands.

  His eyes sparkled with amusement. "No, definitely not swooning. In fact, you look rather pale." He lifted his hand to brush some flour from her cheek.

  She grew instantly warm all over and fought against leaning into his touch. When she found her voice she said, "Penny and her sister Emma used to say 'baking over boys'. They always wanted to have a bakery together. Maybe they will now." To distract herself, Clara skimmed over Emma's recent breakup as she prepared the recipe and then put the cookies in the oven.

  "Do you live by that rule too?" he asked.

  "Absolutely." However, the words for the recipe blurred because she felt rather flustered.

  "Then no boys? Boyfriends? Boy elves?"

  She told herself she did not detect hope in his voice and huffed. "Definitely not."

  "You sound rather convicted. I imagine if the right elf came along…you might change your mind." He put the dirty measuring utensils in the bowl and started wiping the counter.

  "I'm not in the market for elves or men or any of that. I have to find the puppies homes, pay off debt, save…" She trailed off. He didn't need to hear her woes. "Unless you have a solution to the dog problem, we can keep elf relations out of it." At the sound of her words, she forced herself not to smile. He got under her skin, that was for sure, but she knew he could actually help her solve the puppy problem given his fame on social media.

  Ryder gave a noncommittal grunt and spun slowly around. "Considering that you're an elf, it makes sense you'd live in a small space. But explain the yarn. You have lots of yarn."

  It was true. Colorful balls and projects covered nearly every surface, well, everywhere the five hundred square feet allowed.

  She burst with excitement because aside from the dogs, her side hustle was her dream job and that she couldn't help but smile about. She picked up a stack of scarves, hats, and sweaters in various sizes.

  "You made those?" he asked, seemingly impressed. "My grandmother used to knit." At the word grandmother, his voice cracked. He coughed a few times.

  She passed him a glass of water, leaving a thumbprint of flour on the side. "I have a shop online. Also, these." She also passed him an assortment of s
mall knit stockings, like the kind she and her brother would leave hanging from the hearth for Santa to fill.

  "Little tiny stockings." He reached for one.

  She snatched it away. "They're just little. There's no such thing as little tiny."

  "Sure there is. Like teeny tiny." He started singing a song about a teeny tiny something or other.

  She snorted. She'd had plenty of people mock her work—they'd ask who'd dressed their dogs in knitwear and why since they have fur. However, her customers were loyal and thought her creations were great. It made them and the people who saw dogs wearing hats and scarves smile.

  "If you must know, the Well Knit Woof is my online shop. It's my side hustle. My big dream and it will be successful. Maybe not rock star heights, but enough to support me, some dogs, and a place bigger than this little, tiny studio."

  He picked up one of the hats. "Wait. These are for dogs?" A sudden smile replaced the permanent scowl on his lips.

  She couldn't help smile back. It might have been the way it turned his eyes from cold to warm, the way it lit him up, but she saw him differently—the hidden version of L Ryder where, once upon a time, he was happy and playful.

  "So tell me, Bubbles. Tell me why you're baking cookies because last I checked dogs don't eat cookies."

  She sensed him teasing her and her lips fell into a frown. "Do you have something better to do?" When he didn't answer she said, "Tell me this. Why is L Ryder, the famous musician, alone in New York City on Christmas Eve?"

  "Why are you dressed like an elf?" he countered.

  "Why do you act like a grouch?" Her eyes narrowed.

  "Why are you alone?"

  She flinched. "Why do you ask so many questions? Is it because you don't want to answer any?"

  His lips parted and then closed as though he was choosing his next words carefully. "What gives you that idea?"

  "Why is L Ryder without his entourage? Why are you all over social media? A wholesome rocker turned into a brooding bad boy? Did they not pay you enough?"