Free Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) by Katy Regnery

like there’s nothing you couldn’t do. It makes me wonder . . .”
    “Makes you wonder what?”
    . . . if you could start your life as the daughter of an alcoholic mechanic from a one-horse town in Colorado, and somehow end up the wife of a Philadelphia millionaire. For real. Forever.
    “If there’s anything you can’t do.”
    She took a deep breath, and he sensed she was sorting through his words. Suddenly she raised her head and pushed the bacon around the pan, making it snap and sizzle. “Well, I can’t make unburned bacon if you don’t let go of me and set the table. So . . .”
    He kissed her neck, letting her go. “On it.”
    ***
    A few hours later, they struggled down his street, Tom clasping the trunk of a Fraser fir in his gloved hands and Eleanora giggling as she walked backward holding on to the top.
    “Human at two o’clock,” he said, and she burst into laughter, adjusting her course.
    “Now?”
    “Stroller at eleven, and behind that, a dog walker at two.”
    She kept her eyes glued to his, swerving to the left, then right. Turning around and walking forward had occurred to her, but it had also occurred to her that it wouldn’t be half as much fun as watching him struggle with the tree and keep her from colliding with oncoming traffic.
    In the crook of each elbow she carried oversize plastic bags filled with ornaments, lights, and garlands, and she adjusted one of them to her forearm so it wouldn’t swing into her shin.
    “Fire hydrant. Three o’clock.”
    She looked up and burst out laughing again. “It’s not going to jump out at me, is it?”
    He grinned. “Nope. But I hadn’t heard you laugh for at least thirty seconds. I was about to go through withdrawal.”
    “Flirt,” she said, rolling her eyes even as her heart pumped with pleasure.
    “I’m not a flirt,” he said. “I’m married.”
    “Poor girl.”
    “Ha! Lucky girl! I’ll have you know I’m a catch.”
    “Oh really? Besides money, good looks, an excellent education, decent taste in books, a private plane, and a bangin’ apartment, what makes you a catch?”
    His eyes sparkled. “You think I’m good-looking?”
    She started giggling and rolled her eyes at him again.
    “Well, I think you’re gorgeous,” he said, readjusting his grip on the tree trunk. “Apartment building. Nine o’clock.”
    She stopped, looking behind her shoulder at Tom’s luxury building. The doorman rushed to open the side door, but Eleanora had already stepped into the revolving door, cackling with glee as Tom hurried to pull the tree upright so that all three of them would fit in one small compartment of glass.
    When they reached the lobby opening, Eleanora stepped out, but Tom purposely went around with the tree again, making her laugh so hard, her stomach was aching by the time he dragged himself and his prize into the lobby and stood before her.
    “You might be a little crazy,” he deadpanned.
    “Me?” she demanded.
    “Yes, you, Mrs. English.”
    “I’m giddy today,” she said, taking a deep breath around her giggles. “I haven’t had a—”
    Realizing what she was about to say, she stopped talking, and her laughter tapered off until they stood in awkward silence.
    “Haven’t had a what?” asked Tom quietly, as tall and strong as the tree bundled up beside him.
    “I haven’t had a Christmas tree since my mom left. Since I was five,” she said, meeting his eyes.
    She didn’t cry. She didn’t wince. She didn’t look away. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was. She wasn’t going to apologize for her past. It was her truth, it was honest, and she wanted him to know it.
    He stared at her, his eyes blue and careful as they searched hers. Finally he offered her a small smile and nodded. “Then I guess we better get it upstairs and start decorating, huh?”
    Picking up the tree without another word, he carried it to the elevator and pressed the call button, but Eleanora stood there in the middle of his lobby, frozen,