Shifting my gaze forward, I find a whole lot of eyes focused on me, and mine narrow. “What?”
Everyone abruptly looks away.
“Nothing,” they murmur, but a proficiency at lying is not a Jackson family trait, it’s not an Evans family trait either, and not a single member of the combined lot even tries to hide the looks they cast each other. Nor their secret, knowing smiles or the nudges they trade that make me squirm and frown and huff.
“Go on, then,” I snip a little firmer than necessary. “Let’s hear it.”
Pausing her attempts to shove some breakfast down her son’s throat before she loses him to the pile of presents stacked beneath the tree in the living room, Lux blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Am I having a stroke?” I quote one of the many jokes I’m sure my siblings are stifling. “I think I just hallucinated. Did hell just freeze over? Lottie’s showing affection so the world must be ending, et cetera, et cetera. C’mon. Let ‘em out.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Grace claims around a mouthful of the porridge Alex sneakily passes her, but her wink isn’t exactly innocent.
Eliza cracks a guilty grimace. “I thought the stroke one.”
“I was thinking that you guys areadorable.”
Jackson grunts like he agrees with his wife, but he doesn't particularly want to.
Ignoring his mother’s scolding, Alex scrambles to stand on his chair, red-faced as he jabs a finger at the man beside me. “I was thinking that Finn is alover boy,” he screeches before devolving into maniacal giggles that wrack his little body.
Every bit as unhinged as her nephew, Luna snickers. “Oh, he’s lovin’ on something all right.”
“Oh my God,” Finn moans into my hair, and I mimic the proclamation.
Reaching behind me, I snag his wrist and start to drag him into the living room, away from the uproar of snickering and groans and death threats, only to change course when I catch sight of all those unopened presents.
Teeth chewing on my bottom lip the same way nerves gnaw at my stomach, I guide him upstairs instead and into my old bedroom—ourold bedroom, I guess.
“Charlotte,” Jackson hollers after us, hislegal guardianvoice in full effect. “Do not shut that door.”
Just to be a pest, I slam it behind us.
“Jesus Christ, baby.” Finn groans, face a conflicted twist as he eyes the closed door, but makes zero moves to open it. “I thought you liked me.”
“I do,” I feel the need to hurriedly, emphatically confirm, despite knowing damn well he’s only joking. Shifting my grip to intertwine our fingers, I dance my other hand up his chest, drumming in rhythm with his heartbeat. “Maybe you should’ve gone home for Christmas. Would’ve been safer.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Nah.”
“Why?”
“Because I really, really like being around you,” he answers so easily, so honestly. “I really, reallydon’tlikenotbeing around you. I really, really didn’t think you’d react very well if I asked you to spend the holidays with my family. I really, really wanted to watch you spending it with yours.”
I blink. Scratch at the sudden itch plaguing the left side of my chest. Croak, “That’s a really, really good answer.”
“Hm. Did you bring me up here for a reason or do you just get off on threats to my life?”
Right.
Wiggling my hand free, I walk to the dresser and drop to yank open the bottom drawer, rummaging around until I feel wrapping paper. Swallowing inane, useless nerves, I rise, turn around, and hand the parcel over in one swift movement before I can talk myself out of it. “Merry Christmas.”
Dark brows shooting up, his lips part. “You got me a present?”
My nerves shift awfully close to panic. Was I not supposed to? We didn’t talk about it, I just… I thought that’s what couples do. Taking a sharp step forward, I reach out to snatch the gift back. “If you don’t want it—”
“Did I say that?” Holding the present aloft with one hand, he swats me away with the other, playfully snarling, “Mine. Back off.”
Kissing my teeth, I might pout just a little. “It’s barely even a present, alright? It’s shit. It’s—”