Page 19 of Sweet Boys Love Christmas
He regards me for a moment, his lips turned down, but that expression turns into a smile when he realizes I’m being serious.
He gets out and is around to open my door before I have a chance to unbuckle and collect my things.
“Don’t be nervous,” he tells me. It’s scary how easily he can read me.
He takes the flowers and wine from me again, then helps me out. Once I’m steady and the door is shut, he grabs my hand and guides me to the house. Perhaps I should shake off the hold, but I don’t. It’s pointless anyway, because he drops it a moment later to open a side door.
We step right into a kitchen, the smell of which is heavenly.
I must hum in approval, because Luke shoots me a knowing smile.
The woman from the diner steps away from a pan of macaroni and cheese, and with a beaming smile, she throws her arms around me. It’s embarrassing, the way I melt into her hug. Neither of my parents has ever hugged me like this. For show, sure, but not because they simply wanted to hold me and wrap me in comfort.
When she releases me, I take the flowers and wine from Luke. “I brought these for you.”
Her blue eyes dance with genuine pleasure. “Oh, how sweet of you. Thank you. Lukie”—she raises a brow at her son—“would you mind putting these in a vase for me?”
Lukie. I try not to smile at the nickname.
“Thank you again for having me. I… it really means a lot to me.” Flushing, I choke back the emotion threatening to spill out of me.
Despite my best effort to remain composed, Luke looks back over his shoulder at me, frowning in concern.
“We’re glad you could join us.” Jocelyn squeezes my hand. “Go ahead and take a seat. I have a few things to finish up.”
Lips pressed together, I survey the kitchen. “Do you need any help? I’m not much of a cook, but I can… stir or something.”
Luke, who’s now carefully arranging the flowers in a vase, chuckles.
“That would be great.” Jocelyn takes my hand and guides me over to the counter. “I haven’t seasoned the mashed potatoes yet. All the ingredients are right there.”
She points everything out and leaves me to my own devices.
I add the butter and what looks like chives and garlic before stirring with a wooden spoon. With as thick as the potatoes are, I get in a good arm workout. While I do my best to distribute the seasoning evenly, I survey the space around me. Luke wasn’t kidding—there’s way more food than the three of us can eat.
The kitchen is tiny, so we bump into each other occasionally, but no one makes a fuss. Festive music plays softly on a radio in the corner. It feels like I’ve been transported into one of my favorite Christmas movies. It’s so sweet. So perfect. And the best part is, not one interaction or a single word is forced.
Jocelyn asks me about my interests, what I’m studying, my plans for after I graduate. Each question is asked with genuine care rather than out of obligation. She’s such a stark contrast to my parents. She’s pure warmth and sunshine, while being in their presence is like being stranded in an icy rainstorm.
By the time we sit to eat, all my nerves have disappeared. I don’t feel like an outsider at all with the two of them. Not for thefirst time since we arrived, I’m thankful that despite my doubts, I agreed to come tonight. This is far better than wallowing in my dorm with Kraft mac ’n’ cheese.
This is afamily.
An ache settles deep inside me.
This is what I want one day.
A family of my own to sit down and have meals with.
A house filled with music, laughter, and conversation.
A husband who showers me with kisses and kids that groan about it.
“Is everything okay?” Jocelyn asks, nodding at my plate, where I’m pushing around the broccoli casserole.
“It’s great.” I smile, and it’s not forced at all. “Just got lost in my thoughts.”
Luke watches me with those blue eyes that see too much.
