Page 131 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
Just Adam.
Just me.
And somehow, finally, that’s enough.
Chapter forty-two
EVE
Sally’soutdoneherselfforChristmas dinner.The B&B dining room glows with candlelight and evergreen garlands, and every surface is covered in twinkling lights or cinnamon-scented charm.It should feel too much.But somehow, it doesn’t.Somehow, I don’t.
Even Dorothy's on her best behavior, though that might have more to do with how Mrs.Harrison keeps sneaking her bits of turkey when she thinks we're not looking.
"So," Kellan Harrison drops into the chair next to me, all confidence and that same crooked smile as his brother."You're the famous Eve Foster."
I take in the subtle signs my medical training has taught me to notice, the way he holds himself like he's still on alert, the tension in his shoulders beneath that deliberately casual "Christmas with the family" sweater.Clinical assessment: classic avoidance body language, especially common in fellow healthcare professionals who should know better.
"And you're the famous Kellan Harrison.Known for your unwavering commitment to avoiding small-town gossip and dangerously good Maryland cookies."
His laugh sounds genuine, but there's something underneath it.Something I recognize all too well from my mirror."That obvious?"
"Would you prefer I used the term 'strategic retreat'?"
That gets me a real smile, one that reaches his eyes."You sound like Zoe."
"The one everyone in Swans Cove and here is waiting for you to stop running from?"The words slip out before my professional filter can catch them, but instead of tensing up, he relaxes slightly.
"Adam said you were direct."He glances at his brother, who's wearing a ridiculous Christmas antler headband because he lost a bet with Kellan, while trying to convince their mom that Blanche does not need a fourth helping of turkey."Guess that's what happens when you're used to dealing with difficult patients.Takes one healthcare worker to know another."
"Most patients aren't actually difficult."I keep my voice light, but my RN experience instincts kick in."They may act like raccoons trapped in a garbage can when they're scared, but most are not difficult."
"True."Kellan lifts an eyebrow."Hey, Little Bro."
Adam's hand is warm on my shoulder."You two look serious for Christmas dinner," he says, his voice warm against my ear.
"Just comparing notes on difficult patients," I say, leaning back into his touch.
"Difficult?"Kellan scoffs."She's diagnosing people at Christmas dinner, Adam.At this rate, she's gonna start a side hustle in emotional interventions."
"No pamphlets," I say, "but—" I pause, debating, before reaching into my bag.
Adam's thumb moves lazily against my shoulder, like he can feel the exact moment I decide to commit to whatever this is.
"Oh, this should be good."
I pull out my finally finished Emotional Support Pickle and place it on the table in front of Kellan.It's barely six inches long, adorned with a somewhat lopsided Santa hat and mistletoe.
Kellan stares at it.Then at me.Then back at the pickle."...Is this a hostage situation?"
"It's an Emotional Support Pickle," I clarify, clinical voice firmly in place."I crocheted it for Secret Santa, but honestly?I think you need it more.And I made a lot of them."
Adam chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin."You should just take it, Kellan.Once Eve decides someone needs an intervention, resistance is pointless."
Kellan shakes his head, but he's still turning the pickle over in his hands, like he's low-key intrigued despite himself.
"You know," he says finally, "I feel like Major in iZombie could've used one of these."
I gasp."That's true!If someone had given him a crocheted pickle, maybe things wouldn't have gone off the rails!"
