Page 132 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
Adam's face does something complicated, like he's fighting his own laugh.Then, with a smile, he reaches under the table and pulls out a package wrapped in tissue paper with tiny reindeer.
"Speaking of pickles," he says, placing it in my hand."I've been working on something too."
I unwrap it carefully to find an enormous crocheted pickle, at least a foot long, with a little stethoscope and medical bag.And another brain.That definitely looks like a testicle.
"Oh sweet, my brother is giving you his other ball."
"It's a brain," I murmur.
"Dickle and the Brain."Kellan raises both eyebrows."Of course."
"Dr.Dickle," Adam explains, his voice steady and deep."For your emotional support collection."
I stare at it, momentarily speechless.He's been learning to crochet.For me.While running the clinic, dealing with Chuck, planning his move to Sandwich Bay.All of it.
"He's big…"
"That's what she said," Kellan deadpans.
And I let out a chuckle, continuing."And it doesn't look like an alien phallus," I manage, running my fingers over the perfect little stitches."At least, not from this angle."
Adam laughs, a genuine burst of sound that makes Mrs.Harrison's head turn."I had a good teacher.Sally's been giving me lessons."
"How about you tell us more about this position at Sandwich Bay Elementary?"Margaret asks.
"I'm going to be the school nurse," I explain."Sixty-five percent of my time there, and the rest helping with community outreach."
"You know," Margaret says with a knowing smile, "in one of those romance novels from our book club, the heroine would realize her happily-ever-after belongs right in the small-town that was supposed to be a pitstop.But you having the courage to go back to your hometown because that's what you want, to admit you miss it.Peeling the layers of pain not to ignore them but to find joy?I love it for you."
I nod, warmth spreading in my chest.Because I’m looking forward to be closer to my parents, to my grandparents.
“I’ve been thinking about making that pop-up bookstore permanent,” she adds.“The book club needs a proper home.”
“I’ll join,” Claire says immediately.
“Oh, this will be fun,” Margaret adds, before turning to Adam."I have to say something else that’s very romance novel but also so very true.Sweetheart, you've always been so good at taking care of everyone.But I used to wonder…would you ever let someone take care of you?Not just because they needed you, but because they wanted to?"
Adam exhales, and I feel it in the way his fingers flex, the shift of his shoulders.Like maybe he's always known she was right, but he never let himself believe it.
She doesn't look at me when she says it, but I know the words aren't just for him.
Because Adam didn’t need me to change him, or save him, or make him softer.He needed someone to remind him he didn’t have to carry everything alone.And I think I needed that reminder too.
The room quiets, Christmas music playing low from Sally's ancient radio, Blanche sighing contentedly at our feet.
Adam's fingers tighten around mine.Like a promise.
One we're both finally ready to make, surrounded by Christmas lights, emotional support pickles, and the family we've both chosen.
And I don’t have to hide who I am.The cold.The warmth.The in-between.Me.
“Thanks for the pickle.For everything,” I tell Adam.
Adam doesn’t even crack a smile.Doesn’t joke.He tips his head, eyes dark with promise.His hand slides under the table—slow, unhurried—fingers trailing along the inside of my thigh like he’s reading vitals he already knows by heart.
“Foster,” he murmurs, voice just for me, “if you think a crocheted pickle is the hottest thing I’ll be unwrapping this Christmas…”His thumb presses, firm and deliberate.“…you’re wildly underestimating what I plan to do to you later.”
My breath catches.The lights blur.I nod like a perfectly composed adult while internally malfunctioning.My hand flutters toward my water glass, which I absolutely do not knock over in front of his entire family.
