Page 133 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
Across the table, Kellan clears his throat.Loudly.“Next year I’m spending Christmas with wolves.Or cats.Whichever’s less horny.I’m happy for you, bro.But this is stuffing time, not ‘stuffing’ time."
My face flushes as Margaret chuckles and whispers something to her husband.My former boss.It’s fine.Cool.
Adam doesn’t even blink.Lifts his wine glass and says, perfectly pleasant, “Take Tell Her You Love Her with you.I saw Mom slip it in your bag.Chapter nine has some great technique.”
Kellan groans.Claire applauds.
And I fall in love with him all over again.
Chapter forty-three
ADAM
It’sourfirstChristmasmorning in Sandwich Bay a year later, and I’m ninety percent sure the dogs are plotting mutiny.Eve’s warm beside me.The house is a mess.And I wouldn’t trade a second of it.Still in a rental, but discovering the best place for decaf coffee, and walking the beach whether there’s sunshine, rain, snow or wind.During the tourist season, Eve spends more time in the garden and in small committee, but she doesn’t retreat on herself.
And right now, there's a foot on my thigh.With a warm and heavy sock.
"Foster," I say without opening my eyes, "are you trying to initiate something, or warm up?"
"Depends," she murmurs, sliding her foot a little higher."Is there coffee?"
"There will be if you stop trying to start a holiday sex tape before the dogs eat the Christmas tree."
She snorts."You say that like I haven't seen Blanche turn off the TV just to get attention."
"She's selective.Like you."
Eve grins against my shoulder, stretching like a smug cat.Her bare leg brushes mine, and the sheet shifts with her.I should get up.The dogs are going to start a riot any second now.But she's pressed up against me like I'm the only heat source she trusts, and I can't bring myself to move.
My pulse kicks up the way it does during a complicated surgery.Focused.Present.A year together and I still react to her like it's that first night.I roll toward her, pin her wrist gently to the mattress, and kiss her like I've been waiting all night for it.Which, technically, I have.She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, the kind that still short-circuits my brain, and then:
Crash!
"Dorothy and Mama Bear Sophia" we say in unison.
I sigh.She groans.The moment breaks like the ornament that Dorothy and Mama Bear probably conspired to get off the tree.
I drag myself out of bed while Eve rummages for a sweater, sliding mine on top of her head.It's too big on her—hanging off one shoulder, pooling at her wrists—but seeing her in my clothes still has my mouth go dry.She catches me staring and glances at my barely-concealed hard-on with that look that's half clinical assessment, half pure want.
Like she wishes she could do something about it.
Her and me both.
I step forward and brush my fingers on her lips, down her throat, feeling her pulse jump under my touch.This woman who once kept everyone at a distance now leans into my hand like it's exactly where she belongs.
"Shower together after breakfast?"My voice rough with the promise of what comes next.
"It is Christmas," she murmurs."We need to celebrate.Thoroughly."
And I laugh, because only Eve could make "thoroughly" sound that filthy.Only Eve could transform a small-town vet who spent years taking care of everyone else into someone who finally understands what it means to be taken care of too.
We're still renting this creaky house until we finish fixing up the one by the boardwalk, the fixer-upper with the perfect yard for Blanche and enough windows to satisfy Eve's need for light.The place where we'll build our life together, one room at a time.This temporary home smells like cinnamon, candle wax, and wet dog, with Christmas chaos waiting downstairs.
As I go down, Blanche is pacing with her usual righteous indignation.Dorothy has chewed the corner off a gift bag and is pretending she doesn’t know it.LoverBoy has climbed onto the kitchen table and looks pleased with himself.Mama Bear Sophia watches it all from the fridge like a grumpy landlord, who definitely knocked off three ornaments.
"Do you think," Eve says as she tries to wrestle a dog-sized Christmas sweater over Dorothy's head, "that one day we'll have a peaceful morning?"
"Not if we keep adopting animals with opinions."
