Page 46 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
Eve scoops LoverBoy up, kisses the top of Dorothy’s head, and I watch this woman I once loved and who’s made me feel even more me in the last few hours, surrounded by tiny chaos and managing it with a grace she doesn’t even realize she has.Wondering if that could be our second chance.If when she comes to visit her parents, she could think about staying.If I even have a right to ask, when she’s planning a future somewhere else.
Blanche, meanwhile, launches herself onto the bed like she weighs nothing instead of a hundred and twenty pounds, the mattress groaning in protest beneath us.The whole damn bed shifts sideways.Drama queen who’s convinced she’s still puppy-sized.
I lean back against the pillows, letting the moment settle.She’s still soft around the edges.Still letting me see it: the trust, the aftershock, the thing we’re both pretending not to name yet.
Maybe I should tell her.Tell her about my contracts.My next step.The cruel irony of the universe that’s finally bringing her here, to my hometown, just as I’ve committed to leaving.But what would that accomplish?We’ve had one night.One connection after seven years of silence.Telling her feels like forcing a choice neither of us is ready to make.
Or maybe I’m afraid.Afraid that if she knows I’m not just leaving Pine Creek but headed to Sandwich Bay, to the Cape, it would change things.Make this fragile reconnection collapse like a foal’s legs buckling under too much weight too soon—too many coincidences, too many what-ifs that we’re not ready to bear yet.
Maybe I’m falling into a miscommunication trope she doesn’t understand.But right now that look on her face makes me want to be the man who stays, even if just for tonight.
“I can still feel you,” she murmurs, half smiling as she looks down at LoverBoy in her lap.But I know it’s not about the dogs.
Her voice is quiet.
Honest.
That ache roars back in my chest and much lower.My body remembers everything: the way she opened for me, the way she let go, the way she held on.
“Good,” I say, my voice low, hungry, reverent.“Because I’m still right here.”
I press my lips to her temple, breathing her in.Still unsure if I deserve this.Still unable to imagine not having it.
Because we’re not done.Not even close.
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t pull away either.
And tomorrow?Tomorrow we’ll deal with Cape Cod contracts and Chicago hospitals and the thousand reasons this shouldn’t work.
But tonight?I’m going to lie here, completely unable to feel my left arm, watching Blanche hog the covers and LoverBoy stake his territory like a three-pound king, while Eve Foster drools slightly on my shoulder, and somehow, that’s the most perfect thing that’s happened to me in seven fucking years.
And maybe it’s the holiday season.Or maybe it’s her.
But I still believe in hope.
Chapter fifteen
EVE
Atthreea.m.,Iwake up… not from a nightmare, or too many scenarios running through my mind, but because my skin feels damp.
My fingers trail down my back, my heart skipping a beat.Because night sweats were one of my symptoms.That and pain with the red wine I wasn’t supposed to be drinking but had a few sips of at a party.
But there’s an obvious reason I’m warm right now.Adam Harrison breathes steadily beside me, his body a furnace and one arm still draped protectively over my waist.My nerve endings haven’t forgotten a single touch from hours earlier: the way his mouth charted a deliberate course down my neck, the exact calibration of pressure from his hands on my hips.Heat pools low in my belly in response, an automatic physiological reaction I can’t override.I shift slightly, acutely aware of the pleasant ache between my thighs, medical proof of how thoroughly he’d deconstructed my defenses.Diagnosis: post-coital hypersensitivity with complications of wanting more.
Nope.Not wanting more.
I twist around, looking at my phone where I’ve got three messages from Chuck reminding me to send him the glass ornament he’s not getting.One message from the Second Chance Dating App thanking me for forwarding my complaints and informing me they’re handling it.A message from my mom.Three in the CCC Group chat including the one from Claire:
Claire
Call me as soon as you're alone!!I'm up… night shifts screwed me up.
I stand up, careful not to wake Adam or the dogs, and tiptoe to the bathroom.The Christmas lights outside cast a colorful glow through the window, bouncing off the snow like some Hallmark movie set.
Except Hallmark never shows the morning-after bathroom call with your best friend.
I hit Claire’s name and press call.
