Page 55 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
She shoots me a look but can’t quite hide the smile as she steps toward the coffee machine.“Mind if I take the decaf pod?Coffee to go.I know decaf’s kind of pointless…”
“Pointless is drinking bad coffee.You like it?Take it.”
She hesitates.“I also use too much cream.Hazelnut.Vanilla.Pumpkin spice all year, even when they’ve stopped stocking it.”
I step closer.“You realize none of that is a crime, right?”
Her eyes flick up to mine like she doesn’t quite believe me.Or like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.I’m getting real familiar with that look.
“Foster,” I say, soft but steady, “you don’t have to apologize for liking things.Not with me.”
Her fingers twitch against her thigh.I think she wants to believe me.I also think she’s been told not to be too much for a long, long time.
Then she shifts into motion again, brushing past me.“I should get there early.Meet your dad.Drop off the girls across the street.”
“To the daycare at the clinic I’m covering today?”I ask, lifting an eyebrow.
“I have their vaccine records.”
“You could give them to me.”
“I—” She falters, then rallies.“I want to explain a few things to the staff.”
“You mean to me,” I say gently.“You’d be explaining them to me.”
Before she can answer, Blanche does a full-body tail whip that knocks into the desk.The ornament—her beloved grandfather’s ornament—wobbles, tips, and starts to fall.
We both lunge at the same time.
My hand closes around the glass a breath before it hits the floor.Hers lands over mine, fingers warm and firm.
“That was close,” I murmur.
“Too close.”Relief and fear mingle in her voice.“My grandfather made that.It’s...important.”
“I remember,” I say, voice soft.She’d described every facet once while I listened, wondering if I’d ever get to see it in person.The next morning I googled ornament storage tips like a lovesick idiot.
Our hands linger together longer than necessary, fingers overlapped.She doesn’t pull away first.And when she finally does, it’s with a subtle shift of her shoulders.The armor sliding back into place.
“Thanks,” she says, straightening her scrub top.“Sorry, this is...”
“Why are you apologizing again?”I ask, not letting it sound like a challenge.Just the truth.
She opens her mouth, then closes it.And as I see her cataloging exit routes, I offer her one.
“So… about the dogs?”
She exhales.“Thank you.That would actually be really helpful.”
I carefully set the ornament on the dresser farther from the edge.Dorothy watches me like she’s plotting to get it again later.Blanche flops onto the floor with a dramatic groan, as if she narrowly saved Christmas.
Eve checks her phone again.Another text from Chuck, maybe.Or the world reminding her not to relax.
“Mike texted me,” she mutters.“Something about a discount for my car?”
“Yeah, he gives a discount to all EMTs, firefighters, teachers, nurses, single parents, wait staff, and beekeepers.”
Her eyebrows rise.
