Page 67 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
My heart pounds against my ribs as I lean in too, drawn by something I can’t fight anymore.“I want...”
We’re inches apart now, his breath warm against my lips.Someone across the café drops a plate, the crash barely registering as his hand covers mine on the table.
“Yes?”His voice is barely a whisper, patient yet urgent.
I could close the distance.I could press my lips to his right here in Rosie’s, with half the town watching.I could admit that one night wasn’t enough—will never be enough.
Instead, I whisper, “Dessert.I want dessert.”My gaze flicks to his lips.“Rosie’s butterscotch, marshmallows, chocolate bars are supposedly...unforgettable.”
His eyes darken at the word “unforgettable,” catching my double meaning.“Definitely unforgettable,” I add, not breaking eye contact.“Like that night.”
As Adam opens his mouth to respond, a chorus of off-key singing erupts outside the window.We both turn to see Margaret, Sally, and a few more women belting out “All I Want for Christmas Is You” with more enthusiasm than talent.Sally catches my eye through the glass and waves frantically, giving us an exaggerated thumbs-up.
“Your mom is outside,” I mutter, sliding down in my seat.
“Pretend we don’t see them,” Adam suggests, but it’s too late.Margaret is now pointing at us while mouthing what looks suspiciously likemistletoe opportunityto Sally.
“Oh God,” I groan.
“They’re harmless,” Adam says, though his ears have turned slightly pink.“Mostly.”
“Speaking of harmless,” he continues, recovering quickly.“LoverBoy has convinced Dorothy and three other dogs to stage a revolt during playtime.”
“Is Blanche leading the revolution?”
“Blanche,” he says with unexpected fondness, “has appointed herself their protector.She herded them all away from the open gate this morning.She’s doing great, by the way.I think her anxiety is improving.”
The way he talks about my dogs, like they’re important, like their personalities matter, makes my chest tighten.
“Speaking of improvements,” he murmurs, voice dropping so low I have to lean closer to hear him.“I’ve been wondering if you might need new batteries.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I immediately understand what he’s asking.“For...?”
“Adam Pro.”His thumb traces the sensitive skin of my inner wrist, where my pulse is betraying every attempt at composure.“Must be getting quite a workout with all those late nights alone.”
“Well...”I swallow hard, gathering my courage.“Yes, but the original model has topped all expectations.Very...hands-on approach.”
A flash of heat darkens his eyes as he processes my words, and I feel a ridiculous surge of triumph at makingDr.Cool-Calm-and-Collectedmomentarily speechless.
Rosie steps toward us with his to-go bag, breaking the spell between us.“Double sandwich and coffee, Adam.Black, no sugar, just how you like it.”She sets down a wrapped cookie and a chocolate bar beside my plate.“Here’s the Nordy bar.And a gingerbread man for later, Eve.Something to bite into.”
Adam reluctantly slides his hand from mine.“Thanks, Rosie.Duty calls.”
“You’re missing quite the lunch special,” she says with a knowing smile before walking away.
“Oh, I know.I’m sorry I have to go.Enjoy your lunch, Foster.”His eyes promise something that makes my pulse race.“Save me some gingerbread.”
“No promises, Harrison.”
Outside, Sally and Margaret have given up all pretense of singing and are now watching us through the window, until I turn my head toward them and they wave at me like they’ve just arrived.And haven’t been watching this entire time.
I smile.And it’s not forced.Or wrong.Or too much.
It feels like me.Not Eve the nurse, or Eve the patient, or Eve the ex-wife.Just Eve.Which doesn’t stop my brain from desperately trying to diagnoseunexpected smile syndromeand catalog potential side effects.
Symptom one: reduced facial tension.
Symptom two: warm chest sensation.
