Page 80 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
“Absolutely not.”
“But Eve, dear,” Sally insists with the determination of a bacteria colony resisting my strongest antibiotics.“Adam looks so handsome in the costume.”
“I don’t do costumes.”I cross my arms, channeling my best clinical detachment.“I’m a nurse, not a North Pole recruit.”
“It’s a hat,” Adam murmurs.“And maybe some jingle bells.”
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse.
The corner of his mouth lifts.“Maybe a little.”
“Fine.”I exhale, wondering when exactly I became the person who argues about elf hats.The clinical diagnosis?Acute holiday resistance syndromewith a side ofChuck-induced dignity preservation.
My brain, helpful as ever, flashes a memory reel: Eve Foster, age ten, wearing a handmade turtle shell to school for twelve consecutive days.Eve Foster, when she wasn’t crying in the shower, choreographing a dance routine to “Stayin’ Alive” because why not?Eve Foster with Claire during night shifts, creating the most ridiculous pop quiz to make patients laugh.
My fingerstap-tap-tapagainst my thigh.One, two.three.I catch Adam watching the movement, like he’s translating my personal Morse code of anxiety.But it’s not just anxiety.It’s something else.Something that feels suspiciously like wanting.Because I want to do this.To not look back on that moment and wish I had done it.
I already have plenty of regrets from saying no when I wanted to say yes.Plenty of remorse when I said yes, when I wanted to say no.
“But no tights,” I add firmly, channeling my bestthis-is-not-negotiableER nurse voice.“No pointy shoes.Just a hat.”
Even as I say it, I realize I’m denying myself something I actually want.Because the truth is, I do want the hat.I want the bells.
“Actually,” I hear myself add before my professional filter can kick in, “the pointy shoes too.But I draw the line at tights.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, like that day I collapsed on the floor from exhaustion and Blanche and Dorothy took it as an invitation for face-cleaning services.Less slobber involved here, but the same unexpected comfort.
Wes chuckles while Megan bounces like she’s won the North Pole lottery.And there’s Adam, with that half smile that makes my medical brain catalog completely unprofessional responses.
Proof 1002 I’m not Hallmark material (I’m pretty sure they’d have gone fullElf), but maybe I’m not entirely Lifetime trauma-drama either.
My gaze locks on Adam.My pulse quickens.I can’t stop staring at the man.At his stubble that left the perfect burn against my inner thighs, at those veterinarian hands that know exactly where to apply pressure.His gaze drops to my lips, and I swear he flexes those fingers deliberately, a silent reminder of exactly what they’re capable of.The memory alone makes my core clench in anticipation, forcing me to press my thighs together to alleviate the sudden ache.
When he leans imperceptibly closer, his warm breath grazing my ear, I nearly forget we’re standing in the middle of a crowded park.
“Can’t wait to know if you’ve been naughty or nice,” he whispers, his voice reminding me whyVoiceGasmis the perfect nickname for him and making my skin prickle with heat despite the winter air.
I clear my throat and he gives me his half-grin that has me reminding myself, we definitely have to keep it PG on stage.
Chapter twenty-five
EVE
Twentyminuteslater,I’mwearing not only a hat, but also a red and green tunic with actual jingle bells that announce my presence with all the subtlety of a cardiac arrest.
“Looking good, Foster,” Adam says, his Santa hat at an angle that is definitely not FDA-approved for holiday wear.
“You owe me,” I mutter, but there’s no real bite to it.
When the mayor waves us over, I spot Adam’s parents while Noelle vibrates with glee as we shuffle to the tree, surrounded by more people than my aunt’s oceanfront Fourth of July bash.
“Ready to light this tree?”the mayor asks, handing Adam a comically large switch.
Adam leans in, his breath warm against my ear.“Come here, Foster.Hold it with me.”
There are so many jokes I could make about holding large things with him, but we’re in public, in costume, surrounded by children with developing brains and impressionable neural pathways.
His hand covers mine on the switch, his body warm against my back.The countdown begins, the crowd chanting with an enthusiasm that would be concerning in any medical setting.
