Page 73 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
"Christmas pickle production."I hold up my latest creation with what I hope is professional pride rather than the ridiculous warmth spreading through my chest whenever he looks at me like that."See?Santa hat and everything.That's festive."I inspect my handiwork, running my fingers over the stitches.Then, with my best analytical assessment, I mutter, "Still looks like an alien dick."
His deep laugh makes something flutter in my chest.
"You can't use the Santa hat as your only Christmas spirit defense, Foster."
He moves closer, and my resolve weakens like poorly tied surgical sutures.
"I mean, it's great.Best Pickle Dickle Family ever."
His hand finds my shoulder, thumb brushing over the spot where he left a mark that night and my skin tingles even through the fabric.
"Much better than anything I ever made."
My fingers freeze on the pickle, and I look up to find his eyes on mine."I remember what Sally said in the carriage.About you attempting to crochet and Frank mentioned it might be for me."
He groans, dragging his free hand down his face."It was supposed to be a brain, Eve.A brain.With a Santa hat, because you kept going on about how Liv should've had holiday-themed brains on iZombie—"
"She should have," I interject automatically.
"—but then I finished stuffing it, and..."He shakes his head."It was no longer a brain."
I bite my lip, fighting a smile."Then what was it, Harrison?"
He gives me a flat look."A testicle, Foster."
I blink.
And then I lose it completely.
Laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, the kind I haven't felt since before diagnosis, before Chuck, before everything.It starts silent, with my shoulders shaking, then breaks free in a way that would horrify my ex-husband.
"It's not funny," he mutters, but his fingers find my hair, loosening what's left of my messy bun.
"It's so much worse than I imagined," I wheeze, feeling the tightness in my chest unravel."You made me a Christmas Testicle."
"You never made time to crochet back then, and I figured it would make you smile."
I lean back against him without thinking, still catching my breath."It would have."
"I almost sent it your way.I had it with me in Pittsburgh."
My body goes still.The wall I've been carefully maintaining rises instinctively.
"Adam—" I start, but he shakes his head.
"We don't have to talk about it.Not tonight."
I study him for a moment, assessing options like treatment plans.Then, against my better judgment, I reach for his hand.Not analyzing it like a medical case.Not overthinking it.Just...reaching.
After a few seconds, I lift the Christmas Pickle again."Guess I make time now."
"Guess you do," he murmurs, and I hear everything he's not saying.
A muffled rip draws our attention.Dorothy has somehow managed to steal one of my socks from the half-unpacked suitcase and is parading it around like a prize, while LoverBoy jumps around her and Blanche gives them both that long-suffering look she's perfected.
"Oh, absolutely not."I push up from my chair, but Dorothy bolts.
I lunge for the dog, but the sock thief is too fast.I whirl, looking to Adam for help, and suddenly we're close.Too close.His body heat radiates through the hoodie I'm wearing, and my fingers accidentally brush his stomach as I try to maintain balance.
