Page 47 of Christmas With The Kings
He caught the spatula effortlessly and raised one perfect brow. “Bossy woman. It’s a good thing I love you. I can’t believe you’re putting me to work first thing in the morning.”
“It’s the least I could do.Youkicked out my helper,” I pointed out, giving the eggs one last whip.
He chuckled low in his chest, the sound rumbling through the quiet morning, soft and deep, curling around me like warmth from the fire. Still, he moved without argument, stepping up to the stove with the calmprecision of someone who’d already decided how the next five minutes would go.
I watched as he eyed the pan, lifting the spatula with quiet determination, clearly gearing up for his grand moment.
“Don’t youdare,” I warned, one hand on my hip. “It’s a science. You can’t be flipping all willy-nilly.”
“Willy-nilly?” he echoed, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth.
“Yes,willy-nilly.” I crossed my arms, trying not to laugh. “You have to wait until bubbles form throughout the pancake—not just around the edges.”
He tilted his head, amused. “How many bubbles are we talking here, Chef?”
“Pay attention and you’ll be helping Mrs. Patterson every Sunday,” I shot back. “Oh! You could make them for the whole family Christmas morning.”
He side-eyed me. “Uh, no. Absolutely not. But…go on. Enlighten me.”
I pointed with my wooden spoon. “See that? The bubbles formed and then popped. Now we’re left with little holes that don’t close. That’s the signal. Now flip it.”
He did surprisingly smooth. The pancake flipped perfectly and landed in the center of the pan. The sight of this big, burly man with tattoos peeking out beneath rolled sleeves, hair perfectly styled, standing at my side flipping pancakes—made something flutter in my chest. It wasn’t the swoony kind of flutter that left you breathless. It was quieter than that.
Whatever it was, it settled deep and warm inside me. It was moments like this that chipped away at all the old hurt. My eyes stung unexpectedly, and I blinked fast, fighting the lump that formed in my throat.
He looked over and caught me watching him. “You alright, little love?” he asked, his teasing paused in favor of concern.
I nodded and smiled, wiping my hand on a dishtowel. “Yeah. Just…I like this. Us. Like this.”
He didn’t press. That wasn’t how he went about getting me to open up. Alek would demand answers first with a look, and then with a command.Nik would coax them out of me with a charm offensive. Ivan waited. My quiet, steady, present beast.
He nodded, flipped another pancake with the kind of patience most people only pretended to have, then reached for my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It always hit me this time of year. The absence. I didn’t really remember Christmas with my parents, but I remembered everyone I celebrated with Owen. The memory came back crystal clear.
We’d been on the road for a while. It was just the two of us in that weathered RV, chasing safe skies and small comforts. He never said it outright, but I knew it had cost him something to disobey and not leave me at New Haven. Something huge.
The nightmares hadn’t lost their edge, nor had the panic attacks for that matter. They were still consistent. It hit every time we stopped at the grocery store or gas station. Every time I had to be around a group of people.
And it was the week before Christmas. We’d parked the RV on a quiet, wooded lot near Mount Rainier. Snow dusted the tops of the trees like powdered sugar, and the only sound for miles was the occasional chirp of a winter bird or the hiss of the old space heater he’d rigged up to keep the chill off.
That morning, he pulled out a paper map, the old-school kind with creases and coffee stains, and smoothed it across the tiny table. “Close your eyes,” he said in that gravelly voice of his. “Pick where we go next.”
I peeked through one eye. “What if I pick the middle of nowhere?”
He smiled, lips twitching beneath that salt-and-pepper beard. “Then we’ll find the two nearest towns and flip a coin.”
I closed my eyes and pointed. My finger hovered over the map, and I swiped it to the edge closest to him and then back to the other side. I did the move several more times feeling self-conscious—worried I’d pick wrong. He sensed it.
“You can do it. Count to ten now for me and then touch the map.”
Immediate relief coursed through me. It was a command of sorts, and I was still learning to function again without having every step of my day insomeone else’s hands. Sometimes it was necessary for him. I swirled my finger like a magic wand and then plopped it down.
A grunt signaled his approval. “Las Vegas, huh? It looks like we have some homework to do on our new locale. But first, we need to get a few things.”
A trip to town. I nodded and set about putting the laptop away into the drawer he’d labelled the tech cabinet. After that, I helped with a few more items and then took my seat. We drove in silence, and he didn’t make me go inside with him. I should have known he was up to something since he didn’t even ask me to try this time.
So I wasn’t surprised when he pulled out a gingerbread house kit he’d picked up. “We’re gonna have a contest,” he said, setting down two paper plates. “Best house wins control of the radio for the week-long trip to Las Vegas.”
