Page 83 of Holiday Interference
Cooking used to be functional—fuel before practice, nothing fancy.
Now I catch myself worrying if she’ll like the seasoning.
I still don’t recognize the guy I’ve turned into around her.
Less guarded.
Still rough around the edges, but wanting to be better, if only because she looks at me like I already am.
There’s a soft knock at the door, causing me to swear under my breath and swipe my palms on my jeans before rushing over to open it.
She’s standing there bundled in her red wool coat and black jeans, cheeks flushed from the cold, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
Her hair’s pulled up, tendrils falling loose around her face.
Every time I see her, something in me steadies and unravels at the same time.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean for it to, and all I can do is stare.
Which is what I seem to do every time I see her.
Her smile widens. “Can I come in?”
I blink. “Yes, of course.”
Stepping aside, I let her in, but as she brushes by me, I grab her wrist, spin her around, and pin her to the door.
I lower my forehead to hers. “I missed you.”
The simple contact—soft skin, faint perfume, the warmth of her under all that wool—lights me up from the inside out.
“You just saw me yesterday,” she says with a smirk. She’s playing coy, but I can see in her eyes that she missed me too.
“Yeah, but that was too long ago. I need my Noelle fix.”
My mouth slants over hers and she opens under me, letting our tongues tangle and curl together until we’re breathless.
“Hmmm…” she murmurs, her eyes opening slowly. “Happy to provide your fix.”
She sniffs the air. “It smells amazing in here. Present company not withstanding.”
“Figured I’d cook. Didn’t want to risk the takeout place closing early.”
“I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I do now,” I say, and when she looks up, I lean in to kiss her temple.
Her fingers find the lapel of my shirt. “You look nice.”
I shrug, suddenly warm. “You bring enough light in here, I had to try and keep up.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and my chest does that stupid tight thing again.
I take her coat, hang it up, and pour her a glass of wine while she toes off her boots.
“You said I couldn’t see the surprise until after dinner,” she says, glancing toward the covered corner of the living room. “You hiding a puppy back there?”
