Page 106 of Seeds of Christmas
“I’ll watch two.”
She pretends to consider. “Fine. But only because I want to meet your friends. And see you in your natural habitat.”
“My natural habitat is right here. In bed. With you.”
“Your other natural habitat.” She kisses me. “The one with beer pong and questionable life choices.”
“There will be no beer pong. I’m very mature and responsible.”
“We’ll see how long that lasts.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon in bed—not doing anything particularly productive, just existing together. She reads while I doze. We order pizza and eat it sitting cross-leggedon the mattress. She shows me pictures from her previous geology field trips, and I pretend to understand what makes one rock more interesting than another.
It’s perfect. Simple and easy, and exactly what I need.
Around seven, Jake comes home. I hear him in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge, swearing when he doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for.
“Jake!” I call out. “We’re coming tomorrow!”
His head appears in my doorway. “Yeah? Both of you?”
“Both of us.”
His grin is huge. “Dude. That’s awesome. The guys are going to be so happy.” He looks at Rhi. “Fair warning, they’re going to interrogate you. Very thoroughly. Especially Marcus—he takes the ‘protective big brother’ thing seriously.”
“I can handle it,” Rhi says.
“She faced down an asshole the other day,” I add. “She can definitely handle some frat guys.”
“Nice.” Jake leans against the doorframe.
He straightens up. “Okay, I’m going to the store to get supplies. You two need anything?”
“We’re good,” I say.
“Cool. See you tomorrow. Don’t be late—countdown’s at midnight, obviously.”
After he leaves, Rhi pulls her laptop open again.
She shifts to get more comfortable, and I notice her flexing her ankle—the one that was very swollen just days ago.
“How’s it feeling?” I ask, running my hand down her leg.
“So much better, actually. The swelling’s almost completely gone.” She rotates it in a small circle. “See? Nearly back to normal.”
“Let me see.” I sit up slightly, gently taking her foot in my hands.
“Carter, it’s fine?—”
“I’m inspecting my handiwork. I did nurse you back to health after all. I have a vested interest in your ankle’s recovery.”
She laughs. “Alright.”
I examine it carefully—the bruising has faded to a yellowish-green, and the swelling really is almost gone. Without thinking, I press a soft kiss to her ankle bone.
She squeals and tries to yank her foot away. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing it better,” I say innocently, holding on.
