Page 21 of Reindeer in the Headlights
“I think we used every single dish in the house,” he said, eyeing the mound of dishes we had.
“That’s fine. I’ve got it.” I snuggled in close. “Just let me recharge for a few minutes.”
“I can wash dishes, too, you know.” He pressed his lips against my mating mark, and I thought of a thousand things to do that were better than dishes.
“Or we can wash them together.”
They went quickly; me washing and my mate drying. A lot of them were large, so it looked like a more daunting task than it was.
“I think you deserve a cookie,” I said. I grabbed one of the thumbprints we’d made and held it up to my mate’s mouth.
He took a bite. “These really are good. Next year, we can try them with different kinds of jam.”
Next year.Two words, two common, everyday words—ones that would be said in everyday conversations, left and right. But today, when he said them, they were so powerful, so meaningful.
“Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“About the jam. Say it again.”
“Next year, we can try some different jams?” He looked so confused. My fault. I’d been super vague.
“Perfect,” I said, sinking into his embrace. “Next year. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“If you think that’s beautiful, what if I tell you that every year we should try a new kind of cookie?”
“Now you’re just talking dirty to me.” I kissed him. “But don’t worry, I don’t mind. You can talk dirty to me anytime.”
13
WYNDHAM
“You’re fidgeting.” Ambrose kept one hand on the wheel and placed the other on my knee.
My knees were jiggling, and I’d been adjusting my sweater for the third time and imagining meeting my mate’s family on Christmas Eve. I’d briefly been introduced to Jeffrey, but that was hello, thank you, and goodbye, so it didn’t count as meeting him.
“I’m not.” I was, and I shouldn’t deny it, but I would. “It’s fiddling, not the other thing.”
“Oh, sorry. Got it.” He turned his attention to the road. “It will be okay. My family is not going to judge you because you can’t turn into a deer with antlers.”
There were so many other things they could consider, such as I was a lousy driver and I hadn’t made a plan as to my job beyond my Christmas vacation. And those were the two items at the top of the list.
My tummy was in knots, and I wished it could stop and make a bow and be done with the twisty-turny stuff.
“And please don’t say they’ll love me, because you’re not inside their heads and can’t make decisions for them.” My raised voice had a harsh edge, and I apologized, saying I was nervous.
In the backseat, Tinsel mewed as if he was agreeing with me, and he was nervous, too. Mistletoe chimed in, and I chose to believe she was telling us not to worry. But they were both probably complaining about being in their carriers.
“The kittens think you’re worrying too much.” My mate checked them in the rearview mirror, and I rolled my eyes at both of us interpreting their cries. Though perhaps as a shifter, Ambrose could translate kitten speak better than me.
Worrying about it wasn’t helping, but I was an only child and estranged from my folks, so I didn’t know what to expect.
My mate turned down a long driveway, and whatever was giving me heck in my belly did somersaults. I should enter them for the Belly Olympics. We pulled up at a large, two-story house, which was very different from my mate’s cabin.
Cars were parked in the driveway, suggesting a crowd, though Ambrose had insisted it was family only. Laughter and music were coming from inside. I patted my tummy and told it to behave.
I picked up Tinsel’s carrier, pleased I had something to occupy my hands. We’d brought wine and dessert, though presents were banned, with donations to animal and children’s charities preferred.
