Page 105 of Better Hate than Never

“Language,” Mom says, before turning toward me, poorly hiding her hopes as she looks at me. “Christmas is just so soon, and you hadn’t left; I assumed you were staying.”

“I’m staying,” I tell her while, still hidden under the table, I stretch my palm across Christopher’s knuckles and feel his grip start to relax, until our fingers tangle. Christopher’s gaze snaps up and our eyes meet. “And I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

—

“Mom!” I call from the mudroom, where the washer and dryer are set up.

“Yes, Kate!” she calls back.

“Something’s wrong with the washer.”

Popping her head in, Mom wrinkles her brow in confusion. “Oh, dear. You don’t say.”

Dad pops up behind her, frowning. “It is? I just used it this morning—”

“Bill,” Mom says sweetly, turning and smiling up at him. “Would you be a dear and make sure the front door shut properly when Jamie and Bea left? Puck will pull it open if it’s not securely shut, and I’m not in the mood for another midnight frolic in the cold, looking for that tyrannical furball.”

Dad blinks down at Mom. “Maureen, the door’s—”

Mom yanks Dad down by the collar and kisses him so suddenly, he grunts in surprise. But then whatever hesitation he felt dissolves as his hands wrap around her waist, drawing her close.

“Ew. You two.” I shudder, shooing them with my hands. “Go do that somewhere else.”

Mom pulls away from their kiss and flashes me a smile that’s so like Jules’s, it’s startling. “I’d say the same for you and the laundry. Try Christopher’s.”

“Christopher’s? Mom, I can’t just—”

“Excuse me, Kate,” Mom says, eyes back on Dad as he leans in for another kiss. “Your father and I will be back in just a minute.”

“A minute?” Dad says, huskily. “That’s all I get?”

Mom laughs as she walks him back from the doorway until they’re out of sight.

I sigh, turning back to the washer. Puck slinks into the mudroom and meows, twining around my legs. I start to pull out mysopping-wet clothes from the washer and load them into the zip-up hamper that I brought them in. “I know, Puck. It’s gross. Parents aren’t supposed to act horny like that.”

Meow, he says.

“Well, fair point,” I tell him, reaching inside the washer for the wet clothes plastered to its sides. “I can appreciate that their horniness precipitated my existence, but as far as I’m concerned, that was twenty-eight years ago, and that should have been the end of it.”

A throat clear makes me jump and slam my head against the washer. Swearing under my breath, I stand and feel my heart flutter ridiculously in my chest.

Christopher stands, leaning against the threshold, hands in his pockets, watching me.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” I tell him sourly, rubbing the back of my head.

He pushes off the threshold and closes the distance between us, gently brushing my hand aside, feeling the back of my head, satisfied when he doesn’t find any serious damage.

“Washer’s busted, Maureen said.”

I sigh, glancing over my shoulder at the traitorous washing machine. “Apparently.”

Christopher’s quiet, inspecting my sopping clothes sitting piled in the hamper. He seems to be deliberating something, his brow furrowed. Then he steps past me and picks up my laundry bag, using the shoulder strap to hike it onto his back. “I’ll do it for you.”

I give him a look. “You arenotdoing my laundry. However, if you wanted to invite me to your house for the rest of the evening so I could do my own laundry, that would be a different matter.”

Christopher’s jaw clenches. He stares down at me, clutching the hamper. “Kate—”

Taking a page out of my mother’s book, I press up on my toes and silence his mouth with a kiss. He’s breathless when I pull away.

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