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“I’m not shunning it! I promise, I’ll make money off baby Jesus just like everyone else, but it’s my least favorite part about Christmas this year.”
I’ve only spent one holiday with him so far—Thanksgiving. It was at my parents’, of course. His mother invited him home, but he declined, along with Randy, I was told. I hate feeling like I’m part of the reason for the divide in his family, even though I know we have nothing to apologize for. Still, his confession has my heart turning to mush, wondering what he’s looking forward to this year.
“What’s your favorite part this year?”
His expression softens, making my breath catch. Me—he’s going to say me, and then I’m going to throw him over my shoulder, cart him upstairs, and prove he made an excellent choice.
“The turkey,” he says wistfully, like he’s talking about a newborn baby.
What the fuck?
“Turkey? Your favorite part of Christmas this year will be a food item? Don’t tell me that your family never ate turkey.”
“We did, but Leonora cooked it.” Stroking the vein in my neck, he continues with barely checked excitement, “Your mom called me a little while ago and asked if I’d make the turkey this year.”
I blink, waiting to hear what else has him bouncing on his heels, but he’s just staring at me with an expression akin to a flashing red applause sign in one of those live-studio television shows. That’s what’s got him all giddy?
“For your family,” he elaborates. “Your family’s Christmas dinner.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I figured that much.”
“Well, she asked if we could have it here, and I thought that’d be great. We have way more space in here than at your parents’ house,” he says, gesturing to the main room of the office. “And I think she thought it’d be kind of like a housewarming party for us. I feel like she’s trusting me with this huge part of a family tradition, and I don’t want to let her down. What do you think?”
“Cam, sweetheart, I doubt she’s going to be disappointed if you fuck up a turkey.”
“I am not going to fuck it up!” His reply is terrifyingly adamant as he smacks my chest like I blasphemed. “It’s going to be the best turkey you’ve ever eaten. I can do it!”
“Whoa! Simmer down.” I try to hold back a laugh out of fear of repercussions. I’ve never seen him so intent on anything. Damn, he and my mom have taken the cooking lessons a little too far. “Of course, you’re completely capable of cooking a turkey. I just meant that I don’t think you could do anything to let her down. I don’t even understand why you’re asking me my opinion. Are you nervous about cooking dinner for my family? You know you don’t have to do all that. I’ll help, and I’m sure Mom and Miranda will bring dishes.”
“You will?” His face brightens instantly, and he squeezes my arms. “That’s what I was asking, not about the turkey. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable having everyone here in our space. I didn’t want to just assume. I wouldn’t make a decision like that without you.”
That’s what he was worried about? Me and my triggers?
“Yeah. It’s fine. I’ll wear ear plugs so I don’t have to listen to Jesse’s gums smacking when he talks with his mouth full. You don’t have to keep people away because of me. I hope you know that. This is your home, too. I don’t care if you invite that entire screwy Carver family over here. If that’s what makes you happy, then I’m happy.”
“That’s really ironic.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re happy, then I’m happy too.” Chuckling, he adds, “I guess it’s like that saying, what came first—the chicken or the egg?”
Waggling my brows, I lean in and steal a kiss. “If you want to find out who came first, we can just go upstairs, Mr. Six Coffees A Day.”
Smiling, he wraps his arms around my neck. “I am so sick of drinking decaf just to get your attention.”
“That’s decaf?” I ask, whipping my head around to the coffee station. It fucking says regular. Did he dump decaf in a regular container? Seriously diabolical.
“Oops?” He cringes, but it quickly morphs into a mischievous grin.
“Are you kidding me? I didn’t know why I’d been so tired lately. I started upping my vitamin intake because of it.”
“Well, I thank your vitamins for what you did last night. No complaints from me.”
Turning him toward the stairs, I give his ass a swat. “Come on. We are going to have a serious discussion about properly labeled consumables in this house.”
Laughing, he starts for the stairs. I’ve watched him make this walk a hundred times already, but it never gets old. It’s still as new and exhilarating as it was the first day he brought me here, looking like he couldn’t contain his excitement over officially starting a life together.
Everything has happened so quickly, even though he fits into my life like a pair of well-loved shoes. I quit my job, sold my house in Bellevue, am amassing a large quantity of flannel shirts and blue jeans, and I couldn’t be happier about it. People like me don’t do well with change, they say. I guess they need to consider that it all depends on how much joy the things you left behind actually brought you.
