I shrug and play with the collar of my sweater for a completely different reason this time. Feeling his gaze linger on me as he steps aside to put away his coat and shoes, I notice something deeply feminine inside me raising a victory fist. I probably shouldn’t be so proud to tease him like this, but a part of me changed that night in the parking garage. No matter how sexy he is or how good the bite feels, I can hold the line he sets for us. Because of that, there’s now something deeply satisfying about walking this tightrope with Nolan, knowing he’ll have to be the one who cracks if he truly wants more.
Donovan puts a holiday tin down on the counter before picking me up for a hug—as much as holding me up by my ass is hugging me. I squeak with surprise, since he’s not really big on public displays of affection, and Connor is the only one that knows there’s more going on.
“You look festive,” he purrs, his eyes catching on the white lace at my neck, and the way the sweater, despite being oversized, stretches across my chest.
“Yes, that color looks lovely on her, don’t you agree?” Mildred comments, her tone implying she’s well aware of what really caught his eye.
“It does,” Donovan mutters and coughs, putting me back down on the floor and earning a watchful look from Kaleb.
This definitely won’t bite me in the ass. Sigh.
“This for us?” she asks, pointing at the tin on the counter.
“Um, they’re for Callie,” he fumbles, grabbing the tin and opening it so I can look inside. “They’repestiños. My mother’s recipe.”
“For me?” I murmur, daintily taking one of the offered fried treats. The surface is slightly tacky from what smells like honey.
Donovan shrugs, closes the tin, and mumbles, “I didn’t know what to get you for Christmas.”
My heart grows soft over such a personal gift—something his mother used to make—and I pop the treat into my mouth. It’s delicious, the sweetness of the honey cut by what tastes like hints of citrus. Donovan’s eyes zero in on my mouth as I suck the residue of honey from my fingers.
“They’re good,” I murmur around the tip of my thumb.
Donovan swallows heavily. “Glad you like them.”
“D slaved over a hot pan all day to finish them,” Nolan informs me with a wicked smile.
“Youmade them?” I query, impressed by this hidden skill.
“My mother insisted we both learn how to cook,” Kaleb shares, walking over to the counter where the sugar cookies and mince pies are. “As she put it, none of her boys were going to starve because we were too dumb to cook for ourselves. This same reasoning is also why we have to do our own laundry and clean the house every Sunday afternoon.”
“I become more fond of your mother every day,” Mildred comments with an indulgent smile, wearing an expression that likely means I’ll be doing my own laundry from now on. Hopefully, it also means I’ll learn thoseFantasiastyle cleaning spells.
“Thank you. They’re perfect,” I compliment, giving Donovan another hug then taking the tin from his hands. Instead of placing the tin with the other goodies, I put them away in the pantry.
“Aww, not going to share?” Nolan teases, leaning against one of the kitchen counters.
I make an act of thinking on it, tapping my finger against my lips, then state, “I’ll consider it, but the outlook isn’t good. They arereallygood.”
Disrupting any further discussion of me sharing, Felix apparently decided to forgo any type of greeting and calls from the living room, “This is so cool! I feel like I walked into a Harry Potter book.”
“That’s what I thought,” I call back, grinning over his enthusiasm, while Donovan, Kaleb, and Nolan go look to see what Felix is raving about. Mildred frowns at me, and I explain, “Felix likes the illusion lights.”
“Ah,” she replies with a nod. There’s another question swimming within her gaze, but she chooses to keep whatever it is to herself. Instead, she plates the cookies and mince pies, then carries them out into the living room.
Connor stands by the front door, jacket and boots removed, patiently waiting for his turn. He’s dressed as he always is in jeans and a flannel, though this one is festively colored in red and green. In his hand is a narrow box wrapped in brown paper.
The chatter in the next room indicates we’re not being directly watched, so I walk over to him, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floors.
“Happy Yule,” I whisper, looking up at him shyly under my lashes. Despite the others only a room away, it feels very private standing here secluded next to the door.
“Happy Yule,” he echoes, his voice low, then hands me the paper wrapped gift. Nervous energy buzzes through him despite looking outwardly calm.
Chewing on my lip, I fiddle with the corners of the paper. “Do you want me to open it now?”
He glances over to the living room, then back down at me before nodding.
Everything inside me feels light and heavy at the same time, the significance of whatever hides behind this plain paper pouring from him into me.This must have been why he felt so anxious earlier.Carefully, I use my fingernail to cut away at the taped folds and unwrap the gift.
