She shrugs. “She realized she gave most of the Christmas candy to the neighbors and that’s Grant’s favorite part of Christmas, so… more baking.” Her face brightens. “What do you say? Do you want to help?”
I do, but we’re supposed to pick up the stockings this afternoon. “Yeah, but…”
“You stay, Fin,” Alex says. “There’s no need for you to come with me to get the… package.”
I feel bad, because it was my idea to get stockings, and now he’s stuck picking them up.
But he seems to be able to read my mind—or more likely my face. “Finley,” he assures me, “you know you want to bake. You stay here, and I’ll take care of it. I really don’t mind.”
I notice the pile of bags on the floor. “And when you get back, maybe we can wrap presents.”
Mallory’s mouth drops. “You haven’t wrapped your presents yet, dude?”
“Of course not,” he says. “They’d just get crushed in the suitcase.”
She frowns as she stares at his open carry-on case on the floor. “Your suitcase isn’t very big.”
“You know what they say about good things coming in small packages,” Alex says.
Mallory shrugs. “But some of us like our packages big.” Then she flips her hair over her shoulder and flounces off.
“Did my sister just make a sex joke?” he asks with fear in his eyes.
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “I think she did.”
He closes his eyes and shudders. “I think I’m going to need to bleach my brain.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” I grin, then turn to check out our handiwork.
He studies it too then shoves his hands into his front jeans’ pockets. “I should have bought some better ornaments.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s perfect just as it is.” It may be covered with leftover, mismatched ornaments, but it’s our tree. And I love it.
“It’s missing a star at the top,” he says, then walks over to the boxes and shuffles things around.
“It doesn’t need a star,” I say, mostly because there isn’t a tree topper in the boxes. I’ve already checked three times.
“We can’t leave it bare,” he says, his brow furrowed.
I walk over and grab his stocking cap off the dresser and put it on top of the tree. “There. Now it has a topper.”
He laughs. “I think you got the tree confused with a snowman.”
I cross my arms over my chest as I admire our work. “I don’t believe in stereotypes.”
He watches me with an intense gaze for several seconds, long enough that I feel uncomfortable. It’s not a lustful gaze, more like I’m a language he doesn’t know how to read, but he’s trying.
I’m not sure what I said that could make him so pensive, but I need to lighten the mood again, so I throw the pillow at him and rush for the door.
“What was that for?” he calls after me with a laugh.
“Practicing up for our future snowball fight.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Finley
The afternoon is filled with candy making. Valerie teaches me how to make fudge, peanut brittle, toffee, and a whole assortment of other desserts, but I keep checking the back door, waiting for Alex to return. He’s been gone for nearly two hours, and I feel guilty that he’s having to pick up the stockings on his own. It was my idea to get them, and I’m sure he has better things to do—especially on Christmas Eve—than running an errand for me.
