Page 19 of Once Upon A Christmas Song

He was gesturing at me to hand over the plate.

“Wait. I need to get out the fruit salad and⁠—”

“Just give it to me,” he threatened, using a weird voice.

I went still, staring at him. “The hell was that?”

“That’s my demon-from-the-pit voice,” he quipped, like his response was completely normal.

“You just sound like you need to cough.”

“Give me the plate, Christopher.”

Chuckling as I handed it over, I was very glad I’d taken a quick nap between the guys falling asleep and him waking up. I’d be dead otherwise. I was on a two-hour time difference, which meant it was two in the morning my time back in NOLA.

Going to the refrigerator, I got out the fruit I’d cut hours ago and brought it over, just as he was starting on the second half of the sandwich I’d made on large thick slices of sourdough bread. I was stunned.

“That was hot.”

He leered at me. “No, you’re hot. But this sandwich is great. Easily the best thing I’ve had in months.”

“All that cheese was like molten lava.”

“Was it?”

“Ohmygod, you probably have third-degree burns in your throat,” I said, watching him wolf it down.

“Can you make me another one?” he asked as he started forking the bite-sized pieces of fruit I’d cut up in the enormous bowl.

“Yes, sir,” I said, starting on it.

“And so you know,” he explained between bites, “when I walked into La Belle Vie for the first time, I thought, it’s nice, it’s very clean, and the vibe was low-key, which you know I like.”

I nodded because I knew that about him.

“But then you came out from the back in those damn jeans with the holes in them, the ones that stick to your legs like a second skin, and I thought, damn, look at the thighs on that man.”

“Okay.” I placated him.

“I did,” he imparted with a grin. “Then you turned, and I saw how great your ass was, and those shoulders that go on for days…”

“We can be done with this now,” I told him.

“All the pretty colors in that hair of yours, and of course, let’s not forget your big, beautiful brown eyes. I mean, I saw you and thought, yeah, I want that.”

“That?”

He snickered.

“That’s right out of a fairy tale, isn’t it? That,” I repeated, pausing for effect, “sounds very once upon a time.”

Putting his head down, he laughed huskily.

“Yeah, you’re a riot.”

Lifting his head, he leaned across the island, puckered for a kiss.

“Absolutely not.”