Page 78 of Elf-ish

“Uncle Beau is sucking Belle’s face again,” the oldest of my nephews eventually announces to the crowded kitchen, sometime after dinner, which was delivered pizzas.

Gran rushes out of the room to separate the couple while Gertie reaches for her cell phone. “Just going to capture the moment.”

Our cookie baking is winding down.

With Dane and the twins long gone and Christmas wrangling her boys upstairs for a bath, I glance around the kitchen, which looks like holiday elves had a rage party.

“I guess I should get to cleaning up.”

The countertops don’t have a stitch of vacant space. The table is covered in remnants of flour and colored sugar. The candy-sprinkle containers and bowls of dried frosting add to the mayhem.

“I can stay, too,” Jude offers, but he can’t fight a tight yawn.

“You need to work tomorrow,” I remind him.

“So do you,” he states.

It strikes me how much we know about one another in such a short period of time. Where we each live. Our work schedules. We both work odd hours and any day of the week, although he has more liberty than I do, and I need to make up for missed shifts when I’d called off sick.

“When can I see you next?” he says, stepping close to me and brushing back hairs that have come loose from my braid.

“Jude,” I whisper, lowering my head. “We don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?” he asks, slipping his hands into his pants pockets, which have a dusting of flour near the edge.

“This.” I point between us. “Pretend.”

“Pretend?” he parrots.

“The boyfriend-girlfriend thing.” I exhale heavily. He made quite an impression on my family, and I’ll have to pick up the pieces eventually, explaining how Jude wasn’t ever really my boyfriend. But for now, he’s fitting in. “My family loves you. You can be my date for Beau’s wedding.”

My voice isn’t convincing. I mean, I want him to be my date for Beau’s wedding. But I also want him to be more. However, all that talk in the laundry room was just talk. Flirty words while getting me off, distracting me from the issue at hand. Beau’s wedding. Which I still don’t have a venue for.

“We don’t need to keep up the ruse outside of them.”

“Ruse?” Jude takes another step closer to me, forcing me back into the side of the refrigerator. Brushing loose curls around my ear again, he strokes down the side of my neck, and I close my eyes.

“Does this feel like pretend?”

Isn’t that the issue? Everything is starting to feel a little too real. The way we meshed on my couch last night. The way he blended with my family. The way he kisses me.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, swallowing against the goosebumps breaking out on my skin. “Isn’t it?”

Jude’s expression hardens, and he drops his hand. His eyes slowly restore to that icy glare. His brows pinch like he’s deep in thought.

“What about when my fingers were inside you earlier? Did that feel fake?”

I couldn’t possibly fake how my body responds to his. The way I clenched around his fingers. The way I drenched his hand.

“What about last night?” he continues, lowering his voice and leaning his forehead closer to mine, but not close enough to meet. “You didn’t taste like pretend on my tongue.” He pauses a beat. “In fact, you tasted better than anything I’ve ever tasted before.”

My cheeks feel like they are sunburned as he stares at my mouth.

“Jude,” I whisper. “What are we doing? I’m not your type, and you aren’t mine.”

The second I say the words, I know I’m wrong. He could be everything to me.

“I’m not?” He abruptly stands taller, a deep line forming between his brows. He suddenly looks wounded, like I’ve pierced his heart or ripped it out of his chest. He even covers his left pec and rubs over it a second before asking, “What makes me not good enough for you?”