Page 50

Brad Rhodes is far too much of a social butterfly to pass up the opportunity for cake, a first dance, and the chance to make a speech to leave everyone in tears at his own wedding.

There’s also the whole twang of guilt I’m still trying to make up for when I think back to the day we sat his parents down and told them a slightly condensed version of events about how we first met. I’ll never forget how wide his mom’s eyes went and how his dad suddenly needed to go mow the lawn for an hour before coming back and shaking my hand and silently passing me a beer.

Turns out, they’re more than fine with us being together; it just caught them by surprise.

Can’t say I blame them for needing a minute to adjust.

“I feel kinda bad we only gave your dad a book and some socks,” Flinn mutters. “That feels like the ultimate ‘old man’ type of gift. We might as well have added a multipack of new underwear while we were at it.”

My grin broadens. “Dad tolerates Christmas at best. I bet you anything he’ll be asleep on the couch by seven p.m. and will think it’s the best gift of his life that we’re fucking off so that he’s got the ranch to himself for the next few days.”

Flinn gives me a lopsided grin. “You really did inherit the Rhodes holiday spirit genes for both of you.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Impossible when we’ve had our tree up since the first of November.” He pockets his phone before bringing those big hands of his to cup my jaw.

“Want me to leave the decorations up all year? I can. Just watch me.”

He shuts me up with a kiss, and I slide my hands around his back, sighing with contentment and happiness into his mouth.

“I love you, my future husband and sexiest cowboy alive, who will forever indulge my sushi obsession when we travel beyond the bounds of Crimson Ridge.” My smirk grows wider at his weary nod in reply. I’ve been planning my sushi feast with meticulous precision for the past week, knowing that we’ll be passing through bigger towns with more options than just black coffee and horse feed.

Flinn grunts and fishes his phone out of his pocket, letting me go for a brief second. He taps the screen, then smiles at me, satisfaction flashing across his hazel eyes. “That’s what I needed to do.”

He turns the phone and shows me the screen. My exact order, down to the last piece of inari, has already been placed. A little green bubble says my order is being prepared for pickup by the time we’d be driving through.

“Okay, well I was gonna surprise you with dick cookies as our road trip snack …” I grab the front of his jacket in both fists. “But I think I might have to sample the real thing while you focus on the road.”

My cowboy kisses me again, half-heartedly scolding me under his breath in the process of leaning into me, but I feel his lips curve into a tiny, naughty smile at the prospect.

As he pulls back, before I can turn our sweet and romantic kiss into something more X-rated, he wets his lips and hits me with the kind of gaze I’ll never get tired of seeing every day. “I love you, my sunshine boy. Merry Christmas.”

I couldn’t agree more. My beaming, goofy, cowboy, head-over-heels in love smile says it all.

Merry fucking Christmas to us, indeed.