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The gift exchange goes down with much enthusiasm. Spartan and Clementine play with the packages and wrapping paper. Jonas and Autumn frown at the number of grocery gift cards we all gifted. Between everyone, they accumulated over three hundred dollars. Plants and ugly sweaters, gag gifts and graphic tees. Smiles and laughter abound in this more relaxed holiday celebration.
As I look around the room and take in this wonderful group of people that are the best family I know, my heart wobbles a little. So much has changed over the years, but we are still together. Through thick and thin. Our lives full and bountiful.
My only wish… for Devlyn to be here too.
Then I ask myself if he’d want to be here. Would he want to sit with this colossal group of people and share a piece of himself? Would he want to insert himself in my life, with my family? Devlyn belongs here. With me. With us. He may be timid and quirky, but I easily picture him fitting in with us all. I easily picture everyone loving him as much as I do.
It may be too soon, and I may have read too many romance novels, but I think I am in love with Devlyn. But how will I know if he is in love with me?
TWENTY
DEVLYN
Holidays and birthdayshave never been big on my to-do list. Growing up, my mother turned every occasion into a lavish party. No matter the event, she was the center of attention—even when the party wasn’t for her. Over time, I grew to despise celebrations. Avoided as many invites as possible.
Until now. Until today.
Spending New Year’s Eve with Shelly sounds like the perfect way to kick off a new year. Considering I have never watched the ball drop or made a list of resolutions, I look forward to doing both with her.
Petal and Vine closes early today and doesn’t reopen until January second. I get a full, uninterrupted day and a half with her, and I have never been this damn nervous in my life.
Last night, after she spent an hour in the kitchen making the most amazing pasta carbonara and garlic bread, I asked her to come to my place for New Year’s. Without hesitation, she said yes. Then, as I fisted my napkin beneath the table, I asked her to stay the night.
Considering we have spent the night together a few times now, asking her shouldn’t flip my stomach upside down. But the previous times we slept in the same space were different. The first was accidental. The second, we were both exhausted. But the third, and most recent, didn’t happen from falling asleep on the couch or pure exhaustion. Shelly said she was tired, took my hand, and walked me to her room. The action felt so normal. A natural progression in our relationship.
That said, we haven’t broached anything beyond spooning or kissing in bed. No bare flesh or fondling through clothes. To some, our relationship may appear clean or innocent, but the truth is we are both waiting for the right moment. That unspoken word to say we are ready for more, for the next step.
Me asking Shelly to stay over—preplanning a sleepover—carries the heaviest weight yet. Pushes us to the next level of seriousness in our relationship. A step I think we’re ready for, but I don’t want her to think I have assumptions about what will or won’t happen.
My goal in asking her to stay isn’t about sex. Not that my thoughts haven’t drifted to the fantasy of what it’d be like to connect with Shelly in such a powerful way. More than any other reason, I asked Shelly to stay because I hate when she leaves. I love her in my space and in my arms. Her in both at the start of a new year… I can’t think of anything more right.
Parking at the grocery store, where everyone and their mother is shopping for last-minute party goods, I head inside, grab a cart, and wind through the aisles. The plan for tonight is to cook instead of order takeout. A chef I am not, but I have some meals down to a science.
After I load the cart with ingredients for tonight, essentials, dessert, and movie snacks, I head for the checkout. Four brown bags and way too much money later, I pack the groceries in the back of the car and leave. Traffic is heavier than usual with people driving to parties or beachside hotels for the fireworks.
I make it home before Shelly arrives and put everything away except the ingredients for dinner. As I toss the chicken breasts in a resealable bag with marinade, there is a soft knock at the door.
She’s here.
With a simple knock, I grow dizzy. My steps wobbly as I walk to the front door. Breath stuttering as I unbolt the lock and twist the handle. Heart hammering as I open the door and see my favorite smile. Skin dampening as I take in the larger than normal bag on her shoulder.
This is really happening. Shelly is here and staying the night. In my house. In my bed.
I swallow past the nervous lump in my throat. “Hey.” Stepping back, I make room for her to enter then close the door.
“Hey,” she says, voice softer than usual. “Where can I…” Her question trails off as she lifts the bag from her shoulder.
Taking the bag from her, she toes off her shoes before I slip my hand in hers and start for the bedroom.
When I gave Shelly a tour of the house on her first visit, there were two rooms I intentionally left out. The studio and my bedroom. The studio because I didn’t want her to panic at how often she inspired my recent work. And my bedroom because I didn’t want to insinuate something or make her more uncomfortable on her first visit. After all, we were just friends then. At least, that is what I told myself a thousand times a day.
The notion ofjust friendsnever really stuck.
I lead her into the bedroom and set her bag on the bed. As best I can, I hide the tremor in my limbs. With our romantic relationship still in the early stages, the last thing I want to do is give Shelly the wrong impression. That I only have one goal in mind. Sex. And although I want to experience everything with her, sex is not what drives me to be with her.
But I am a man.
More times than I care to admit, I’ve fantasized what it would be like to have Shelly beneath me. Aura a blazing red as my mouth devoured hers. Skin damp with sweat, her nails in my back. Heels digging into my ass as I rock my hips forward. My name whispered from her lips as we reached euphoria.
