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“No,” I grumbled. “What’s up?”
She eyed me carefully, seeing right through me. “Sorry to interrupt ‘nothing,’ but these were just delivered, and I thought you would want to see them.” She held up a small box wrapped with a red ribbon.
“Are those our Christmas cards?” I’d almost forgotten I was annoyed at being interrupted.
“Yep.” She danced our way, wearing her signature overalls.
I stood and brushed off some dust from my dark jeans, anxiously grabbing the box. “Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you two to yournothing.” She smirked before fluttering off.
If only we had more time.
“Let’s open these with the kids,” I suggested.
Patrick stood and grabbed my face with his hands, not saying a word before deeply kissing me. We are talking a breath-stealing, feel-it-in-your-toes, heavy-dose-of-spine-shivers kind of kiss. I gasped for the pleasure of it all as his tongue deeply prodded every corner of my mouth. But just like that, it was over.
“Now we can go,” he said, satisfied.
In other news, I stood dazed and a little weak in the knees. “Um ...”
Patrick rumbled a low laugh. “You okay there?”
“Uh-huh.” I blinked, not sure what I was supposed to be doing.
“Should we join the kids now?”
Oh yeah, that’s what we were doing. I could only nod.
Patrick gave me the sexiest of grins. “I’m glad I can still get to you.” That was an understatement.
“Let’s do that again soon.”
He took my hand. “Deal. We better go before I don’t care who interrupts us.”
That was a good idea.
We walked down to find the inn hopping. It was game night in the dining hall, and several guests were loudly playing a rousing game of pinochle. We waved as we made our way through to the kitchen. Hardly anyone noticed, as there were some heated debates going on, over the tune of “Jingle Bell Rock” as it played in the background.
As soon as we entered the kitchen, I was hit with the smell of cinnamon. It was my favorite scent.
“Aunt Iz!” Jameson jumped off the step stool he was on and ran my way, wrapping his arms around my legs.
“Hey, big guy.”
“We are baking Kris Kringle.”
“You have Santa in the oven?” I teased.
“No, silly. It’s the kringle.”
“Ohhhh, very good. I can’t wait to taste it.”
He ran back to join Mom, Bridgette, Rory, and my dad, who was wearing an apron that said,Official Christmas Cookie Taste Tester. I didn’t see Chef Paul anywhere. I hoped Mom hadn’t kicked him out. Who knew how many health codes she’d already broken.
I held up the box. “Our Christmas cards came.”
“Ooh.” Bridgette wiped her hands on a towel. “Let me see.”
