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I keep my head down. While I’m very aware of Stevie’s history with her mom, this discussion with her dad is rooted in hard feelings on his side and burgeoning feelings on hers.

Stevie doesn’t come back swinging with any defense of her mom. Instead, she moves back to the fridge. “I’ve been busy, but yeah… we talked briefly today.”

Now John’s eyes shift to me, and I can read his expression. It says loud and clear: Are you sensing something’s wrong here?

Yeah… I sense it. But I can tell Stevie’s wound tight, and I can also tell this subject is not something she wants to linger on.

I give a very minute shake of my head. Don’t go there, John.

He lifts his chin in acknowledgment. I’m staying away.

“Your dad’s going to do that tattoo for me,” I say, changing the subject again.

Stevie spins from the fridge, a smile on her face. “Really?”

John answers the question. “Yup. Apparently, he wants a Porsche logo on his biceps.”

Her head whips back my way in disbelief, and I wink at her. “He’s going to do all the names.”

Eyes softening with sentimentality, she sighs. “It will be beautiful.”

“I did a tattoo once on this woman who wanted the names of all her exes,” John says as he finishes up the pepperoni. “She said it was so she could remember what to stay away from. And about four months later, she showed up with another name to add. Then six months after that, another name.”

I laugh as I shake my head. “Some people never learn, I guess.”

John chuckles, and I think it’s the first time I’ve actually heard him do so. “She still comes to me. Her list is up to fourteen names or something.”

We all laugh, and that sets the tone for the rest of the evening. I have to say, I’ve never hung out with the parent of a romantic partner before, and while John seems antisocial on the outside, to my surprise, we share a lot of laughs throughout dinner. Whatever was bothering Stevie earlier has disappeared.

After we clean the kitchen, John makes a quick exit, which I know is to give us time alone. He’s pretty much monopolized our evening, but it was totally fine by me. Decorating Stevie’s house was an epic gift, and I’m glad we did it together. It’s the type of forced bonding that’s going to make him like me.

Hugging her dad at the door, Stevie says, “Thank you for being the best parent a child could ever hope to have.”

“Yeah,” he returns gruffly, squeezing her close, “because you were such a hard kid to raise.”

The sarcasm in his voice indicates she was pretty much an angel, but I figured that out. She might have the tough biker, rocker-chick image, but Stevie’s soft inside and out.

Except when she has that baseball bat ready to knock heads.

Bolting the lock, Stevie moves right into me. Her arms go around my neck, and she kisses me before turning to look at the Christmas tree. “I still can’t believe you and my dad did all this.”

I tip my head to follow her gaze.

“I would have never put it up,” she admits, snuggling into me. “And yet, now I’m wondering why the hell I wouldn’t have made time for it. I forget how magical it is.”

It is magical. I’ve always loved Christmas.

“Come here,” I say as I lead her to the couch. I pull her down with me, curling us together so we’re facing the tree. “Next year, we’ll put up the tree together at Thanksgiving when we both have some time.”

“Next year, huh?” she murmurs as her fingertips stroke my arm. “Don’t you think we should figure out next week first?”

“Nah. I already have next week figured out. And the week after that, and the week after that, right on up to this time next year. Is that cool with you?”

I lift my head and bend over her. She cranes her neck to look back at me. “Yeah… I’m cool with that.”

With a bit of a stretch, I’m able to brush my lips over hers. “I wish you could come home with me for Christmas.”

“We’ll plan better next year,” she promises, and that means she’s got the future figured out, just like I have.

Jerry’s Bar has always been open on Christmas Day to serve those who don’t have any place else to go. Stevie’s working that day as she doesn’t want to ask her staff to do it. It sucks, because it’s my favorite holiday and I want to spend it with her, but I can’t miss out on my family either. My girlfriend is nontraditional in many ways, and it just may mean she serves beer on Christmas Day. We’ll figure a way to work around that.

CHAPTER 18

Stevie

My hands are sweating so bad, my phone slips free as I try to put it in my purse. I lean over in my car, grab it from the floorboard, and take a deep breath. “It’s just a meeting. Nothing more.”

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