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"Because I like having people over," she said. She had that one eyebrow, the one that always gave me the business, arched all the way up. "Ilikehaving dinner parties, and having holiday traditions. Ilikecooking for everyone, but you already knowthat."
Somewhere along the way, my quiet girl with her "hm" and bent eyebrow and private smiles turned into the Hostess with the Most-ess. And she did, she enjoyed this. It was fascinating and delicious, and occasionally exhausting. But now, before everyone invaded our home, I was past the point of exhausted. More than that, I was past the point of needing uninterrupted time withher.
I didn't want to spend the night surrounded by people who were not my fiancée. Or wearing pants. I'd had enough with pants for thisyear.
I set the avocado down with more force than the fruit deserved. "Idon't like having peopleover."
"You always say that," Andy said. "But then you enjoy it, and you say we should do it moreoften."
She pointed the spoon at me. "It's also Christmas Eve and the last night of Hanukkah. You can deal for this short time,Patrick."
I could. I could even enjoy it. It had all the makings of an incredible night. Shannon and Will were going out for—presumably—the last time before the baby arrived. Erin was home for the holidays. Riley was testing out some new cocktails on us. Ellie was staying at the firehouse with baby Dave to give his parents the night off. These were all good things, and I could absolutely deal with one night of friends andfamily.
But I didn'twanttodeal.
I pointed at the stovetop. "What's the story there? Are you watching the pot, or will it stay for abit?"
"Don't start," she said, circling the spoon in my direction. "I have a system. I have a timeline. I love you, but don't start rightnow."
"You have plenty of time to finish whatever the fuck you're doing with all thisfood—"
"The menu," Andy interrupted, her tone as frosty as the winter wind in Boston, "is on the refrigerator. You may recall that I discussed it with you last night,too."
I stared at the strong line of her back and the way she appeared to set six different things in motion at once. Chopping cucumbers, rinsing lettuce, pulling olives from the refrigerator, assembling an artful cheese board. I was about to start smashing these bottles. Just throwing them down and watching them shatter as they hit the hardwood floor, the dark red liquid rushing out like blood from a wound. Anything to get her attentionback.
But then she popped a bit of crumbly cheese into her mouth and I had a hundred tiny heart attacks. "Where is that from?" I asked, rounding the island. I yanked her wrist away from the tray and licked the remnants from herfingertips.
"The cheese place Shannon likes. The one in Chestnut Hill," Andy replied. "I went there after the lingerieshop."
She shot me a sharp smile, the kind that saidRemember when you did filthy things to me in a dressing room? When you almost fucked me through thewall?
"Don't try to distract me," I growled, my brows knittingtogether.
She dropped her free hand to my chest and rubbed, as if she could loosen the tension I was carrying with her touch. And she could. "It's simple old goat cheese. Nice and pasteurized. No scary bacteria to be found, and it's been more than a year and a half since my run-in with the overly funky cheese," she said lightly. "I'm okay. Raw fish, runny eggs, soft cheese, they're all fine.I'mfine."
She was fine, and I knew that, but it was times like these when I felt her slipping away from me that turned up all my irrational desires to keep her close, keep her safe. It didn't matter that my opponents were questionably aged dairy products and middle-aged women rebelling against the patriarchy. It was how I felt, and as Lauren liked to say, everyone was allowed to feel theirfeelings.
"I know," I said, tugging her against me. "But I worry. I'm going to do it, and you're going to deal withit."
"I accept that," she said. "But I also want you to believe I'm not goinganywhere."
We weren't talking about cheese anymore. We couldn't be. "Are you sure aboutthat?"
"Certain," she replied with a laugh. Maybe we were talking about cheese. I didn't fucking know. I didn't know anything. "How I can leave when you're so busy glaring atme?"
I ran my hand down her spine and pressed her hips closer, until she was flat against me. "You enjoy myglaring."
"So much," she replied. "Are you going to tell me what you were thinking about? Or is that another one of yourmysteries?"
"Where is your ring?" I asked, running the pad of my thumb over the empty spot on herfinger.
She tipped her chin toward the open shelves on the other side of the kitchen. "In the jar right up there," she said. "I took it off before I tossed the vegetables inmarinade."
"Is that the onlyreason?"
Her forehead crinkled and her eyes narrowed as she studied me. "What are you askingme?"
I was ready. I had it teed up and I was going to lay it all out for her now. It didn't matter that we were expecting a horde of guests in half an hour. This was the right moment. Now. This was it. I was going for it. "I think we need to talkabout—"
