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ChapterFifteen
Charlotte
I have gathered all the ingredients that might go into cookies and spread them on the countertop while Harley fetches the mixing bowls, measuring cups, spoons, and sheet pans.
“I’m feeling really good about this,” I say as I tie on the apron that Buck wore when he made us his famous pancakes and waffles. The words “Kiss the Cook” hit me right over the boobs, which of course drives Harley to distraction.
His tongue finds its way into my mouth—his tongue always seems to find its way into my mouth. Not that I mind.
It feels pretty damn good to have a husband who’s still obsessed with me after a year of marriage.
“We have to stop making out so we can look up a recipe, silly,” I say, opening my phone’s browser.
With a grumble, my husband moves behind me and circles his arms around my waist, feeling me up beneath the apron while I type in the search bar.
“Huh. That’s weird; it says there’s no internet connection.”
“That’s nice,” Harley says, half-paying attention with his nose in my hair and his hands slowly traveling down the front of my winter-themed leggings.
“It’s really not. Not if we want to make cookies, or watch movies, or anything else,” I say. “What do you think happened?”
Harley finally snaps out of his fugue state by sniffing my hair and petting my tummy. “What? No internet?”
“This is what I’m trying to tell you. Look,” I say, showing him my phone screen. “Nada.”
He grunts and begrudgingly removes his hands from my bottoms, which I have to admit makes me a little sad. He takes my phone in hand, pokes around at the settings, frowns, and then grumbles about the router.
I follow him as he marches toward the TV, where all the internet whatchamacallits are wired. He fiddles with it, then says, “Well, crap. It looks like the weather knocked something out of whack.”
“Bummer,” I say, remembering the times I baked with my grandmother. It was a long time ago, but I was a good student. Maybe I can piece it together.
Harley runs a hand through his hair and mutters, “We’ll have to work out these kinks before we rent this place out. We can’t have one little snowfall wrecking the internet for our guests.”
I understand why he’s worried about that. I really do. But it’s Christmas Eve, and it’s time for fun.
“Hey,” I say, “Don’t worry about that right now.”
“But you wanted to watchChristmas Vacationtonight,” he says. “And bake cookies. I want everything to be perfect for you. I want your Christmas to compensate for everything you missed when you were younger.”
His thoughtfulness makes a lump form in my throat.
“I know how to cook, but baking? Not so much. I’m sorry, baby,” he says.
Gosh, he’s sweet.
“Change of plans,” I say, jutting my hip as I lean on the counter. “I think I can improvise.”
He sees the look on my face, and a slow smile tugs at his lip. “Oh yeah?”
I nod. “Yep. And if you forget about the internet and help me like a good little boy, we can make our own Christmas movie later.”
At this, his brow furrows. “You want to make a Christmas movie?”
That’s my husband. My pretty, pretty man.
I make a circle with my thumb and forefinger, then make the vulgar gesture of inserting a finger through it.
“Oh…that kind of movie.” His eyes widen in shock.
