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Saint:Want to talk about it? Or can you come over?
Angel:Is that an invitation?
Saint:Yeah. If the kids are alright without you for a while longer?
Angel:Marcus said I can pick them up in the morning since I ended up with a closing shift today.
Saint:Come on over then. Should I crack open the wine? Or I can warm up some of that cider you liked the other night.
Angel:Hot cider sounds good.
Angel:Thanks.
Saint:See you soon?
Angel:Yeah.
I just have to finish cleaning the floor in my section before I ditch. I check to be sure that Marcus and Gail haven’t texted about any change in plans or that the kids need me. But all’s quiet on that front and soon I’m pulling up in front of Saint’s place.
I text that I’m there, and he opens the door as I’m walking up the front steps.
“Hey there, Angel.” He opens his arms to me and I hug him in his entryway.
“Hey,” I mumble into his shoulder.
While his arms wrap around me, my burdens seem lighter. As if I don’t have to carry them alone. Even if that’s an illusion, it’s comforting. I cling to him until Saint shuffles his feet, antsy at the prolonged hugging.
“Kitchen or bedroom?” Saint asks, tempting me to just keep my mouth shut and let him drown out my worries with pleasure instead of dealing with the hard things. Well. Thedifficultthings. I’m plenty interested in his hard cock digging into my hip before I step back to deal with my snowy boots.
“Kitchen.” I gesture.
“What’s up?” Saint asks, leading the way to the steaming mugs he’s already set out with a plate of festive cookies. He catches me looking at the gingerbread and smiles. “Carl brought those over last night. He had a few extra.”
“Ah, so you’re foisting leftovers off on me?” I joke, putting off the conversation I came here to have. I’m not sure where to start. Talking about Trevor is always a mood killer.
Saint shrugs, then he grabs a cookie and bites off its cute little head. “They’re pretty good.”
“I’m sure they are.” I sit and take a cookie. But I don’t have the appetite to eat it now that I’m thinking about what brought me here in the first place. I break off an arm and crumble it into smaller pieces between my fingers. “Gingerbread?”
“Yep. I’m a sucker for all those warm holiday spices.”
“Mm. If you’re a ginger fan, did Marcus ever bring you Gran’s gingerbread swirl fudge?” I smile just thinking of the sweet confection.
It’s been ages since I tasted Gran’s fudge. I never got the family recipe. I should see if Marcus has it. Or get him to ask Mom for it if not. He’s been making so much more of an effort. His vying for uncle of the year lately still doesn’t feel like enough to make up for past hurts, but I could try meeting his attempts at reconciliation halfway. Especially if it means getting that little taste of Gran’s love back.
“I haven’t. That sounds delicious. Nothing beats homemade fudge. But you can’t distract me with sweets, Angel. Tell me what happened?”
“Trever came in tonight.” I drop my gaze to the table, watching as if the crumbs I’m nudging around my plate are fascinating, so I don’t have to see him get upset.
“Did he—” Saint’s hackles go up immediately.
I rush to reassure him. Perfect. This is why I should keep shit to myself. How am I the one defending Trevor’s crappy behavior yet again?
“No, he paid his bill and everything.” I make myself meet Saint’s concerned gaze. “You know how I told you he agreed to swap weekends with me so I could have the kids home for Christmas and then he’d get New Year’s?”
“Yeah?”
“He changed his mind. Now he wants them for the holiday.”
