Page 21 of If You Give a Grump a Holiday Wishlist

Holy shit, that was hot as hell.

I’m frozen in place, unsure how to respond as a spike of pleasure courses through my body, heat rushing to my core.

I panic when reality sets in. I just let my boss lick my fingers, and it turned me on. I jolt when it occurs to me that I want more from him… so much more.

I take a step back, worried about what I’ll do if I don’t put some distance between us.

“Um, we should go find my parents.” I gesture in a random direction.

Oh my god, I’m making things worse.

“Sure,” Jack says. “Let’s go.”

I follow behind, grateful he doesn’t ask me to explain.

“What is that?” I gesture to Cash’s so-called gingerbread house in mock horror. “It looks like a toddler made it.”

It’s a poor replica of a tiny home, haphazardly plastered together with white frosting. The roof is covered in chunks of icing, a failed attempt at making it look like snow.

“At least mine is still standing.” Cash points to the caved-in gingerbread house that Dylan attempted to build. He tried to add a chimney, but the walls broke when he went to glue it on.

“Don’t be sad, Daddy.” Lola pats Dylan’s shoulder. “You can help with mine. It’s going to be so pretty.”

“Thanks, ladybug.” He presses a kiss to her forehead.

“That’s cheating,” Cash mumbles.

Since we were little, Mom insisted we learn how to make gingerbread houses from scratch. However, she’s gone soft with Lola, buying her a kit from the store so it’s easy for her to assemble. This year it came complete with colorful gumdrops, gummy bears, and hot pink frosting.

“Well, I think Presley should be disqualified,” Dylan says.

“What? Why?” I exclaim.

“We were supposed to make a gingerbread house, not a gingerbread barn.”

I ignore his jab, smiling proudly at my creation. I used red icing to cover the sides of the structure and decorated the top with black frosting to make it look like shingles. I borrowed some of the Little People farm animals my mom bought for Lola when she was a toddler, placing a chicken, a cow, and a pig near the barn doors that I made out of graham crackers.

“It’s called using my imagination, Dylan. You should try it sometime,” I quip. “We can’t all be creative geniuses like Harrison.”

We turn to watch as he adds the finishing touches to his two-story gingerbread mansion—complete with cutout windows and a layered almond roof dusted with coconut and icicles made of frosting.

Harrison has always been an overachiever. It comes with the territory of being the oldest and the successor to a global empire. While Dylan, Cash, and I felt free to explore our career options, Harrison saw things differently. Since he was ten, he knew that someday he’d step into the role as CEO of Stafford Holdings. He always had a choice, but he also felt like it was his duty to carry the weight of our family’s burdens on his shoulders.

Since my dad retired and Harrison took over as CEO, his entire demeanor has changed. He never smiles anymore and is buried by his responsibilities. He and Jack are similar in that regard. They’ve allowed their circumstances to swallow them whole, making it difficult for them to find joy in the simple things.

“So, who’s the winner?” Cash turns to my parents, who are standing nearby, observing our sibling banter.

“You know I can’t choose a favorite, sweetie. I love them all.” My mom claps her hands together. “They’re all unique, just like each of you.” She should have gone into politics. She’s had plenty of practice keeping the peace while raising four kids. “Don’t you agree that they’re all perfect, Mike?”

“Yes, dear.” He humors her. “But there is one I like better than the rest.”

“Mike,” my mom hisses.

My dad’s been known to take sides in the past, which drives my mom up the wall.

“It’s Lola’s. You can’t beat a pink gingerbread house.”

My mother’s face softens at that, accepting his answer because it wasn’t one of us siblings.

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