Page 81 of A Little More Forgiveness

“I’m fine,” he protested. “I don’t need to sleep between you great lugs.”

“Uh-huh,” I replied, ignoring him, climbing under the covers, and scooting close as he moved to the middle.

“Size of you two, I’ll probably be crushed by the morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Will you stop with the fucking uh-huhs? It’s true.”

Planting a kiss on his cheek, I grinned. “Yes, dear.” His baleful glare was so darn cute.

“Let us take care of you, okay?” I said, running my fingers through his thick, shiny hair. I preferred him a little ruffled and not so perfect, as it gave the rest of us a chance to look good for a second or two once in a while. “Please?”

He grumbled something I didn’t catch but silenced his protest. I turned off the lamp on the nightstand, and we settled in. Pitch-black here in the woods with no light pollution at all, the moon appeared extra bright through the windows, its milky whiteness leeching all the color from the room. Snuggling down and wrapping my arm around Gabe and him relaxing against me was complete and utter bliss. I closed my eyes and dropped off to sleep a minute later.

*

The morning sunlight shone brightly into the room when I gradually awoke and lazily stretched, arms above my head, legs extended. I’d pretty much recovered from my aborted escape ordeal, and my spirits lifted at being fully healed once again, no longer feeling like I’d gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.

I gradually resurfaced to full wakefulness and let my surroundings filter into my awareness, frowning when I realized the bedroom was quiet. Too quiet. No sound of light snores from either of them, and no warmth from Gabe’s sexy body either. Reluctantly opening my eyes, a cold empty bed greeted me, instead of the men I loved. I hadn’t heard either of them get up and, anyway, why hadn’t they woken me when they had? What were they doing together that didn’t include me?

A clinking sound came from the hallway at the same time the bedroom door opened, and Mitch walked in the room with a large wooden tray. Any lingering worry I might have had dissipated as the distinctive smell of bacon hit my nose. I might have emitted the slightest squeal of pleasure, and I didn’t care in the least.

“Have you made me breakfast?” I asked in astonishment.

“We have.” Gabe followed behind Mitch with a smaller tray carrying a carafe of coffee, three mugs and some creamer.

“Oh my God,” I choked, trying to swallow the ball of emotion lodged in my throat. “No one’s ever done that for me.” Blinking back what must be the remains of grit in my eyes from sleeping—certainly not from tears—I stared at them as the trays were placed on the nightstands on either side of the bed. “Oh my God,” I whispered again because, seriously, this can’t be my life.

I sat up and leaned against the headboard to get a better look at what they’d made. The bigger tray held bacon and scrambled eggs, but also thick sausages, mushrooms, and hash browns, plus slices of buttered toast. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Mitch came over to me, leaned in, and kissed my forehead. “It’s about time someone looked after you for a change,” he rumbled.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.” He picked up a plate of food, some cutlery and a napkin and handed them to me. “Just eat.”

“That I can do.” I smiled up at him as the damn grit in my eyes made them water even more. Gabe filled a mug of coffee, added some creamer, and passed it to me along with a light kiss on my nose.

“If you two wanted to make me breakfast in bed every weekend, you’d get no complaints from me.”

“Every weekend, huh?” Mitch queried as my brain finally caught up with my overactive mouth.

“I didn’t mean we’d be living—I meant, if we ever, if we—” Embarrassed, I gave up and forked in a mouthful of eggs to prevent more babbling. Closing my eyes and savoring the taste, I hummed appreciatively.

Fingers lovingly brushed over my jaw, and I opened my eyes. “I get what you mean,” Mitch said, his gaze, so full of love, made me want to pinch myself to make sure this was real.

Settling themselves one on either side of me, they rested against the headboard, feet crossed at the ankles, and the scene was all so normal I loved every second. Nobody talked as we ate the delicious food that, judging by the spiciness of the scrambled eggs, Gabe had made or at least had a hand in preparing. Instead, I soaked up the complete domesticity of having a simple cooked breakfast with the men I love.

“We thought we’d go cut down a tree after breakfast,” Gabe spoke around a mouthful of bacon.

I was so thrilled Mitch had agreed to having a Christmas tree. I’d only had a fake one in my tiny apartment in Boston, and at home, Mom would have some company choose our tree and decorate it for us, as she was far too busy with the women’s auxiliary, or whatever other committees she volunteered for, to take the time to decorate it herself with me and Jackson and Caitlin. I was excited and over the moon to think not only did I get to pick a tree for the first time in my life, but I got to decorate one too. “Sounds perfect.”

A couple hours later, the five of us—because no way were Chuck and Norris not being included—were wrapped up warm against the freezing cold and traipsing through the forest to the area Mitch and his wife had always gone to pick their own tree every year.

“What about this one?” Mitch asked.

I studied his choice. “It’s got too many branches on one side.” He moved on to the next and the next and the next.

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