Page 64 of My eX-MAS Emergency

Tristan whipped his head my way, his eyes roving over me, landing on my bare legs. His jaw dropped. “Dang,” he said under his breath, making me smile.

It had been a long time since I’d worn one of his shirts. He used to say it was his favorite thing to see me in. Apparently, he still felt that way.

“I hope you saved some s’mores for me,” I said, doing my best not to run to Tristan and kiss him. You know, to thank him for all his hospitality.

As soon as I reached them, Quinn placed a large decorative pillow from the sectional between her and Tristan to show that’s where I should sit. I rolled my eyes at her but did as she wanted.

I kneeled carefully so as not to show too much leg. Tristan’s eyes might have popped a blood vessel if I did, given how hard he was gaping at me.

“You had a good bath, I hope?” Tristan uttered, his gaze intent on me.

“Yes. Thank you. And thanks for the clothes.”

“My pleasure.”

I was sure it was.

“Here,” Quinn said, handing me a metal roasting stick.

I took it and reached for a marshmallow in the bag next to me.

“Feels like old times,” Tristan commented.

I skewered the marshmallow. “It does.”

“Did you two make s’mores a lot when you were dating?” Quinn offhandedly asked, like she was trying to be sneaky or something.

“Quite a bit.” I smiled, thinking of camping trips and winter nights by the fire.

“What other kinds of things did you do?” Quinn was desperate to keep up this line of questioning.

Tristan thoughtfully turned his roasting stick, browning his marshmallow to perfection with a contented expression. “Lots of things—fishing, paddle boarding, picnics, skiing.” He flashed me a knowing look.

I nibbled on my bottom lip, thinking about the skis that were now long gone. Why did I throw them away? After carrying them around for years, why had I chosen now to be brave enough to trash them? It felt as if someone had dropped a boulder in my stomach.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked.

“Um, yeah. Just tired,” I lied, trying to think if there was any way for me to get those skis back.

“Now that you don’t hate Uncle Tristan, we should all go skiing.” Quinn beamed.

“Uh, maybe. You know, if I have time. I’m working a lot. Like so much.”

Tristan pulled out his perfectly toasted marshmallow and held it in front of my face as if he were taunting me with it. “I’m sure you can find some time. I’d be happy to help you fix your old skis.” He wagged his brows.

I shoved my marshmallow into the flames, feeling the heat of my total misstep. “I’m not really sure they’re salvageable. I’ll probably just rent some if we end up going.”

“But Uncle Tristan said he bought those skis for you,” Quinn whined. “I’m sure he can fix them.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. Of course Tristan had blabbed about that.

“I’d love to try.” He nudged me, with a wicked smile on his handsome face.

“We’ll see” was all I could offer. I was going to call waste management as soon as I could, to see if somehow I could get the skis back.

“This is so happening,” Quinn chirped.

I squirmed, watching my marshmallow turn golden brown.

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