Page 15 of Unwrapping His Naughty Secret

Chapter 7

Cara

Hannah chattersthe whole way up the angular staircase. Apologizing for her dad, which is hilarious. She doesn’t have any reason to apologize.

I’m the one who practically got to second base with him on Main Street a week ago.

“That’s my dad’s room down there,” she says when we get to the top of the stairs. “He’s in a wing of his own, basically. And then this used to be my room, but now we let Wyatt use it because it has a huge bed.”

Right.

“So now my room is at the far end of the hall, which I don’t really mind, actually, because I get my own en suite that way. Whichleaves these two little rooms here as the random guest rooms. Not that you’re random, Care Bear.”

I’m not sure when Hannah decided I was nickname worthy. Maybe around midterms? Feels like a lifetime ago. We stayed up studying, and got a little punch drunk and silly. I called her Hannah Banana, and she laughed and laughed, rolling around on the floor, and then called me Care Bear.

I haven’t called her the nickname again, but mine stuck.

She pushes open a door, revealing a truly small room, with a tiny twin bed on one wall and a dresser on the other. At the far end of the room is a mirror, leaning against brick, and above that is a wide transom window that runs the width of the room. Right now it’s dark outside, but I imagine that in the morning, it will flood the room with light.

“I’ll leave you to unpack.” She hands me a gift bag. “And you don’t need to wear them tonight. It’s more of a morning thing, but…we do matching PJs.”

“Pardon?”

“Christmas PJs. I bought you a pair, too.”

“They match yours?”

“We all wear them. My dad, my uncle. His partners.”

My head is spinning. “I… Where is a washroom?”

“Just down the hall,” she says, stepping back into the hall. “Next to my dad’s bedroom.”

By the timeI return downstairs, there’s a lot of raucous laughter guiding me to the great room.

The stairs go back to the foyer, and from there, I turn the corner and find myself in an incredible living room that looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1960s. Okay, maybe the kitchen has been renovated, but very carefully.

Hunter is standing at a brass and glass drink cart, shaking a drink in a large silver container. He’s wearing faded blue jeans that cling to thick thighs and agray buttoned down shirt, rolled up to reveal thick forearms.

Behind him is a framed print of a goblin-like cartoon character wearing a little Santa hat.

Merry Fecking Christmas, it says in a speech bubble.Fecking.That’s the favorite curse word of that character. What is its name?

I feel Hunter’s gaze on my face, and my attention is dragged back to him. I try to smile, but I can’t.

I’m sorry, I try to convey with my eyes.I didn’t know.

He said sorry, too. At the door.

This is so awkward.

Everyone else is oblivious, at least for now, so that’s some small comfort.

“Everyone, this is Cara,” Hannah says loudly. “Cara, this is everyone.”

I tear my attention away from him and wave nervously. “Hi. Thanks for inviting me.”

“This is my Uncle Wyatt,” she says, gesturing at a blonder, younger version ofHunter, sprawled on the longest part of a low sectional with a muscular older man, and a young woman sandwiched between them. “And Heath and Emily.”

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