Page 15 of A Very Grumpy Thanksgiving

“Um,” he says, shutting the front door. “Maybe the snow will stop soon.”

He pulls his phone out and we both frown when we see that it’s supposed to snow for another few hours.

He looks at me, and I can see that he’s nervous about my reaction.

“I…I guess we should stay.”

“Yeah. We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” he assures me.

I nod and unzip my jacket. Mrs. Wright is clearly over the moon that we have to stay longer, and I smile at her as Nolan hangs my coat back up.

“Well, do you want to see my childhood bedroom?” he asks, and I can’t help but smile at his obvious discomfort.

He looks so nervous, and now I’m curious about what it looks like. We were so busy all day that I didn’t get a chance to tour the whole house.

He takes my hand and leads me down the hallway and into a bedroom. There are some old trophies on a shelf, some books, and a few trinkets. I smile as I walk around and look at all of it.

“Football?” I ask him as I look at the trophies.

“I wasn’t very good,” he says, and I smile.

“You have trophies so it kind of looks like you were,” I point out.

“It was the team. Not me.”

He’s so modest and I kind of swoon as I move on to the little moose figurine.

“I made it when I was sixteen and went through my whittling phase,” he explains, and I laugh.

“You make it sound like everyone has a whittling phase.”

“Don’t we?”

I turn to see him smiling at me, a twinkle in his eye, and my heart flutters in my chest so hard that, for a moment, I wonder if I’m having a heart attack.

My eyes stray to the full-size bed, and I swallow hard as I stare at it, knowing that soon, we’ll both be sleeping in it.

“It’s hard to imagine you fitting on that bed,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse sounding.

“I didn’t go through my growth spurt until I was eighteen.”

I eye him, taking in his six-and-a-half-foot frame. My eyes trail over his muscles, and my mouth starts to water as I imagine his hard body pressed against mine.

“Saffron?” Nolan asks, and my eyes snap to his.

“Hmm?”

“Did you want to take a shower first? You can borrow some of my old clothes to sleep in.”

“Sure.”

He shows me to the ensuite bathroom and grabs me a towel, some of his childhood sweatpants, and an old high school t-shirt.

“Your mom doesn’t get rid of anything, huh?” I ask and he snorts.

“Nope. I haven’t lived at home in years, and it still looks like it did when I was in high school.”

“That’s sweet,” I say softly, and he smiles slightly.

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