Page 32 of Santa's Pretty Helper

My mom steps forward and puts a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “We don’t choose who we fall in love with, dear. Gabe is your best friend. You know him better than most people. Do you think he’s a bad person?”

Eric shakes his head. “Of course not. I respect him and look up to him. He’s smart and hardworking and a good guy. Fuck, he got fired for standing up for me.”

“So why wouldn’t you want your sister to be with a man like that? Who you respect and admire? Who you think is a good man?”

Eric frowns down at Mom. Silence stretches for a beat before he sighs. “Why do you have to make so much sense?”

We all laugh tentatively at that.

“I love Bella, Eric,” says Gabe, tightening his arm around me. “I think she’s an amazing woman, and you have my word that I’ll treat her like a princess. In fact, if I ever hurt her, I’ll hold still while you flay me alive with those fancy Japanese knives I got you last year.”

Eric’s shoulders deflate. “You’re really in love?”

We both nod. “I love Gabe,” I say. “We’re serious about this, Eric. This isn’t just a fling or something. We want a future together.”

Eric tilts his head and blows out a puff of air. I can tell that he’s rocked but doing his best to come around. “Well. I did always see you as a brother. I guess if you two got married, you’d actuallybemy brother in a way.”

Mom pats him on the shoulder. “There we go. Now, can we get back to opening presents?”

Eric nods, then looks at Gabe again. “You hurt my sister, I hurt you. Understood?”

Gabe nods. “Understood.”

But I know it’s an empty threat because Eric loves Gabe, and Gabe loves me.

We finish unwrapping our small gifts and then settle in to watchWhite Christmas, my mom’s favorite. Outside, snow is falling in steady, thick flakes, and inside the fire is crackling while the tree glows softly. It’s peaceful and cozy, and I’m blissfully content. But the best part of all is getting to snuggle up next to Gabe on the couch, no secrets, hiding nothing, our love out in the open and accepted by my family.

My heart has never been so full, and I owe it all to porn.

Kidding!

Mostly.

Sixteen

Bella

Three years later

I waddle through the front doors of Sage and Salt, my husband’s wildly successful restaurant. It’s December, and the air has turned cold and brisk, and the dark clouds threaten—or promise, depending on your opinion—snow. My coat doesn’t fully do up over my belly anymore, and my ankles are swollen, but I came down to the restaurant because my husband’s cooking is the only thing that can satisfy my out-of-control pregnancy cravings.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mitchell,” says a young woman named Darcy, Gabe’s front of house manager. “Would you like a table by the window?”

“Yes, please. Is Gabe in the kitchen?” I ask, shrugging out of my coat and handing it to her. She takes it and hangs it on the elegant rack behind her.

“He should be. If he’s not, check his office. In the meantime, I’ll get a table ready for you.”

“Thanks, Darcy,” I say. My hand rests in its usual spot on top of my stomach, and I feel my son kick against me.

The restaurant is decorated beautifully for the holiday, with a gorgeous tree in the center of the space, festooned with gold and silver ribbons and twinkling lights. Jazzy Christmas music floats through the air as the last of the lunch time diners finish up their meals.

I’m so proud of Gabe and everything he’s accomplished over the past three years. Shortly after that first Christmas together, we got engaged, and by spring, his plans were in motion for Sage and Salt. We got married that summer, and Gabe opened the restaurant in the fall. I finished my degree this past spring and was six weeks pregnant when I walked across the stage with my classmates. We’ll be parents to a baby boy in January.

My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement at the thought. I’ve always wanted to have kids, and starting a family with Gabe, the man I love, is everything I’ve ever wanted.

The camming is mostly in the past now, what with the pregnancy and Gabe being so busy with his restaurant. But we still have filthy fun together. In fact, things have somehow gotten even spicier since I got pregnant, partly because I’m horny all the freaking time, and partly because Gabe’s obsessed with my new curves.

I poke my head into the kitchen, my mouth watering at the scents of garlic and butter wafting through the air. I see Gabe at the far end in his chef’s uniform, sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms, frowning in concentration as he sautés shrimp.

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