Page 40 of Merry with Me

Placing my phone in my cupholder, I point my car toward home. I don’t know why I do it, but I take the long way, which has me driving past Oliver’s place. I’ve thought a lot about him today. I wanted to send him a Happy Thanksgiving message but decided against it, which is why I don’t understand why I’m pulling into his driveway at seven o’clock at night. All the lights are on, but there are no cars in the driveway.

I could back out, and he’d never know I was here. At least, I hope that’s the case. Instead, I put my car in Park when an idea hits me. Grabbing the bag that has the full pumpkin pie, I turn off the engine, grab my phone and keys, and, with the pie in hand, make my way to his front door.

I’m standing outside staring at his front door, trying to talk myself out of knocking, when the door opens, taking away my choice. My ability to think clearly or even speak is also taken away when I see Oliver.

“Blake?” he asks, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“Shirt.” That’s the first word to come out of my mouth because the man isn’t wearing one.

“Get in here.” He reaches for my hand, the one that’s holding the bag with the pie. He swiftly takes the bag from me and tugs me into the house, closing the door. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Fine. I brought pie,” I blurt. My eyes rake over his chest. His abs look like peaks and valleys that my fingers would love to trace. And damn, I was right about the arm porn. I wonder if I could sneak a picture to show my mom and aunts.

No, not going there, Kincaid.

“Pie?”

I shake out of my thoughts. “Pie. Homemade. Although I don’t know which one of my family members made it, but it’s good. I promise. I had a piece earlier, but they sent me home with an entire pie and lots of food, more food than Isla…. That’s my roommate, did you know that? Anyway,waytoo much food, and I was driving by and saw the lights on and thought you might want some pie.” I pull my gaze away from the lovely view of his defined abs to see him smiling down at me.

“You brought me pie?” he asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I nod, because he’s touching me, and for some reason, this man affects me like no other before him.

He steps closer, sliding his arm around my waist. “What kind of pie did you bring me?”

“P-Pumpkin.” I swallow hard. “Where is your shirt?”

He laughs. Not just a “ha-ha, you’re funny” kind of laugh; no, this one is from somewhere deep inside him. It’s a new sound I’ve never heard from him, and I’m already wondering what I can do or say to hear it again.

“This is my house, Blake. You came to me, remember?”

I ignore that, because he’s right. “Did you eat pie today?”

“No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t eat pie today.”

It takes a minute for his answer to register, and that quickly helps clear some of my fog. “No pie? Don’t tell me you hate Thanksgiving too?”

“No, I don’t hate Thanksgiving. My parents are at a medical conference. Brad and his wife, Marisa, invited me to eat with their family, but I declined. I stayed home and just had a chill day on my own.”

“Wait… you’ve been home alone all day? Today? On Thanksgiving?”

“I have.”

“I’ll be right back.” I go to step out of his hold, but he stops me, keeping a firm grip around my waist.

“Where are you going?”

“To my car. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s cold out. Tell me what you need, and I’ll go get it.”

“You have on less clothing than I do. I’ll be right back.” He’s not impressed, if his expression tells me anything, but he lets me go. After pulling open the front door, I jog down the steps to my car and tug open the passenger door. I grab the rest of the leftovers that I was sent home with and rush back inside.

“More pie?” he asks.

“No.” I raise the bags in the air. “This is Thanksgiving dinner.”

“You brought me dinner too?”

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