Page 22 of The Bourbon Bargain

“Cooking for you,” he says. “Why, were you under the impression that I didn’t know how?” He raises an eyebrow at me, his mock stern look is enough to bring me to giggles.

“Actually, yes, I was quite sure you never cooked.”

It didn’t help that I had a run in with his former-flame-turned-nutritionist who shopped and cooked for him up until I came into his life. That wasn’t fun.

I know, theoretically, that Hayes is a man of the world, and as he once said to me, he does what he wants, whenever he wants, including women, but being face-to-face with one of those women made me feel every bit of my innocence and inability to please him. Now, well, I know differently and the jealousy is gone.Mostly.

“Never doesn’t mean I can’t,” Hayes says, dumping a container of red meat into a skillet he’s heated and oiled. “I’m perfectly capable of finding my way around a kitchen so I can feed my wife. Fajitas okay with you?”

“Of course,” I say, washing my hands so I can help prepare the vegetables he’s placed on the island. I roll my shoulders and begin to hype myself up to ask about Christmas at The Mansion when he interrupts my preparations.

“How would you feel about spending some time in Savannah next week? Olympus will be shutting down for the end of the year and I’m pretty sure Underworld Spirits will likely have a lot of downtime over the holidays, so it’s a perfect time to get back down there.”

I let the knife clatter to the island as I turn and wrap my arms around his middle from behind, so relieved I don’t have to force him to leave Atlanta at such a busy time of year.

“I’d really like that.” I take a deep breath and launch directly into my request without letting him go. “You know, my family has hosted a black-tie Christmas Eve dinner at The Mansion for generations. As this is likely the last time it will happen, I would like to attend, even if I’m not the biggest fan of my parents at the moment. Will you come with me?” I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel his back stiffen under my cheek. He turns in my arms and presses me at arm’s length so he can look down into my face.

“I will go anywhere with you, angel. Even if it sounds a little like hell.” His smile tells me he’s kidding, mostly, and I return it.

“Thank you. I think you will make it a million times better, just by being with me. Besides, I want to show you the parts of The Mansion I grew up loving. They’re not usually part of the tour.” I release him so he can continue cooking the steak and go back to my peppers and onions. “What are your holiday traditions?” I ask, wiping at my eyes to stop the inevitable onion tears. I’m genuinely curious what his family did when he was younger and how he celebrates now.

“No formal Christmas Eve dinners with the who’s who of society, that’s for sure,” he says, a smile in his voice. “We would actually go to a homeless shelter and serve dinner on Christmas Eve. I hated it when I was a kid because I thought it would be better to do parties and presents like my friends, but my parents were insistent, and eventually I understood why we did it. They wanted us to understand our privilege, which isn’t easy when you’re a white, upper-class man with generational wealth and plenty of connections.” He pauses to take the peppers and onions from me and places a kiss on my forehead.

“That’s so lovely,” I murmur as he turns back to the stove. I wash my hands again, hoping to rid them of the smell of onions.

“We didn’t do big Christmas Days, either. We would open up a few presents that were more practical than frivolous. No Xboxes or fancy phones in the Olsen household. We got practical gifts like good socks, leather journals, and one item off a wish list that couldn’t be an electronic or big enough to need two people to carry it. My mother came from an extremely poor area, as redneck as it gets, and didn’t approve of extravagant Christmas presents for us just because we had the money to do it.”

“That is not at all what I would have imagined for you,” I admit, cleaning up the vegetable scraps and tossing them in the trash. “What do you do now?” I want to fit myself into Hayes’s traditions so bad it’s a yearning.

“Work, usually.”

I gasp and whirl to look at him in disbelief. “No, that is not at all acceptable. You have to take time off and relax, do something special, or mark the occasion, somehow.”

“What would you like to do?” he asks, pulling a container of rice from the microwave. I mull that thought over as he places heated tortillas on our plates with scoops of Spanish rice and black beans.

“First of all, you need a big tree for your entryway and all the decorations we can fit in this house. It would be so beautiful and cozy, all lit up with lights and garlands.”

“Done. We’ll get a tree tomorrow and can decorate together,” he says, like we’re working through a business agreement. Now that I see just how easy it is to get him to embrace the season, I think a little harder on what I would like our traditions to be, as a couple.

“I like what your parents started. I would rather be philanthropic and give back, than do big gifts, if that’s okay with you?” Extravagant gifts are lovely, but how do you top that year after year? It would eventually seem trivial, instead of special, and I don’t want that.

He grunts and frowns at me. “But I like showering you with lavish gifts. What if I already had something picked out and wanted to surprise you with it?”

My eyes widen. Okay, so he has a gift. A big one. And I still haven’t figured out what I want to get him. Oh Lordy, this is trouble. “How about it’s not a Christmas present, then? Just abecause I was thinking you would like itgift, rather than anI had to go looking especially for this because of the time of yeargift.”

“Mmmm,” he says. “Very well. I have ajust becausepresent for you and I’ll give it to you when we get to Savannah.”

I nod eagerly, already feeling the giddiness of what his surprise could be.

“What would you rather we do for Christmas?”

I press my fingers to my lips as I think of what would feel most genuine and mean the most to me. “Can we bring presents to kids in the hospital? I can’t imagine what a terrible time of year it is to be sick or not at home with family at Christmas.”

“That’s perfect.” Hayes takes my face in his hands and looks down at me. “Just like you. I’ll get someone on the logistics tonight. We’ll go this week after work.”

“You know what else would be wonderful?” I ask, warming to the idea and letting my imagination stretch. “Starting a program here in Atlanta that we could do all year long, so it’s not just a holiday thing.” I smile, really liking that idea. I want something of my own to give back in a bigger way.

His hands drop to the island behind me, bracing and leaning over me. “Your beautiful brain working out details really is so fucking sexy, especially when you’re looking for ways to help others. What do you want to do?”

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