Page 51 of The Sleight Before Christmas

Her confession has me pausing. “It’s not like agrapefruit-suggestivebook, right?”

“No, Thatch, no,” she snaps. “What kind of mother do you think I am?”

“Sorry, I just ... don’t want her getting any ideas so young.”

“It’s a romance, but it’sage-appropriate,thank you very much, and don’t be so quick to judgeme. I heard through the grapevine that you got kicked out of a four-year-old’s club last night.”

“Nothing is sacred. Nothing,” I snap. “Bro code is a myth.”

“Well, you sang like a canary,” she grins, “and only got a little titty.”

I drop my jaw. “Not nice, Brat.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m not nice,Handy Man.”

“Oof,” I grin. “Someone is acting like they want to be punished.”

“Nah,” she drawls, giving me a quick once over, “you don’t have it in you anymore.”

In a flash, I’m gripping her messy bun and darting my tongue along her bottom lip. Her lips part as she chases my kiss, and I dodge her eager mouth. “I guess we’ll see.”

“You’re an awful lot oftalklately, Thatcher O’Neal.”

I tighten my hold a little and lean in, allowing her to see the multiple ways I plan on violating her before bending to whisper directly in her ear. “I’m still in week one,” I whisper heatedly. “Rememberthat?”

She’s nodding when I pull away before opening the door and smacking her ass. “Get in there. It’s freezing, but,” I rake my teeth suggestively, “plan on reminiscing a little later.”

She shivers either due to the cold or the promises in my eyes, her gaze lingering on me a little longer after she steps in, and I slowly close the door.

Piping the last of the icing onto my gingerbread house, I rear back, eyeballing my handiwork. This year, I’m determined to be the one to get the first cup of snowman soup. Love to my brother-in-law, I’m the fucking architect—or close enough to one—and am destined to win the grand prize this year for the annual gingerbread house competition. The prize being the coveted first cup of snowman soup. Eli has been sipping the first mug every year since joining this family, and this Christmas, I’m determined to break his winning streak. Just as I add the last of the candy-swirled lamp posts, I spot my competitor descending the stairs in my peripheral.

“You don’t have shit on me this year, bro,” I call out to him. “Not a chance.”

Peyton bristles next to me, eyeing my house with envy, his grudge for me still evident in his eyes as he utters a very diva-sounding “whateva.”

Leaning over, I sniff my son’s head. “Peyton, you stink. You need a bath and different clothes.”

“I don’t have any!” He shouts in exasperation as if it’s been weighing heavy on his mind.

“Bet you’re glad you packed all those toys instead of clothes, huh?” I taunt like a fellow toddler as he stabs at his gingerbread house with icing.

After a rough start after mystery Rudolph—including Peyton’s meltdown, which led to an even rougher girl’s and boy’s night—once the matriarchs returned to their sparkling cabin, Allen demanded that his Christmas itinerary be put back into effect. No more deviations allowed.

With only two full days left before the main event and our typical Christmas prep cut short by the holiday falling midweek, we’re now working double time to fit it all in. Starting with the gingerbread houses today, tree decorating is to commence tomorrow night. Followed by The Collins family karaoke before midnight mass on Christmas Eve.

Pausing the workings of my hands and ready to claim my prize, I glance over to the imposter who hasn’t even begun to construct his house. Frowning when I see him frozen at the bottom of the stairs.

Looking utterly lost, he takes one giant step forward and pauses, palming the air as if it’s helping his equilibrium before taking another. Laughter threatens as I stare on at him before noting something is fucking ...off.

“Hey, Eli?” I call in concern, which has him jumping back in terror. His ice-blue eyes find mine before he darts them away and then slams them back into me.

What. In. The. Hell?

“What are you doing, Uncle Eli?” Peyton shouts as if his uncle has gone hard of hearing before glancing over to me, a nervousgiggle leaving him. “Are you taking big,bigsteps? Is this a game?”

Forever in a bromance with his uncle, Peyton joins him in the hall, taking giant steps along with Eli as he continues to make his grand entrance.

“The hell?” Brenden asks from where he sits at the end of the table. Wyatt in his lap as he continually mushes their gingerbread house into a slobbery mix of goo in his hands. Their foundation never had a chance.Amateurs.

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