Page 12 of Blame It On the Secret Santa

Eight

Sean

“Dinner will be readyin a few minutes,” I said, knowing Cassidy was awake because I just saw her reach for her phone on the coffee table.

She hadn’t taken the news of being stuck together lightly, but at least she finally listened when I told her to lie down on the couch so she could alleviate some of the pain. I’d given her an ice pack and some more Tylenol for the pain since I didn’t have anything stronger, and we didn’t have a chance to fill her prescription before the storm hit.

“I’m fine,” she called back with the same attitude she had before she fell. I hated to admit it, but I kinda preferred Percocet Cassidy. She was a lot nicer and less of a pain in my ass.

“You’re going to eat,” I warned, stirring the mashed potatoes to mix in the butter and milk.

“And you’re going to make me?”

“If I have to, yes.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and then tossed it on the counter before stalking into the living room and standing over her. Thankfully, it was an open-concept room with the living room and kitchen separated by an island, so I’d been able to keep an eye on her while I cooked.

“Why are you so defiant?” I asked, arms folded tightly over my chest.

“Because you’re not the boss of me and I don’t know why you think you are.”

“I’m not trying to be the boss of you, Cassidy. I’m being hospitable and offering you food while you’re staying with me. There’s a difference.”

“Yes, and no one asked you to. I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.”

“Look, I get it. I know you have strong feelings about me, and that’s fine. But can we agree to let the past stay in the past for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours until this storm passes?” I asked with more than a hint of frustration.

“Are you asking for a temporary truce?” she asked, lifting her hand as Max adjusted beside her on the couch.Traitor.From the moment he met Cassidy, it had been instant love and he’d abandoned following me around to lay protectively beside her on the couch.

“Yes.” However, I wouldn’t be opposed to a permanent one either.

“Fine. But only because I don’t want to be any more miserable than I already am.”

She shook my hand and I fought to ignore the way my body wanted to pull her against me and hold her like I used to.

“Now that that’s settled, dinner is ready.”

I let go of her hand and walked into the kitchen before I could do something I would regret—like kiss her. I didn’t expect her to be comfortable sitting at the kitchen table, so I plated her food and then delivered it to her on the couch. Before she could object about eating there, I lifted the top of the coffee table, turning it into a table for her. I was determined to take care of her the best I could, which meant getting ahead of fights before she could start them.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at me from under her thick, dark lashes.

“You’re welcome. Would you like something to drink besides water?”

“I’m good, but thank you.”

“I have orange soda,” I offered, waiting to see if she still lit up about it the way she used to.

“You drink orange soda?” she questioned, holding her fork in the air as this news took her by surprise.

“No.” I shook my head and laughed.

“Then why do you have it?”

“Because I know you like it.”

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