Page 117 of Lotus

“You rascal, this is my favorite brand!” Hugging the bottle of Bollinger to my chest, I flash him my pearly whites.

A wink floats my way, and then Gabe tosses Oliver the final present. He flounders to catch it, and it’s adorable, and I swoon.

“This is very kind of you, Gabe,” Oliver says thoughtfully, opening the gift with delicate care. When he reveals what’s inside, his smile is as wide as mine. “Fantastic. Thank you.”

“What is that?” I wonder, nose crinkling.

“I’m not certain, but it’s very appreciated.”

It looks some kind of harness. “A dog harness?”

“I do love dogs.”

“Shit, it’s for Athena,” Gabe chuckles as he collects the wrapping paper and crushes it into a giant wad. “I don’t know fuck-all about domesticated raccoons, but I figured you might want to take her for walks when the weather warms up.”

I watch a twinkle spark to life in Oliver’s eyes, brighter than the tree, lighting him up from the inside out. His expression is something akin to magical whimsy, a little contemplative, maybe even overwhelmed. He’s lost for a prolonged moment, staring at the small purple harness, dusting his thumbs over the nylon fabric.

My fingers curl around his knee, squeezing gently, causing him to blink as he returns to the living room. “Where did you go?”

Oliver gathers a breath, nodding a tearful smile in Gabe’s direction, then trails his attention to me. “Nowhere,” he responds softly, his touch sweeping over the back of my knuckles. “Nowhere at all. I’m right here.”

In true hot-mess fashion, we decide to throw together an impromptu Christmas feast, with Oliver taking the reins and me cheering him on from the sidelines.

I’ve had far too much champagne and start making up ridiculous cheerleading rhymes while I prance around the kitchen with two bountiful stalks of celery as makeshift pom-poms. I smack Oliver on the butt with the celery, and he startles with a laugh as he stirs the sauce on the stove.

This is why I start fires.

An hour later, we’re eating together in a three-way circle on the living room floor, buzzed on laughter and liquor, quotingChristmas Vacation, and reminiscing about the ‘good old days’ from when we were kids. While Christmas Eve was always spent with relatives, Christmas day was for Santa presents and each other. I would head next door after brunch to explore our new toys with Oliver. Gabe was an irritating preschooler at the time, but he’d usually find his way into Oliver’s bedroom and we’d make art, watch new movies, and play with the Lite-Brite or make-believe kitchen set.

A knock on the front door has Gabe hopping to his feet, groaning as he rubs his stomach. “Fuck, I ate too much. Props to the chef tonight.”

“It was my pleasure,” Oliver replies through his last bite of lasagna. He sends a sweet smile my way, setting down his plate.

My champagne buzz forces my face into a lazy, goofy grin as I drop my chin to his shoulder. “This might be the best night of my whole life,” I blurt. “Christmas with my two best friends, a home-cooked meal, a sexy boyfriend on my arm.” I link my arm through his for effect. “The only thing that would make it better is—”

“Intercourse?”

Oliver announces this just as Travis Wellington walks up the stairs with Gabe, and my already flushed cheeks redden further. Clearing my throat and raising my pitch an octave higher than what sounds natural, I babble, “No! How dare you imply… such a sinful abomination. We are all pure and virginal, unwedded… churchgoers.” A cough. “Hi, Mr. Wellington.”

He falters for a moment, gaze assessing me. Surely, he thinks I’m crazy. “Miss Neville. I wasn’t aware I’d be seeing you tonight.”

Gabe intercedes. “Sorry, Pops. Totally blanked that you were stopping by for dessert.”

“I do every year.”

I stand, slightly wobbling, and brush the garlic bread crumbs off my thighs. I’m so goddamn classy. “It’s great to see you again, sir. It’s been a long time.”

He eyes me from my fuzzy slipper socks to my light-up Christmas tree headband. I swear there is a disapproving glare gleaming in his dark brown eyes as he stands there in his Burberry sweater vest.

And when Oliver rises beside me, wrapping his arm around my waist, I’m certain I was not mistaken. Travis Wellington doesn’t think I’m good enough for Oliver.

Bah-humbug.

“Yes, well, I’m a busy man,” Travis says in a clipped tone. He nods toward Oliver. “Merry Christmas, son. You look well.”

“I’m very well, thank you.” Oliver’s grip tightens along my middle, pulling me closer. “Sydney and I are having intimate relations now, so I’ll have to respectfully decline your offer of residency. It was much appreciated, though.”

My eyes flare, heat traveling down my neck.

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