Page 67 of The History Between Us

My face heats, but before I have time to think of an answer, Conrad chimes in.

“Max, did you see the Millers bought a fancy new fishing boat?”

Max takes the bait, and they dive into a conversation about said boat, and how we’ll have to go out on it with them next summer. I let out a deep breath, thankful for my friend and his ability to change the subject.

Colt and I are going to have to revisit the topic of telling him and Trish eventually, but for now, I’d prefer to tuck it away like the chicken shit I am.

31

Colt Bishop

“Knock, knock!”

My head snaps up just in time to watch William walk through my front door, looking every bit like he belongs. My lips curve into a grin as our eyes meet across the room. Wearing an adorable smile, he closes the door behind himself, kicking off his shoes beside where mine sit. He’s in red and black buffalo plaid pajamas that fit him just right, and he’s holding a small gift bag in his hand.

“Merry Christmas, Doc,” I murmur as he approaches me.

Stopping right in front of me, he sets the bag on the bar, a hand landing on my hip as he leans in, bringing his mouth to mine. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing him call me that. We kiss slowly for a moment, tongues brushing lazily, lips moving in synchrony. It’s easy to get lost in William and the way he makes me feel.

Pulling apart, William glances down at the counter at what I was working on before he came over. “What’re you making?”

“Homemade cinnamon rolls.” I smirk when surprise takes over his eyes.

“Well, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? I didn’t know you could bake.”

“Truthfully, I can’t.” I snort. “My mom came over last night and helped me make the dough, then gave me step-by-step instructions on how to bake them this morning.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her the next time I see her,” William muses, hand still on my hip as his finger dips beneath my shirt, rubbing soothingly on my skin. Goosebumps spread from the contact. “Who does she think you’re baking for?”

“I don’t know.” I laugh. “She didn’t ask. I’m making enough to send some home with you for your dad.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and delicious. “Of course, you are.”

“Your father kind of loves me, you know.” I can’t help but huff out a laugh when he rolls his eyes, staring at me exasperatingly.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he deadpans. “I swear, he loves you more than he loves me.”

Chuckling, I say, “Well, can you blame him?”

The smile fades from his face, and he’s got a look in his eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. “No, I guess I can’t.”

Suddenly, my throat is tight. A giant lump blocks my airway as my heart gallops in my chest.He doesn’t mean it that way,I chastise myself as I clear my throat and get back to assembling the cinnamon rolls. The oven beeped a few minutes ago, letting me know it’s properly pre-heated.

William doesn’t love me. He can’t. It’s way too soon.

What if he did, though? I can’t deny the way that thought makes me feel… alive. Exhilarated. Happier than I thought possible.

But there’s no way.

Taking a seat at the bar, William watches me roll the cinnamon-stuffed dough into pinwheels, placing them in a baking dish. We talk about this and that, and something about it feels so domesticated. So right. We’re going over to my parents’ house later on this afternoon for a Christmas dinner, but we wanted to spend this morning together since we won’t exactly get to betogetherwhen we’re with them.

To be honest, despite how nervous I am to tell them, I’m almost more ready than anything else. Ready to have it out in the open so we don’t have to hide. I’m ready for him to park in my driveway again instead of down the block out of fear of my parents driving by and seeing his car here. As much as I love spending time together here or at his place, it would be nice to go out together in public, hold hands, watch him freely, no matter who we’re around. Touch him when I want. Kiss him, even at my parents’ house.

After I stick the cinnamon rolls in the oven and set the timer, William and I meander into the living room, where his gift is waiting for him. He grabs the gift bag he came in with off the bar, handing it to me before he sits on the couch beside me.

“You first,” he murmurs, a smile splitting his handsome face. The sight takes my breath away.

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