Page 58 of The Hookup Situation

Ginger is already on the alert, no doubt smelling someone new on her turf, her ears perking up. Instead of barking or snarling at me though, her tail is wagging.

“Well, hello,” Paris trills when he reaches us. He looks me over. “You are scrumptious aren’t you?”

I smirk. “And you’re a flirt.”

He grins and holds his small hand out. “I’m Paris.”

“Jackson,” I tell him, taking it. I kiss his hand and he fans his face. Preston snickers.

“Well, Jackson, Ginger seems to approve of you,” he says as the dog in his arms yips and wags her tail even harder. “So I suppose I do too.”

I let her sniff my hand and she yips again and licks it.

“All right, let’s get inside before we turn into human popsicles,” Phil says, and grabs my suitcase out of the trunk. I tell him I can get it. He’s older and the man had cancer. I don’t need him hauling my suitcase around. But he insists, and Preston puts his hand on my shoulder, letting me know I should let him help me, so I do.

We make our way inside, and the house is just as charming on the inside as the outside. It’s very rustic and country and it gives me all the warm and cozy vibes. The dining room is adjacent to the kitchen and has a large floor to ceiling window and a table large enough for at least eight people. The kitchen itself has a double oven, an island covered in recipe books and pots and pans, a window looking out onto the front yard, and apple wallpaper all around. Further inside is the living area and there’s a wood burning stove in the corner, a china cabinetresting against one wall with gorgeous blue and white porcelain dishes in it, and a large built in bookshelf lines another wall. There’s two sofas and a large recliner, as well as a beautiful wooden rocking chair. Across from them is a large screen TV.

“Why don’t we let you guys get settled,” Pam says as Paris makes his way to the living room and sets Ginger back on her dog bed by the wood burning stove. She curls up and closes her eyes. “Jackson, I have you in Preston’s room with him. I hope that’s okay. It has a queen bed. Clean sheets and everything.”

“That sounds perfect,” I tell her. “Thank you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Preston says, giving her a kiss on the cheek that has her grinning. “We’ll be back down in a bit.”

I take my suitcase from where it’s sitting by the front door and follow Preston through the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. It opens up onto an office area with a large oak desk and behind it a bay window. On the left is a door leading to what I’m assuming is Paris’s room, and I grin when I see all the frills and lace inside. The little diva loves pink and black. I spot nail polish lining the top of his dresser as we pass by on the way to what I assume is Preston’s room. There’s a bathroom in between the two rooms and across from the desk setup. I’m loving everything about this house. It makes me want to curl up with a book or watch a classic Christmas movie. It’s just slow and peaceful, and I can’t remember a time when I felt more relaxed.

“You must have shared a room with Phoenix,” I say as we enter the room on the right, and I see the shelves lined with trophies, medallions, and awards and pictures of Preston and who I’m assuming is Phoenix. There’s a queen size bed in the center of the room with nightstands on each side and the dresser sits across from it. To the left of the bed is a walk-in closet and to the right is a large window that looks out over the roof.

“Yeah,” he says, a small smile on his face. “I did. There used to be more stuff out, but Mom and Dad put most of it away afterhe passed. Switched the beds out, too. Used to be two twins.” He chuckles. “We were really little when we moved in here, and I was sure there were monsters outside the window at night, and so he took the spot by the window so he could protect me. It never changed, until he was gone.”

Jesus. I’m gonna cry. Before I can think about it, I find myself reaching over and squeezing his hand. He gives mine a squeeze back. “Is this him?” I point to a photo on the dresser of a young man who looks strikingly similar to Preston, slightly darker hair but the same swimmer’s build and dashing smile, wearing a basketball jersey and kneeling with the basketball in his hands.

“Yeah, that was the same year he died,” Preston tells me, his voice solemn.

“The holidays must be really hard without him.”

“The hardest,” he admits, and my hand rests on his back as we both stare at the photo. Then, together we turn so our foreheads are resting together, and my hand is still on his back, our eyes closed.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he tells me, his warm breath ghosting over my face.

“Me, too,” I reply, and then kiss him. He smiles.

“Time for lunch, buttheads!” we hear, and laugh as Pam chides Paris for “being rude.”

“Coming!” Preston shouts back, and we head down the stairs.

“How is everything?” Pam asks as she bustles around in the kitchen and Paris sets the table. Phil is in his chair just like Preston said he would be, and Ginger is snoring by the fire. It’s perfect.

“It’s great, Mom,” Preston assures her.

“It should be. We cleaned the entire fucking house from top to bottom fifteen times for your highness’s arrival,” Paris remarks, and Pam smacks his arm.

“Language,” she chides.

“Paris, you know your mother likes our guests to feel welcome,” Phil says as he moves into the dining room. He plants a kiss on Pam’s cheek and we sit down, me next to Preston. Paris grins and gives Preston the finger while sticking his tongue out, and if their parents notice they don’t say anything. Preston returns the gesture and I can’t help snickering at their antics.

There’s bowls of soup in front of us and it smells amazing. It reminds me of when Preston brought me soup when I was sick and those butterflies are taking flight again.

Along with the soup we each have a small plate of salad that looks equally as enticing.

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