Page 116 of The Crush of Christmas Past
Fire licks along my skin, but my blush isn’t one of embarrassment. A few months ago, I never would’ve dropped a cringy sex joke so casually in front of Theo or his family. But sitting here, with people who love him—who loveme—I feel steady. Like I belong and can do no wrong.
I now understand why he started our Valentine’s date surrounded by every Thorne underthe sun.
Not because he doesn’t want to be alone with me. He wants to show me I’ll never be alone again. With or without him by my side, I’m still a part of their family.
Felix leans forward, grinning mischievously. “Everyone teases Theo about having a stick up his ass, but we all know it’s the stern, serious ones who usually enjoystick—”
“Yes!” Willow throws herself across the table to earmuff Jovie. “Kinky King! That’s what I—”
“Unbelievable.” Theo groans. “Our parents are right here!” He gestures to Evangeline and Graham in horror.
Evangeline just waves a hand, utterly unfazed. “Oh,pish posh. Your father and I have a whole drawer dedicated to—”
“Nope!” Rowan yelps. “Don’t traumatize your children by finishing that sentence!”
The entire table evacuates at once. Chairs screech. Cupcakes are abandoned. A confused Jovie is stuffed under Asher’s arm and carried off.
As I’m tugged away, my gaze snags on Graham’s grin. It’s stretched so wide he looks like he just won the lottery. One that has nothing to do with the older couple’s evidently thriving sex life.
Our parents.
Two simple words that mean the world.
Theo appears at my side, fingers brushing mine before he laces them together. “I think that’s enough family time for one day,” he says, steering me toward the door. “The rest of this date is all ours.”
“As you wish, Kinky King.” I lift our joined hands to my mouth, making a show of kissing his knuckles. “Wherever Your Royal Horniness commands.”
Thirty-Four
Theo
“Herecomesthemanwith the magical hands!” Mrs. Patel’s booming greeting barrels toward us the moment we step into Patel’s Petals. “I’ve never seen fingers so skilled!” She cradles a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses against her chest, but that doesn’t stop her from gesturing wildly in my direction, gold bangles clinking musically.
Next to me, Isla lets out a half laugh, half gasp, her hand instinctively tightening around mine. “I thought these belong to me,” she murmurs, voice laced with playful possession. “What did you do to earn such an enthusiastic endorsement?”
“The piece your boy designed for you is absolutely magnificent!” Mrs. Patel exclaims, laying it on thick. “If only I couldlure him away from that fancy company—we’d be the most talked-about flower shop in the country!”
Mr. Patel appears behind the counter with impeccable timing, passing a few sprigs of baby’s breath to his wife. “We can’t afford him, dear,” he says good-naturedly. “Or the restraining orders we’ll rack up if you keep flirting with the customers.”
“Just look at this beauty!” Mrs. Patel nods toward the elaborate display in the front window. “Yellow sunflowers and deep burgundy ranunculus? Sunshine and heart! A romantic showstopper!”
Isla’s eyes widen as she follows Mrs. Patel’s gaze to the arrangement I created last night. “You made that for me?” I doubt she notices how hard she’s squeezing my fingers.
“All for you.” After a quick, conspiratorial nod from Mr. Patel, I reach behind the counter and pull out a single sunflower. “A preview. We’ll drop back by on our way home for the full bouquet.”
Her touch trails over the velvety petals, and the smile that blooms across her face is worth all those hours I spent tracking down out-of-season flowers.
“The whole town has been begging for that bouquet,” Mrs. Patel says, clearly delighted. “But I told them it’s anexclusive. One of a kind. Just imagine what we could accomplish with talent like that on the payroll.”
She swats her husband’s arm with a rogue rose, scattering petals across the counter. “And you, darling!” A warm, maternal grin beams at Isla. “With that clever mind of yours, we’d be unstoppable. The ads you designed for us were a true revelation. That social media campaign doubled our Valentine’s orders this year.”
Her dark brown eyes shine as inspiration strikes. “Perhaps you’d consider a contract to help me run the shop’s pages?Hubby can grow the most exotic plant species, but the man is hopeless with technology. And me? I can barely post a photo without filtering the poor flowers beyond recognition.”
I glance at Isla. The way she receives praise has always fascinated me. It’s as if she craves and questions it in the same heartbeat.
A bright spark lights up her gaze from within. Her cheeks are flushed—even the tips of her ears are tinged pink—and I’m certain it has nothing to do with the humidity in the shop.
She radiates pure, unabashed pride.
