Page 76 of The Crush of Christmas Past
Rowan snags Jovie as she sprints past him, scooping her up with a grunt. “Ease up, sis,” he says, tossing her onto his shoulders. “A little dirt won’t hurt.”
Willow raises an eyebrow. “Louder, please,so Mom can hear.”
As if summoned by the idea of mess, Mom materializes in the foyer. “Hear what?”
She’s dressed for a dinner party at a friend’s place, her sparkly new earrings—a gift from my stepdad—catching the light as she calls up the stairs.
“Move it, Graham! You know Elaine’s pinecone cheeseballs disappear in five minutes flat! I’m not spending another year watching you sulk over missed dairy connections.”
Graham stumbles down, one arm still halfway into his cardigan. He shrugs it on, then flashes Mom a playful grin while fiddling with the buttons. “I’m moving! I’m moving! Do you think she’ll do those brie and pear tartlets again?Ooh—what about the creamy artichoke dip?”
The easy affection between them still startles me at times. Mom would’ve never dared tease my sperm donor. Hell, she’d rarely chanced laughing in front of him.
“Did you know I proposed to this man with a block of cheese?” she jokes, stepping up to fix Graham’s tie.
He gives her a grateful peck on the lips before tackling his coat and boots.
“Bundle up and behave!” Mom points her clutch at the sledding troupe before flinging open the front door. “Oh, my! Hello, Sienna!”
Asher’s ex stands on the porch, her gaze bouncing around nervously. She shifts on her feet, holding up both hands in front of her. “I didn’t know this was a whole family affair. I don’t want to intrude on your plans.”
“Nonsense,” Asher says, stepping forward to take charge. “I need someone to help me haul Stardust up the hill.” He juts a thumb over his shoulder at Jovie’s toy. “He may be a unicorn, but he weighs as much as three elephants.”
“Not true!” Jovie sticks out her tongue, shooting him a playful scowl.
Asher turns toward our niece. “So, you’ll pull him up the hill?”
Jovie nods. “Yup. If you pull me!”
With that settled, the group files out, and the house slips into a familiar kind of quiet.
While solitude has always been a reliable companion, this stillness feels different now.
Emptier.
Am I starting to enjoy the madness?
Shaking my head at the thought, I walk back to the living room.
To Isla.
She’s curled up on the couch, wearing a short, olive sweater dress and sporting a pair of knit thigh-highs that cling to her legs with purpose.
That purpose?My undoing.
Her hair catches the fading daylight, wavy strands glinting like flames against the dark cushions.
Noticing my approach, she sits up and stretches, arms lifting high above her head in a slow, sleepy arc. Something about the way her spine bows provokes memories of last night. Memories of her moaning my name while she rode my face.
Fuck.
I touch my bottom lip, craving another taste of her sweetness. My fingers twitch, begging for another chance to sink into her heat.
Every part of me wants more of her.
Allof her.
“Didn’t feel like joining the sledding expedition?” she asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
