Page 72 of The Crush of Christmas Past
It takes all of two seconds for Felix and Rowan to weaponize their new snowboards, transforming the gifts into instruments of mass destruction.
“Take those outside before you carve up the hardwood!” Evangeline groans, rubbing her forehead. “Again.”
“We’re not carving, Ma, we’re testing the flex,” Felix insists, hopping onto his board and narrowly missing the tree.
Evangeline shoots him a look that could incinerate said tree. One perfected over years of wrangling a gaggle of hyperactive children. “Go outside,” she says, voice dangerously calm, “or you can flex your way to another two-hour family video marathon.”
Graham looks up from the stockings he’s sorting to put away for next year. “Listen to your mother or it’s the embarrassing director’s cut this time. And don’t worry, we’ll invite that girl you’ve been hanging out with, Ro. What was her name again? Julia? Julie? Juni—”
“Okay,okay. That’s enough!” Rowan freezes, eyes wide. “I’m going.” He stuffs his snowboard under one arm and bolts for the door.
Felix shakes his head. “Cold move using Juno against him.”
Graham arches an eyebrow at Willow. “Remind me about Lix’s mystery crush—who is that, again?”
“Ugh. This family. I’m out!” Felix storms off, his dramatic stomps punctuating the burst of laughter from his sister and father.
As Willow and Graham dissect Felix’s love life—she insists he’s single, he’s convinced otherwise— I tug on my new knit hat from Evangeline and settle on the couch next to Asher.
“I was about to grab more hot chocolate.” He stands, motioning with his chin toward the kitchen. “Refill?”
I extend my empty mug. “Extra marshmallows, please.”
“A mountain of marshmallows with a splash of actual liquid—coming right up!”
Squaring my shoulders, I brace for an ostentatious holiday nickname. Thankfully, with his family no longer needing to be convinced of our passionate love affair, Asher spares me the torture.
I watch him head for the kitchen, but my attention drifts to Jovie, skipping with purpose toward the armchair where Theo sits with his hot chocolate.
“Teddy Bear?” Her voice drips hope. “Read to me?” She clutches her unicorn stuffy with one hand and extends my custom-made picture book with the other.
“Sure thing, Your Majesty.” Theo carefully deposits his mug on a side table before scooping her onto his lap.
“Isla!” Jovie beckons with her toy. “Come listen!”
I open my mouth to protest. Maybe if I explain that I made the story—so I already know every part—I can save myself from the temptation of Theo’s lap.
The commotion of the morning has done a decent job keeping my mind from luxuriating in the memory of last night, but his touch is still branded on my skin. Inside me. And my body aches for more.
“Lala!” I jump at Jovie’s cry.
Praise four-year-old speed bumps on the road to insanity.
“Sit next to me!” Her big, round eyes chip away at my defenses.
“Sure thing, Your Majesty.” I parrot Theo’s words.
Trading the couch for the chair, I settle on its broad, leather arm. Close enough to bask in their warmth, yet far enough to pretend it doesn’t affect me.
“Look!” Jovie beams, tracing her fingers over the front cover of the book. “It’s me and Stardust on a helping adventure!”
“It looks just like you,” Theo says, his gaze sliding to me. “Truly magical.”
Then he starts reading, his steady voice wrapping around us. Every so often, Jovie interrupts, acting out parts of the story with wild, sweeping gestures.
Though I’m proud of the art, I’m no writer. The words are simple, the storyline lifted from Jovie’s favorite cartoon. Still, her giggles make me feel like I’ve created a masterpiece.
“With Stardust by her side, smart, brave Jovie ventured into the deep, dark forest—”
