Page 92 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
I scrunch up my nose. “What about your house?”
“Take me to my house. Please.” He nods at the road ahead of us. “Once we’re across the lake, stay on Bridge Street. I’ll give you directions from there.”
“Hold on.” I scoff. “Didn’t wejustreach a settlement? I’m not dropping you off until Christmas Eve. We’ve got all the leftovers at the lake house. And the pie. And the tree. And have you forgotten about poor Henry?”
“I’ll never forget about Henry. But …”
“But what?”
“The clothes Ford packed for me are going to run out. I just need to grab a few things. Like socks and shirts and underwear.”
“Fine.” I glance at him. “I guess I can’t deny a man clean boxers.”
“Who says I wear boxers?” He wags his eyebrows.
“I wasn’t asking.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, but you definitelywant to know.”
Spots of heat rise in my cheeks. “Whatever you say.”
“I say go past this stop sign. Then turn left.”
“Hmm. So bossy.”
“Hey.” He arches a brow. “I gave in to your settlement, didn’t I? But for the record, I still don’t like the idea of you doing so much driving on back-to-back days.”
“I’ll survive.”
“I’m also still sending a big donation along with you for you to drop off on my behalf.”
This teases a soft chuckle out of me. “What am I dropping off for you? Like … a check?”
“Maybe.” His mouth quirks.
I burst out a full-on laugh. “Are you a hundred years old or something? Channeling Big Mama?”
“If you must know, yes. I, Three Fuller, have a checkbook.” A grin breaks across his face. “I got an account to teach my students about old-school banking. Even the stuff theythinkthey’ll never need. A lot of these kids have grandparents and great-grandparents who still send birthday money via checks. So they need to know how to deal with?—”
“I get the picture.” I shake my head, but a smile tugs at my lips. “But I still don’t know how to get to your house, so …”
“Make a right up here. And then the next left onto Reed Street. Mine’s the second house up across from the church.”
Even without the precise directions, I’d probably recognize Three’s craftsman, because I swear the house looks just like a Fuller. The trees out front are a little wild, bare branches stretching past the rooftop. The exterior is a light yellow. Like sunshine. A single chair sits on the porch. The trim is snow white, and the shutters are a Christmas red.
Three’s place is basically happiness in a house.
As I pull into his driveway, I start to feel a bit squeamish. I don’t think I’m prepared to see this grownup side of Three. Something so personal. Sohim. I’m trying to trust my emotions. To trust myself. But the inside of Three’s house might be toomuch for me to process. I can’t decide which would be worse: If there are moldy dishes in the sink and milk curdling in the fridge, or if the place is all neat and tidy and … perfect. “I’ll wait for you out here.”
“It’s too cold,” he says. “Come on in.”
“I can leave the car running. Just be quick.”
“I don’t want to feel rushed,” he says. “My clothes may even be in the dryer. I can’t remember. Just … please.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
I follow him up the steps to the porch and wait as he fishes a key out from under the mat. “Now you know how to get into my house.” He sends a smirk over his shoulder. “So if any of my underwear ever disappears, I’ll have to report you to Sheriff Bender.”
