Page 22 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“You’re doing great,” I say softly, but I’m talking more to myself than to him.
“I’d be doing better, if you stopped quizzing me,” he mumbles.
Nowthatsounds like the old Three.
This is a good sign that his concussion isn’t getting any worse, which is the best-case scenario. Because the sooner Three is better, the sooner the doctor will clear him to be alone, and the sooner I can move on from this momentary blip on my radar.
For now, though, I return to the armchair, and dream about a cruise ship being sunk by an army of giant candy canes.
Chapter Nine
Sara
The next morning, I’m in the kitchen slicing up French bread, when I hear a throat clearing behind me. Even with a pan of eggs and butter on the stove, I still catch the scent of pine-scented bubble bath mixed with Old Spice. I take a deep breath and turn around.
Freshly inoculated, Sara.
“You’re up,” I manage. “Obviously.”
Over a plain white T-shirt, Three is wearing a hoodie the exact same blue of his eyes. And in case I hadn’t clocked it before, the man fills out a pair of sweatpants better than any history teacher I’ve ever had. His hair is rumpled and wild above the angry lump from the fire extinguisher, and his eyes are hooded. Almost shy. “Thanks for looking out for me last night,” he says. His voice is full of drowsy gravel.
“Just doing my job. No big deal.”
He tips his head to indicate the stove. “And now you’re whipping up breakfast too?”
I set down the knife to avoid getting distracted by thedeliciousness of post-sleep Three. A girl could end up slicing off her finger. “It’s just eggs and toast.” I shrug, popping two slices of bread in the toaster. “I had to eat. So, again, no big deal.”
I’m trying to let him know—and to remind myself—I’m not doing anything special for Three Fuller. Nothing different than what I’d already be doing for me, anyway.
He pulls a stool from under the island, and slides onto it. “Well, eggs and toast is more than anyone else ever makes for me, so…”
His voice trails off, and my pulse ticks up. Three must not have a significant other after all. At least not one who takes care of him. Or maybe he does have someone special, and she just doesn’t like to cook.
Or maybe you should stop thinking about Three’s relationship status.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, changing the subject to anything but Three being in love with some other woman.
“Still pretty foggy, but at least a little clearer than last night.”
“You did seem pretty out of it.” I fill a glass of water at the sink, and hand it over along with his morning dose of meds. “Do you want anything for the pain?”
He washes the medicine down, wincing. “To be honest, a lot of yesterday is a big blur to me, so I’m gonna stick to antibiotics. I don’t think pain meds and I are meant to be friends.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s kinda how I feel about brownies now.”
“Right.” He pushes out a laugh, as I pour him a cup of coffee. Then I arrange the sugar bowl, creamer, and a spoon on the island in front of him. He picks up the steaming mug. “Mmm. Smells good.”
My cheeks heat up as I flash back to last night, although I’m sure he has no memory of his groggy ramblings about how good I smell. Three takes a sip without adding anything to it, then lifts his gaze to mine. “Tastes good too.”
My heart skips a beat. But I quickly school my faceinto a mask ofnothing-to-see-here-folks. “It’s just coffee,” I say before turning to collect butter and jam from the fridge.
Ugh.
Why do I feel so out of control of my body and brain? Yes, Three’s an insanely attractive man. But I’ve been down the hot-guy road before—with this hot guy, specifically—so I know better than to put much stock in physical attributes. In fact, the few men I dated in college and law school looked vastly different from one another, and we took our time getting to know each other as friends first. I appreciated their sense of humor, their kindness, their intelligence.
I definitely didn’t focus on their abs.
But the truth is, I have years of history of attraction to Three. A history thatdoesinvolve abs, and also his humor and intelligence. Not to mention he was the kindest man I knew.
