Page 33 of Rebel Without a Claus
She crosses her arms. “And if Iinsiston being stubborn?”
“Then I’ll carry you to the bed myself.”
That gets a reaction. Her cheeks grow pink, and she flounders for a second. “Okay, fine. You win.”
“The bedroom and shower is through that door,” I point across the room. “You should shower first,” he says, not quite looking at me. “You smell like placenta.”
“Charming,” she snorts. “But if I smell like placenta, then you probably smell like a bucket of afterbirth.”
I grin at her and jerk my head toward the bedroom door. “Seriously, you can shower first and I’ll go after you. Feel free to wear anything you find in my closet to sleep in.”
She lifts her chin. “You’re going to let me go through your closet? Aren’t you worried I’ll find your porn stash?”
“Nah, that’s under the bed,” I deadpan back to her.
With a giggle, she heads toward the bedroom, disappearing inside, shutting the door behind her.
Once I hear the water start, I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. Then I get to work, kneeling by the fireplace to build a triangle of wood. The fire quickly makes the room warm… too warm maybe; the room is too small, and I’m too aware that she’s right on the other side of that wall, naked in my shower, water sluicing down her body. She’ll probably poke through my bookshelves and judge my flannel collection.
When she comes out ten minutes later, my brain short circuits.
She’s wearing one of my flannel shirts. One of my old ones—oversized, faded red and black. Her hair’s damp from a quick shower, twisted up in a loose bun. Her legs are bare except for fuzzy socks that Aunt May had knit for me last Christmas. She’s hugging herself like she doesn’t realize she’s just waltzed into the middle of every fantasy I’ve buried over the last ten years.
I clear my throat. Loudly.
“What?” she says, blinking. “Is this okay? You said to grab something from your closet to sleep in. This one seemed older than the others.”
“Yeah,” I say, pausing to clear my throat again. “It’s nothing. Just didn’t expect to see my shirt up and walking around the cabin.”
She smirks, tugging at the collar and burying her nose in it. “Well, this shirt also smelled the nicest. Like cedarwood and crippling emotional repression.”
I snort a laugh that feels rusty, but good. “Sounds about right.”
I excuse myself into my bedroom and take the quickest, coldest shower I can stand. Normally, a hot shower during a blizzard is my favorite thing in the world, but tonight? I need to cool the fuck off. Five minutes later, I’m dressed in my pajama bottoms and a different flannel shirt. I come out to find Eve looking at my bookshelf, studying my various copies of nerdy fantasy novels and memoirs.
“So,” she says, walking over to me. “What now? Do I start making the hot chocolate? Or do we braid each other’s hair and share secrets?”
“Depends. You got any secrets worth sharing?”
“No… but I have a feelingyoudo.” She shakes the jar of chocolate chips and nibs.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stand, narrowing my eyes before crossing the small length of the room and takingthe jar from her. “Let me make the hot chocolate. Aunt May’s peppermint hot chocolate is a secret recipe. Can’t have you poaching it to win the festival, now can we?”
“Hmmm,” she says, curling up in my armchair, tucking her feet beneath her. “Funny. It sounded like May hadno ideathat I love peppermint in my hot chocolate.”
“Huh. She must have forgotten.” I cross behind the small kitchen island that faces the open concept living room.
“She forgot… within a day?”
I shrug and dump the chocolate into a sauce pan, then turn to grab the milk from my fridge. “She’s old.”
“She’s notthatold.” Eve’s baiting me. I can hear the smile in her voice without looking up. I turn on my stovetop and pour some milk over top of the chocolate.
“She’s older… than us. And she can be forgetful.”
“Mmmmm.”
I dare a glance in her direction as I snap the candy cane into little pieces. “I don’t like thatmmmm. It sounds conspiratorial.” One by one, I drop the pieces into the melting hot chocolate.
