Page 73 of A Very Merry Enemy
I can’t help but smile. “We made this so long ago.”
“I memorized every recipe we made by heart,” he says, and heat rushes through me.
The intensity of his stare is impossible to avoid.
“Figured you deserved something better than frozen pizza or grilled cheese,” he says.
I snort. “Guess I really haven’t changed that much.”
“About today.” His jaw tightens. “Sorry I stepped in like that. I know you had it under control, but I lost my shit seeing him hollering at you.”
“Thank you for caring.” I take a sip of wine. “Where’d you even come from? One second, he was yelling, and the next, you were basically throwing him outside.”
“I did notthrowhim. I pulled him. Nobody talks to you like that. Ever. I don’t care what you did or didn’t do. It’s about respect.” He says it like it’s a cardinal rule.
Heat creeps up my neck. “You didn’t have to defend me.”
“I don’t have to do a lot of things.” His eyes meet mine. “I choose to. But isn’t that what life is all about? Choices?”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” I say.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The only sounds are forks scraping against glass plates and the fire crackling in the other room. I’m hyperaware of how shallow his breaths are and how his tattoos creep up his arms. I also notice how his eyes soften at the edges when he looks at me.
“Thank you for this,” I say as we finish eating. “I don’t remember the last time a man cooked for me.”
“That’s sad as fuck, Holiday.” He stands and takes our empty plates to the sink.
“I know,” I tell him.
“This is the bare minimum that friends do for one another. You deserve better than that bullshit. Okay?”
I nod. “I don’t know what I deserve anymore.”
“You deserve to be happy,” he simply says.
“Not sure I know what that is, either.” I laugh sarcastically.
“You will,” he says. “Ready to bake?”
“Yes, drill sergeant,” I say, breathing out of my nose as he quickly cleans up after dinner.
“I’ll pull the ingredients,” I tell him.
“Go for it. Everything is in the pantry or fridge.” He tilts his chin toward the door.
I place my hands on my hips, doing a quick scan of what I’ve pulled.
“Let’s make some magic,” he says, shooting me a wink.
My heart palpitates.
And for the first time since I returned home, I actually believe we can.
CHAPTER 14
LUCAS
I’ve been trying not to think about what Sammy told me, but with Holiday right in front of me, it’s hard. Every time I look at her, I think about how that piece of shit controlled and isolated her from everyone who ever loved her. There is a special place in hell for him.
