Page 64 of Joy to Noel
Meow.
After nuzzling him briefly, I set him down on the floor so I can resume editing. He trots over to my Christmas tree, giving it a thorough sniff inspection. When he’s satisfied with his findings, he crawls under the tree and sprawls onto his side, looking up at the lights.
Smiling, I tell him, “That used to be my favorite thing as a kid, too, Hammie. I’d lie under the tree and look up through the center to see the rainbow of lights filtering through the branches. Sorry that these are just white lights and not multicolor. Maybe I should have gone with my kid taste instead of refined adult preferences.”
Meow.
Hamlet quietly keeps me company for another hour as I continue reading and making corrections to the manuscript. I’m just thinking about pausing to make dinner when I hear the front door open.
“Madison? Hamlet?” Liam’s voice calls.
“In here!” I yell back. He steps into view in the doorway, taking in the sight of Hamlet curled up under the tree beside me.
“Off limits, huh?” he jokes.
“You know that Hammie and I have an understanding now,” I say, not missing his flinching reaction to my nickname for Hamlet. I stand and saunter toward him. “What? Am I really not allowed to call him that?”
Liam sighs. “Hana always shortened our cats’ names to girlie nicknames—Ophelia, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern became Ophie, Rosie, and Gilly. I’ve tried to hold my ground when she calls him ‘Ham.’ He’s a dignified cat. It’s insulting.”
“Wow, your family really is serious about Shakespeare,” I remark. Liam smiles and shrugs in response. “Okay, so Hana isn’t allowed to shorten his name. Buuut, does the ban extend to me as well?” I slowly wrap my arms around his waist as I ask, tilting my head back and giving him sad eyes.
“Those puppy eyes won’t get you anywhere with me,” he chides. But I feel the muscles in his back tensing in response to my touch.
I glare at him.
“That fiery gold spark in your eyes might get you somewhere, though,” he says before threading his fingers through my hair and pulling my mouth to his.
Every time Liam kisses me, it gets better and better. Like our lips were meant for each other, and every time they meet, they fuse together more perfectly. This kiss is more playful than last night’s urgent, desperate kisses, but it’s just as intense. Just as consuming.
When Liam releases me, I inhale a deep breath, gathering my wits from the corners of the earth he just scattered them to. “That was a yes to calling him ‘Hammie,’ right?”
“You’re relentless,” he sighs.
“I thought you liked that about me,” I tease.
Liam smirks. “You are absolutely right. It might just be my demise. Or, at least, the demise of Hamlet’s dignity.”
On cue, Hamlet snakes between our feet, loudly meowing on his way to the kitchen.
“Dinner time?” I ask.
Liam leans closer to me and murmurs, “I mean, we can pause to eat dinner if you want to.”
I’m having a hard time thinking about anything other than the feel of his lips when they’re hovering so close to mine. “Hammie could practice a little patience for a few minutes,” I say, voice breathy.
Rather than meeting my lips with his, Liam gently brushes kisses along my jaw, leaving a trail of shivering fire on his way to my neck. “He hasn’t learned a lot of patience, I suppose,” he murmurs in my ear, “since I don’t have much patience myself.”
“Me either,” I say as I turn his face to bring his lips to mine. Liam steps closer, my back pressing against the door frame, our lips soldered together just like they’re meant to be.
Milliseconds before I lose all sense of reality, I press Liam’s chest away from me. Gasping a breath, I say, “Okay. We need to lay some ground rules.”
“Okay,” Liam says, eyes locked on mine. “Rule one: Hamlet’s name is Hamlet, not Hammie.”
“Ha ha,” I huff, lightly punching him in the chest, and he laughs. “I’m serious. This is a little unconventional, us being roommates first and then starting a relationship. Rules must be made.”
He stands up straight, a smile still playing at his lips. “That’s reasonable. Here’s rule number one for real: you sleep in your room, I sleepin mine. No sleeping together in any sense of the word. I need the firm boundary line drawn, or the intensity of kissing you is going to derail all self-control. The nights by the fireplace nearly did me in.”
While I’m usually the direct one in conversations, my heart pounds and heat floods my cheeks at his blunt declaration. Swallowing hard, I nod agreement. Narrowing my eyes, I say, “Rule two: no coming into the house shirtless after your morning runs.”
