Page 44 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
Thank God for that.
She places a forkful of pumpkin pie in her mouth. “Geezuz. This is criminal. Please tell Eugene’s mother she’s a goddess and the world is a better place because her culinary creations are in it.”
I laugh. “I can do that.”
She looks thoughtful for a moment. “Can I ask why you had Thanksgiving with Eugene’s family and not your own?”
“Eugene is my family, so?—”
“Totally. Sorry. I don’t mean to pry…”
What am I doing? She asked a perfectly reasonable question. Why am I getting defensive?
“No, I’m sorry.” I put my fork down and break off a piece of cornbread. “My family is… limited. I’m an only child. My dad’s been gone for a long time.”
“Gone?”
“He passed when I was a kid.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.” I wave the piece of cornbread in the air before taking a bite. “But it’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but—I’m dealing with it. I mean, I’ve dealt with it. And my mom is still around. Things are just a little…” My voice drifts off.
“A little…?” she prompts.
“Complicated.”
“It always is, isn’t it?” she says, a hint of sadness in her tone.
“Not always.” I keep my voice light and gesture between us. “This, here, right now feels pretty simple, doesn’t it?”
“What? Stuffing our faces and ignoring our problems?” she laughs.
“You know what? Hell yeah! I’ll cheers to that!”
I lift my glass and clink it with hers. We sip. She watches me polish off the rest of the cranberry sauce.
“Sorry,” I say with my mouth full. “Did you want to finish that?”
“No, I’m good. Tell me, though, how many extra burpees will you need to do tomorrow to work off this meal? And while we’re on the subject, why do so many of your exercises sound so gross?”
“What do you mean they sound gross?” I put my hand to my chest in mock offense.
“Come on! Burpees. Snatches. Thrusters. Squats. Wall balls… Oh, and what’s that other one? The GHD? What does that stand for again?”
“Glute Ham Developer.”
“Yeah, see? Gross.”
“Sounds like someone paid attention during her first training session.” I respectfully tip my glass to her.
“Yeah, well, I’m a quick study,” she says with sass. “And technically that was training session two if you count whatever that insanity was in the sporting goods department.”
Her cheeks tinge pink after she says it. It could be the wine? But something tells me she’s remembering the heat that simmered between us that day. I thought it was just me who felt it. But maybe not. Maybe she felt it too.
I clear my throat. She startles a bit, like she’s coming back to the present moment with me.
“You know, I was kind of surprised when you said my workouts weren’t for you. Because, for what it’s worth, you did great. Both times.”
