Page 20 of Bonded By Christmas
I didn’t fake my lab work, but I may have slightly pressured my doctor into giving me a referral for pheromone therapy. As it turns out, this place didn’t even require it to set up an appointment, but I wasn’t willing to take any chances.
I’m not above playing dirty to get what I want.
“How about you?” she asks, her warm breath puffing against my skin as she speaks. “What are your plans for Christmas?”
Outside of magically wooing her into wanting to move in with me before New Year’s Day, I didn’t have a single plan for the holiday season. Hearing that she isn’t even sure she’s going to decorate for the holiday gives me an idea.
I won’t bring it up now.
I need to let the plan fully come together.
The attic of the house I inherited from my dads is packed to the brim with Christmas cheer. Once my mom died, we never touched a single box. There’s a train set, Christmas village, lights, and so much more, all waiting for someone who will appreciate them.
Something inside me says Lacey will.
“I have a deal to broker before New Year’s Day, which I’m hoping to have wrapped up within the next few days. I’d like to be able to take off some time right before Christmas and the week leading up to New Year’s.” I run my hand up and down her spine. “I gave my housekeeper a week off starting on Christmas Eve, but my private chef made it clear he has no family, and he intends to cook for himself in my kitchen. By his grace, I won’t starve during the holidays.”
Lacey snorts. “Oh yeah, because if it came down to cooking for yourself or going hungry, you’d just go without.”
“I have many skills. Cooking is not one of them.”
“Yeah, I really can’t make much outside of the basics either,” the little omega admits.
Well, if she’d like to learn, I know Collins would be open to giving her lessons, but once she’s officially mine, she’ll never have to lift a finger again.
Chapter Nine
Lacey
I’m still reeling from my session with Wilder hours later. My head isn’t really in the game, and that leads to me only half-listening when Charlotte corners me in the break room as I’m heading out after my last client.
“It’s just a cute little family friendly Christmas festival. My kid has begged to go nonstop. I’m off tomorrow night, so I was thinking about taking him. Would you want to come with us?” she asks, rocking on her heels.
My head tilts.
Some of my favorite memories of my childhood were of my mom taking me to the Christmas market. All the little stands with food and hot chocolate, standing in line to meet Santa, and being able to color pictures with the elves.
“Yeah, I’d love to. I work tomorrow, but if I don’t have anyone on the books, I’ll have them block me off or leave early. Just text me the details, and I’ll meet you there.”
I kinda hoped Callum would stop by after I got home from work, but he doesn’t. I spend the evening watching Christmas movies and reading articles about the market I’ll be going to with Charlotte and her son.
There’s no getting out of my four-p.m. appointment the next day, so I head in and handle that. Once it’s done, I dress in black leggings, a long-sleeve T-shirt, my wool coat, and scarf and head a few blocks away to meet Charlotte.
Her son is as cute as can be. His name is Lukas, but his mom calls him Lucky, so I do too. He’s three, and he chatters nonstop. The little guy never stops moving, and it’s fun seeing all the holiday magic through the eyes of a child.
I don’t think kids are in the cards for me personally, but I don’t dislike tiny humans. It’s more like I don’t feel any pull toward them at all. I wouldn’t shy away from spending time with a friend who has kids, I just don’t want that kind of responsibility full-time.
I saw how much my mother struggled and sacrificed to provide for me. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I don’t think I’m decisive enough to be a good parent. I barely take care of myself most days.
Lucky laughs, running off with his tepid hot chocolate held to his chest. It has a lid with a sipping spout, but I’m not convinced that will keep him from staining his hoodie.
“I’ll follow him,” I tell Charlotte as she waits to pay for the hot cocoa and one for herself.
“Thanks,” she says, digging in her purse.
I take off after the preschooler… Toddler?
Shit.
