Page 32 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

“You make for good TV, Case Winchester.”

“Are you sure you don’t mean Fabio? I think he steals the show.”

“Nah. You’re the leading man. Fabio’s just in the supporting role.”

We watch a few more times, laughing just as hard every time the ram goes into him and he goes into the fire.

“It could have been so bad,” I say, wiping tears off my face. “What if you’d been burned?”

“But I wasn’t. And now I’ll probably become a viral meme, which has always been on my bucket list.”

He isn’t wrong about being a meme. If it’s already being passed around by the so-called Sheeters, I imagine it’s only a matter of time before it hits TikTok or Facebook.

“You never said what that smell is,” he reminds me.

I gasp, jumping up and running into the kitchen, where the smell has shifted from savory deliciousness into burning.

I didn’t set a timer, totally sure I’d remember the homemade mac ‘n’ cheese Tank dropped off. When I open the oven, a plume of smoke escapes. But when I survey the damage it’s not TOO bad. At least the fire alarms don’t go off. Namely because Case grabs two dish towels and waves them madly in the air until the smoke clears.

When he’s done doing his best impression of a member of the color guard at halftime, we survey the damage.

“What is—or was—that?” he asks.

“Tank brought mac ‘n’ cheese. Mari made it. But now it’s more like … crispy mac ‘n’ cheese.”

The entire top is blackened, and the edges look downright crunchy. Case sets down the dish towels and leans in for a closer look, pressing his body close to mine in a way that has me forgetting all about dinners, burned or not.

“Looks good,” Case murmurs, almost right in my ear.

I whip my head around, which brings our faces mere inches apart. “It looks good? It’s practically annihilated.”

His eyes drop to my lips. “I wasn’t referring to the food, Jillian.”

Every time Case says my name now, it tugs at some inner part of me, like he’s found a way to hot wire my heart.

“Oh,” is all I can say.

Case angles his body my way and gently turns me to face him. His eyes never leave my lips.

“I think we should give that a few minutes to cool, don’t you?” he murmurs.

“Maybe a few hours?”

Case laughs, and I love the way his beard frames his smiling mouth, like an exclamation point at the end of a perfect sentence.

His hand reaches up, cupping the back of my neck, tangling in my hair. “I’m not opposed to that idea,” Case says, leaning closer. “Though I have to say I’m very hungry.”

“Me too,” I say. “Starved, actually. And I’m not referring to the food.” Then I lift up on my toes and press my mouth to his.

* * *

An hour later, Case and I have sufficiently tested the strength of his arms as well as the countertops, the island, and several of the walls. The construction here is excellent. Five stars. I’ll be leaving an excellent Yelp review. And Case’s arms hold me like I’m precious and have the strength to lift me like I’m nothing. Also five stars.

No—maybe ten.

I haven’t kissed anyone like this since … well, ever. Guys are always in a hurry to skip to the next step. Where Case seems like he wants to master kissing before making any other moves.

Not that he needs to master it; the man already has a doctorate. He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, as though he wants to commit every touch to memory and leisurely savor every moment of every kiss.

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