Page 17 of The Wish List
Or was it?
I grinned.
“Another Christmas miracle,” I replied. “Your bonus is in your bank account.”
“Boss man, what I did this morning was my gift to you. But I appreciate it, and I’ll make sure Evan knows where the MacBook came from. He’ll be thrilled. He’s been wanting one of those in green for ages. Luckily, the Apple Store still had one in stock. I’m picking it up now.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”
He grinned. “Back at you.”
He left, and I picked up the bouquet I had left in the hall. I walked into the kitchen, where Rosie was still unpacking bags and AJ was tidying up. I had a feeling I’d be sneezing glitter for the next few months, but somehow, the thought made me happy.
I helped her finish unloading the groceries. The flowers I gave her made her smile. They also got me a long kiss that only ended when AJ ran into the kitchen to tell us it was snowing again. He was excited.
“Momma, a white Christmas! We never get those!”
“I know, baby.”
He stared up at me, his eyes round in his face. “Maybe we can go sledding again?”
I ruffled his hair. “I’d love to.”
He paused. “Are you gonna keep kissing my momma?”
“Probably.”
He crossed his arms. “She doesn’t usually kiss anyone but me.”
I matched his stance. “I see. Do we need to have a talk? Man-to-man?”
He pursed his lips. “Later. I don’t wanna miss my show.”
“Good choice. Later, when your momma is having a nap.”
“A nap?” he questioned. “Momma never naps.”
“It’s Christmas. Naps are special.”
“Doesn’t sound like much fun, but okay.”
He padded back to the living room. Rosie smiled at me.
“You’re very good with him.”
“He’s the same age as my niece. I talk to her like an adult too—at least, most of the time. We’re silly at times too. But kids are smarter than people give them credit for.”
She was quiet for a moment, then stepped closer.
“I noticed your, ah, overnight bag you put in the closet.”
“I was hoping you’d let me stay. Wake up with you two on Christmas morning.” I swallowed nervously, surprised at how desperately I needed her to say yes. As someone used to getting anything he wanted whenever he wanted it, asking her came surprisingly easy. She controlled the situation—not me. It was an odd sensation, but not unwelcome. “If you’d let me.”
“I sleep on the sofa. The mattress is sort of lumpy.”
“I can handle it.”
She tilted her head, and a smile tugged on her lips. “Not sure I can handle you, but I would like it if you stayed.” She held up a finger before I could speak. “But if you decide a few hours from now it’s all too much, I won’t be upset if you head home to your own bed and some peace and quiet. You’re still welcome for dinner.”
