Page 100 of His Christmas Wife

“Grumpy Galumph?”

“Don’t blame me. That was her name when I bought her. I just didn’t change it when I found out how cantankerous she is.”

Three minutes later, he found out for himself when he tried to back her out of the parking spot. “Does she need a spa day?”

“The mechanic thinks so.”

As the vehicle lurched forward, he glanced at her. “I suppose you’re attached to her and don’t want to trade her in?”

“A new car isn’t in my budget.”

“You can drive one of mine—ours,” he corrected, “until you change your mind and trade her in.”

“Don’t say that too loudly.”

A light flashed on the dashboard.

“Told you so.”

Still, they made it to his high-rise, and he parked it in a reserved spot. The vehicle looked ridiculous among all the sports cars, pickup trucks, and luxury SUVs. But Evan knew Kaylee—a woman who didn’t need flashy things.

“Champagne in the sunroom?” he suggested when they were in the penthouse with her coat hung up and her purse placed where she could easily find it. “I want to fuck you senseless, but I imagine you want to talk first.”

She appreciated how much he seemed to understand her. “Yes. You had some time to think this through, but it stunned me honestly. I need a few minutes to wrap my mind around it.”

“You’ll have the rest of your life.”

While she grabbed the crystal flutes, he uncorked the bubbly and poured it.

“To us”—he picked up a glass and offered it to her before lifting his—“and our future. Our happiness.”

She clinked her rim against his, then took a sip. “Holy wow.” It was like air, an explosion of happiness in her mouth. Eyes wide, she looked at the bottle. “That’s not ordinary champs.”

“One of my best. Special reserve for celebrations.”

“Well, wow.” Not at all like the one delivered to their table at the restaurant, even though it had been wonderful and pricey.

Together they walked to the sunroom and took a seat next to each other, facing west to watch day turn into night.

“Hey, Jolly,” Frost said.

When there was no response, Kaylee and Frost exchanged glances.

“Jolly?” he prompted.

“I’m worn out. Too many knock-knock jokes.”

“Poor Jolly.” Kaylee smothered a laugh. But she too had worn down during the course of the week. The kids were a handful.

“Maybe you should babysit more often,” he fired back at the machine.

“Entering standby mode now.”

“No!” Frost protested. “Set the temperature to seventy-two first. And play my Frank Sinatra station.”

“I told you I’m tired.”

“Please,” Kaylee added. “Please play the Frank Sinatra station and adjust the heat.”

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