Page 63 of Butter My Biscuit

“Now, can you pretty pleasetryto be patient?” I tap her nose, and we lean against the counter and wait.

I open the freezer and take out a bottle of bourbon-whiskey blend, then set it on the counter.

Her brows rise. “Oh, we’re goingtheretonight?”

I remove the top and take several gulps, needing to loosen up because I’m feeling the tension.

She reaches for it, reading the label. “American Honey. A bourbon and whiskey blend. Do I need a chaser?”

“Nope, it’s smooth.”

She takes a swig, then another. “Dangerous, but I likey.”

This is the first time Grace has been single without immediately jumping into a relationship for the pastnineyears. It’s now or never, and I’ve realized that every day since she broke up with her ex.

“How was the lasagna?” I take another sip. It’s sweet, almost too sweet, but it does the job.

“The food was great. The conversation was fine.” She shakes her head. “At least this year, I have a job, but single once again. Was so much fun, announcing that.”

I shrug. “You should double down on your wedding planning business and go all in next year.”

“My mama said the same thing.” Grace hiccups. “Oh no, I know what that means. Drunkie is coming out to play.”

I snicker, shaking my head at her. “I’m happy you’re in your single-girl era because we get to keep doing this.”

“What do you mean?” Her brows furrow.

“Come on, Gracie. We won’t be able to do this forever.”

She searches my face. “Of course we will.”

I take two steps forward, removing the space between us, and set my hand on her shoulder. “No, we won’t. One day, you’ll have a family, and that family is gonna need you to be Mom on Christmas Eve. We can’t keep pretending that we’ll always be able to do these types of things. I’m sure my wife won’t let me go out and play with my childhood best friend if we have little ones in the house, ya know?”

“Yeah, we’re getting old. Things are changing.” She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “The future freaks me out. I just kinda want to live in the moment and let future Grace figure it out.”

I hug her back, smelling her hair.

“You Make It Feel Like Christmas” starts playing, and I grab her hand, and we two-step around the kitchen, laughing and singing together. The distraction is needed because if I think too much about the future, it freaks me out too.

“It’s not Christmas without you,” I tell her, dipping her back.

She giggles and spins around, and then we go back to one another.

“Same,” she says, and we continue singing.

When it ends, she rushes over to the stovetop and grabs a cookie. They’re so soft; it nearly falls apart in her hand.

“These are perfection. Maybe you do have the magic touch.”

“Of course I do,” I say, grabbing the gallon of cold milk from the fridge and two glasses, then filling them halfway.

“Thank you. But I’m gonna have more of that.” She points at the American Honey.

“Stayin’ the night?” I grab another cookie. “Because that shit is gonna knock you on your ass.”

“Do you want me to?”

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter to me. But if you are, you’re sleeping in my bed.”

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