“Then maybe get off me and let me enjoy it before it gets cold,” he teased. But he pulled my face close to give me a long kiss before he let me go.
We ate in comfortable companionship after that, occasionally commenting on the food or the snow falling outside the windows. Adrian asked about the holiday traditions I’d grown up with. I found myself talking more than usual, sharing stories I hadn’t told anyone in years.
“She used to make this every Christmas Eve,” I said, serving him a second helping without asking if he wanted it. “The whole house would smell like garlic and herbs for hours. Maya and I would sneak down to steal tastes while it was cooling.”
“Did you get caught?”
“Every time. Mom would act all stern and shoo us away, but she’d always cut us tiny pieces anyway.” I smiled at the memory. “She said the best part of cooking for people was watching them enjoy it.”
Adrian was looking at me with that soft expression again, the one that made my chest tight. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She was.” I cleared my throat, suddenly emotional. “She would have liked you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. I think she’d’ve had a weakness for smart-ass city boys with good hearts.”
Adrian’s laugh was warm and delighted. “How do you know I have a good heart?”
“Because you’ve been putting up with my grumpy ass for weeks,” I said, reaching across the table to brush my thumb across his knuckles. “And because of the way you talk to Maya. The way you’ve thrown yourself into this town, even though I know it’s not your usual type of place.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind about what my type of place is,” Adrian said quietly.
My heart rate kicked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His fingers turned under mine, palm to palm. “I like it here. More than I expected to.”
The weight of that admission settled between us, carrying implications neither of us was quite ready to voice. Instead, I squeezed his hand and stood to clear the dishes.
“Leave those,” Adrian protested. “Let me do them.”
“Absolutely not. You’re the guest. Besides, I have a very important cultural education to provide.” I gestured toward the living room, where my sweet man was getting ready to have hisDie Hardcherry popped hard.
I’d arranged pillows and blankets on the couch, creating a cozy nest that was definitely more intimate than necessary for movie watching.
Adrian groaned dramatically. “If you make me watchIt’s aWonderful Life, I’m not going to be in the mood for sex. We’ll have to find a pair of twin beds and be all 1930s and shit.”
“I promise you’ll want to fuck after this.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “If it’sHome Aloneor anything where the Santa gets progressively fatter, I’m out.”
“Stop flapping your jaws and trust me.”
“I don’t loveElf, but I do love Zooey Deschanel singing,” he said, as if reluctantly offering me options.
“I don’t need your concessions, asshole,” I said, yanking him down beside me. “I just need you to take a breath and let this happen. Okay? Tonight’s date is my plan.Mine. Understand? You’ll watch this and you’ll like it.”
“So bossy,” Adrian complained. But as he tumbled down beside me, he sucked in a breath of excitement. “Wait. Are we watching what I think we’re watching?”
“Zip it,” I said, reaching for the remote.
He grinned at me and mimed zipping his lips before leaning in and making a production about kissing me without opening his mouth.
I shoved him off with a laugh. “You’re so weird. Stop and pay attention.”
The movie started, but I found myself more interested in watching Adrian’s reactions than the familiar action on-screen. He made sarcastic comments during the exposition, laughed at the one-liners, and gradually relaxed until his head was resting on my shoulder and his hand was splayed across my chest.
“Okay,” he admitted during the scene where McClane writes his message on the dead terrorist’s shirt, “this is actually pretty entertaining.”
