I spy it by the lamp on the nightstand and toss it to Knox’s waiting hands. The volume dips way down. A snowman grins from the screen. “Knox, no! I was giving you a hard time!”
Aw. The sweetest, most adorable little boy face massages my heart. “You were?”
“Well, sorta. I mean, thoseweremy faves. Until I was ten.”
“Oh.” His wide shoulders slump. “What do you want to watch?”
I pat the empty spot by the pillows. “This.”
“No, my bad. I’ll find something else.” He scrolls his phone.
“Come on, sit. I haven’t seen the show in ages.” I stand the extra pillow along the headboard. “Get over here. It’s gonna be great.”
Wearing a fresh grin, he holds up a finger. “Okay, but first…popcorn.”
“Perfect!” I clap my hands. “You read my mind.”
He grabs a box of buttered popcorn from a stash of snacky foods clustered near the television on the low dresser. At the end of the dresser, a microwave sits atop the minifridge.
While the packet rotates on the turntable, Knox disappears into the bathroom, emerging wearing a long-sleeved gray t-shirt over his slacks. It’s a funny mismatch that adds to his ever-increasing charm. He sweeps his hand across his hair as if in attempt to straighten up, but when finished, the curl at the top refuses to cooperate. Should I tell him?
Not a chance. It’s adorable.
He’sadorable.
He takes two water bottles from the fridge and hands me one. “You warm enough?”
“For now.” I smile up.
He eyes me for a split second. Did that sound flirtatious? Kind of like,you can keep me warm later, baby?
Hope not. Because, while such a scenario sounds…blissful…I’m not going to tempt fate.
The bed dips when he adds his weight to it. He swings his long legs up and crosses at the ankles.
Blinking, I stare at his feet.
“What?” His eyes dart.
“Your socks.”
He tears open the popcorn, sending steam spiraling like a smoke signal. “Like ’em?” His toes wiggle.
I thought his tie was festive, but these bright suckers take the Christmas cake. They’re jolly red and imprinted over every square inch with the face of a Frenchie dog. In each image, the dog’s precocious mug is wreathed with strands of brightly colored bulbs.
“What are you, five?”
He pops a puffy kernel into his mouth. “Just keeping the season bright. Ho, ho, ho.”
Recalling ads I’ve seen online, I squint for a better look. “Is that your dog?”
He uncrosses his feet and rotates them like windshield wipers. “Everly, meet Dozer.”
“Dozer.” I pull back and look at him hard. “Wait…as inbull?” He told me the name before, but I didn’t connect the dots.
“Yep, as inbull. And he’s even more adorable than I am, if you can believe that.” Chewing, he wobbles his eyebrows.
I highly doubt it.
