That earned me a soft huff of laughter. “Fair.”
We passed by Mrs. Kane’s candied-nut stand, still open for the holiday even though Christmas was officially over. Jess slowed at the smell—cinnamon, sugar, roasted pecans—and her stomach gave a tiny audible growl.
She glanced at me, mortified.
I grinned. “Hungry?”
“That was the sound of appreciation, not desperation.”
“You want some?”
She hesitated for all of two seconds before the cold won. “Maybe a little. I skipped dinner because someone kept distracting me.”
“I don’t recall that.”
Her eyes narrowed in amused accusation. “You literally pulled me onto your lap and?—”
I dipped my head toward her ear, voice low. “You want candied nuts or you want to finish that sentence?”
She flushed immediately, which I counted as a personal victory. “Nuts,” she muttered. “The candied kind.”
“Sure?” It would take very little persuading to get me to take her back to her place—it was closer to here than mine—and pick right back up for a reprisal of exactly what I’d done to her in my lap.
“Powell.” Her glare was somewhat undermined by the pretty pink that flushed her cheeks. Yeah, that whole scenario had been living rent-free in her brain for the past few hours, too.
I laughed and tugged her toward the booth. From behind it, Mrs. Kane spotted us and lit up like she’d been waiting specifically for this moment.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple,” she said, beaming. “Happy almost-New Year!”
Jess made a noise somewhere between a cough and a groan. “Mrs. K, we’ve talked about labels.”
“I didn’t hear a no,” Mrs. Kane sing-songed as she scooped warm pecans into a paper cone. “You want these on my tab, sweetheart?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Absolutely not.”
She winked. “Then that’s five dollars.”
I paid before Jess could and nudged my girl toward the edge of the square where the old oak tree was wrapped in glittering lights, roots spreading out to create a small, semi-private alcove of shadow and glow. Jess tucked herself back into my side like it was her default setting.
We stood there eating candied pecans, watching families and couples and kids move through the glow. The countdown was still half an hour away, but people already buzzed with that anticipatory holiday energy—hopeful, nostalgic, ready to believe the next year could be better.
Jess’s voice broke into my thoughts, soft and a little unsure. “This feels weird.”
“Weird bad?” I asked.
“No. Weird… nice.” She exhaled a small laugh, breath clouding the air. “Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
I turned a little toward her. “You still thinking about Pie Hard?”
She winced. “A little.” Then she loosened her shoulders, and let her head rest briefly against my arm. “But it’s mostly my own brain being an asshole. Not them. Not you.”
I took her hand again and squeezed. “You’re allowed to have moments. Doesn’t mean you’re starting over from scratch every time.”
She considered that for a moment. “You’re very annoyingly reasonable.”
“Comes with the job.”
She looked up at me, eyes bright beneath the lights. “Thank you. For being patient with me.”
