“Such as?”
I had to think... “Uh... Tug on my sleeve. Then you don’t have to say anything, but I’ll know and we can make a run for it.”
His eyes went wide. “A run for it? I don’t think running is an appropriate social response.”
I laughed. “I didn’t mean run literally. Because honestly, if you ever see me running, please know it’s either a dire emergency or I’m being chased by a bear.” Then I thought about it. “Or the tickets to a queer book convention go live when I’m not in front of my computer. Or if they release a never-seen-before J. R. R. Tolkien book. I would one hundred percent run for that.”
Deacon’s eyes met mine, and he smiled.
And if anything, this whole conversation had taken his mind off his nervous tummy. “Are you ready to go inside?”
He looked up at the house. It was a wooden-cabin-style rambler, the windows glowing from the warm light inside. There were Christmas decorations and colored lights along the porch, the Christmas tree visible inside the window. It looked fantastic and inviting.
Deacon’s eyes met mine and he gave a nod. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DEACON
I waitedby the car as Winter retrieved a covered dish from the backseat. Was I ready to go inside and meet a whole group of people at once?
Yes. Yes, I was. I’d prepared myself for this. I knew what to expect.
Was I ready to be the one who went up the steps first on my own?
No. I would wait for Winter for that.
He could be the one to knock, the one to greet them first. He was braver than me in that regard.
He was braver than me in a lot of ways.
I was ready to do this, though. I was ready to step out of my comfort zone and be Winter’s date for the evening. I wanted that more than anything. More than my nerves could stop me.
Winter closed the car door and, with a bright smile, held out the dish. “Can you please carry this for me?”
I took it. “Of course.”
That way he could knock on the door...
I was almost certain he had the same thought as me.
We went up the steps, and before he could knock, Hamish opened the door. “Hello and welcome,” he said. “Please come in.”
Hamish was wearing a pink Christmas sweater that was... Perhaps garish was a strong word.
“Love the sweater,” Winter said.
Hamish laughed. “It was the most perfectly hideous one I could find.”
Well, I’m glad it wasn’t a stylistic choice.
“Hello,” I said.
“Deacon, I’m so glad you’re here,” Hamish said. He looked at the tray I was holding. “Bring this through to the kitchen.”
There were a lot of faces.
Ten in total, and they all stopped their conversations to watch us, which is the part I hated the most.
