“We still have about ten minutes until the cookies finish. Then I have to let ’em cool before icing them.”
Neil sighs. “What I plan on doing to you will take a hell of a lot longer than ten minutes.”
I giggle and turn to increase the volume on the Christmas music still playing. Neil and I don’t make it to my bedroom for some time, but we spend the next ten minutes in my kitchen dancing in one another’s arms to Christmas music. We’ve spent the last eight or so Friday nights out, visiting different restaurants or taking in tree lightings and light shows. Still, none of them is better than slow dancing in his embrace in my tiny kitchen with the smell of holiday cookies wafting in the air.
“Oh,”I yell out, startled the following morning by a knocking on my door.
“Are you expecting someone?” Neil questions in his deliciously deep voice, thick with sleep due to the early morning hour.
I look at the clock on my nightstand to see that it’s not even seven in the morning. “No. The delivery service I use for the cookies isn’t supposed to be here until 9:30.”
Before I can fully rise from the bed, Neil is on his feet, pulling up his jeans and heading out the bedroom door. I stand and toss on my white silk robe and push my feet into my fluffy slippers to follow him.
“Mom,” I say, surprised by her presence as Neil opens the door.
My mother appears as shocked as I am as she stands there with widened eyes, looking Neil up and down.
Admittedly, he is a sight for sore eyes, standing there shirtless, in only a pair of dark denim jeans.
“Neil McKenna?” she breathes out, as if she can’t believe she’s come face-to-face with him once again.
“Mrs. Jackson, how nice to meet you again.”
My mother blinks before turning to me. There’s a series of questions in her chocolate eyes.
“Mom, what are you doing here? So early, at that?” I question, not wanting to get into a full explanation right now.
“I stopped by last weekend to surprise you for lunch, and you weren’t home. I thought I’d do the same for breakfast. It seems I'm the one who’s surprised.” She takes another dubious look at Neil before entering my apartment.
I toss him an apologetic look and turn my attention to my mother. “It’s a little early, don’t you think?” I ask, tightening my robe around my body.
“I’ll make us all some coffee,” Neil says in that reassuring tone of his. I don’t know how he always comes across as the presence of calm, but he does and seemingly with little effort.
I turn to my mother, who’s firm gaze is glued to Neil’s back until he disappears into the kitchen. The gleam in her eyes isn’t a friendly one. She finally turns, looking me up and down, obviously taking in what my being dressed in only a robe early in the morning with a man in my apartment means.
There’s nothing for me to be ashamed of. I’ve lived on my own for many years. Yet, there’s something about the disapproval of my mother that causes a heaviness to settle in my chest.
“You were saying something about breakfast,” I start when the silence goes on for too long.
My mother gives me a sharp nod. “Your father’s on one of his weekend fishing trips, so I figured it would be a great idea for you and me to spend the morning together.”
I run my fingers through my unruly curls. I’m sure the high puff I’d worn the day before is entirely lopsided and undone, considering the night Neil and I had. Not wanting to be reminded of last night’s events as I stand in front of my mother, I shake those thoughts loose and glance up at my mother.
“Well, Neil and I had plans for the day,” I respond.
“Neil.” There’s almost a sneer in her voice as she says his name.
I stand up a little straighter, feeling defensive as I wrinkle my brow at her.
“What about dinner then?”
I shake my head, but before I can respond, Neil answers, “We’re attending the Winston Art Gallery holiday party tonight.”
I nod, confirming what he’s said.
“This is for you,” he says, handing me a piping hot cup of coffee. “And for you, Mrs. Jackson.” He gives my mother a cup of coffee.
“Is there cream in this?” my mother asks, turning her nose up at the mug of coffee in her hands.
