She needed to grow up.
Tom's mouthmoved against Lauren's, soft sounds filling the dark bedroom. His hands found the curve of her waist, pulling her closer.
A felt garland was drooped across the headboard, pom-poms dangling. On the dresser, hand-painted Christmas ornaments clustered around a candle.
He rolled them, putting himself on top, framing her face with his hands.
Better. Much better.
All he could see now was Lauren. Her flushed cheeks, her kiss-swollen lips, her eyes soft and dark and full of want. God, she was beautiful. His wife was so fucking beautiful.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, and Tom let himself sink into it. Into her.
This was what mattered. Not the decorations. Not the crafts. Just Lauren, warm and soft beneath him, making those sounds that drove him crazy.
He kissed down her neck, felt her arch into him, heard her whisper his name.
Perfect. She was perfect.
As long as he didn't look at anything else in the room.
His hand found the hem of her pajamas—reindeer wearing Christmas scarves, for Christ's sake—and slid underneath. Her skin was warm, and she gasped when his fingers traced higher.
"Tom," she breathed, her body pressing against his, and for a few perfect moments there was nothing but skin and breath and the soft sounds she made when he touched her just right.
Tomorrow his family would arrive. Tomorrow he'd have to watch his father’s face as he took in the explosion of handmade Christmas. Tomorrow he'd feel that familiar embarrassment creeping up his neck.
But right now—right now Lauren was here in his bed, soft and willing.
Tom kept his eyes on her face. His beautiful, almost-perfect wife.
CHAPTER 5
Lauren
The kitchen was busy,her decorations were festive, and somewhere in the background a crooning voice was cheerfully reminding everyone to be merry.
Lauren was killing it.
Her centerpiece sat in pride of place on the table: pinecones dusted with gold paint, candles nestled in evergreen branches, all of it covered in fake snow. In the middle, individual letters spelled outCHRISTMAS IS LOVE.
Shelovedit.
She was halfway through arranging one last sprig of holly when the doorbell rang—fifteen minutes early. Of course.
“Tom!” she called, but he was still upstairs changing. She wiped her hands on a towel and hurried to the door, past the twinkle of lights and the scent of roast meat.
Judith and Richard stood on the porch, intimidating against the swirl of snow. Judith’s lipstick was immaculate; Richard’s coat neat.
“Merry Christmas!” Lauren said brightly, stepping aside and welcoming them in.
Judith’s eyes were already sweeping over the hallway garland, the handmade wreath, the felt stockings.
Richard brushed a bit of glitter from his sleeve with two fingers. “Quite a foyer,” he murmured.
Lauren smiled and pretended to herself that had been a compliment. “Come in, come in—it’s warm inside.”
They stepped through, shedding outerwear. She could feel them taking it all in: the oversized ornaments, the knitted runner, the candy-cane place cards. Every piece she’d made by hand.
