“Holy…” I struggle to catch my breath. “Is it always like that?”
He grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Only with you, baby.”
My already heated cheeks get even warmer. Hearing him say that makes me happy.
“You good?” He grins.
“Yeah.” I nod. Better than good.
We finish our shower quickly, aware that we’ve left the boys alone longer than we should have.
As I’m toweling off, Caleb wraps his arms around me from behind and presses a kiss to my damp hair.
“You’re something else, Honey Mitchell,” he says softly.
“Is that good or bad?” I drop my towel and use my palm to wipe the steam from the mirror.
“It’s fucking amazing,” he says with such sincerity that my heart skips a beat.
I turn in his arms and rise on my tiptoes to kiss him softly. “You’re not so bad yourself, Caleb Reeves.”
His eyes darken at the use of his real name. “Say that again.”
“You’re not so bad either,” I whisper against his lips.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Say my name again.”
“Caleb.” I peck a quick kiss on his smiling lips. “Reeves.”
He groans and captures my mouth in a kiss that threatens to lead us right back to where we started.
A loud crash from the living room breaks the moment.
“Mom!” Tommy calls. “Jackson knocked over the boxes!”
I sigh, resting my forehead against Caleb’s chest. “Duty calls.”
He chuckles. “Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”
As I pull on my clothes and head out to see what disaster my boys have created, I can’t help but smile.
Things are looking up.
CHAPTER TEN
DREAD
“Is this one good?”Jackson points to a sad-looking Charlie Brown tree that’s leaning to the side like it’s had too much to drink.
I bite back a smile. “That one’s a little...special, buddy.”
“I like special,” he insists with a shrug of his shoulders.
We’ve been at this tree farm for forty-five minutes, and the kid has pointed out every Charlie Brown pine in the place. His enthusiasm is fucking adorable, but I’m not letting Honey take home some half-dead tree that’ll drop all its needles before Christmas even gets here.
Honey laughs beside me, and the sound warms my chest in ways I’m not used to. She’s bundled up in a light jacket, her cheeks flushed from the cool December air. It’s not cold by most standards—probably in the mid-sixties, but here in Florida, that’s practically winter.
“What about this one?” Tommy calls from a few feet away, standing beside a decent Fraser fir that’s at least seven feet tall.
