I swallow hard. My throat is dry as hell. "Caroline, we... we forgot to use a condom."
I close my eyes like a coward bracing for impact.
"Zach."
"I get it if you're pissed. I know I messed up. But don't worry, we can—"
"Zach. Look at me."
Her hand comes up, cupping my cheek, warm and soft.
Reluctantly, I open my eyes.
I search for any hints of anger and disappointment in her eyes. I find none.
"You're... not mad?" I ask, confused, cautious.
She shakes her head, smiling shyly. "I'm not."
"But we weren't careful—"
"I know," she says, blushing so hard her ears go pink. "We kind of... got carried away. But it's okay. I, um... actually wanted to know what it feels like to have you bare. And..." She drops her voice to a whisper. "To feel you come inside me."
Her cheeks areon fire.
And fuck, I feel that in my spine.
"Oh," I breathe out.
"Oh—and before you panic any more," she adds, flustered, "I actually got the birth-control implant last week. So we're... safe."
Relief washes through me so hard I sag against the couch.
Not because I'm scared of getting her pregnant —I'd marry this girl tomorrow if she wanted.
Hell, tonight.
Well... her dad would probably murder me in my sleep, but at least I'd die happy.
What actually hits me is that I didn't mess anything up.
That she's not upset.
That we're good.
I pull her closer, arms locked tight around her waist, forehead dropping to hers.
"Jesus, baby," I murmur, voice low and shaky from relief. "You almost killed me."
She laughs softly, brushing her nose against mine. "You're dramatic."
"Yeah. For you? Absolutely."
*****
The Pennington's dining room looks like something straight out of a holiday dream—warm, cozy, lived-in. The long oak table is covered with a cream linen runner, tiny candle votives flickering between herbed sourdough stuffing, roasted Brussels sprouts with balsamic glaze, pumpkin soup, five-cheese baked mac, buttery mashed potatoes topped with garlic chips, sweet-potato casserole with pecan crunch, grilled corn with chili-lime butter, and two giant trays of chocolate bourbon pecan pie waiting at the end like a dare.
But the real star sits in the center: a golden-brown turkey so perfectly roasted it almost glows under the chandelier light.
