Kissing helped.
“It’s been too many days,” Kobe said against my lips. “I missed you. This.”
“Me too.” And it was true. Time apart had given me too much time to think and stew and find a thousand reasons to run. It was partly why I’d told him not to come over the previous afternoon. My overactive imagination got in the way, convincing me I didn’t deserve to know happiness.
A tiny gasp and a squeal sounded from behind me. I broke free from Kobe’s embrace, finding Cosette.
“Un cadeau! Un cadeau, Papa. C’est pour moi?”
Kobe squatted to be at Cosette’s level, picking up the gift and presenting it to her. “It’s for you, Princess, but you can’t open it today. You have to wait until Christmas morning.”
Cosette’s face crumpled, her brow stamped with concern as she glanced at me for confirmation.
“That’s tomorrow, ma belle. Not too long to wait.”
Instantly brightening, she jumped up and down, clapping her hands.
“Why don’t you put it under the tree?” Kobe suggested.
Cosette wrapped her arms around it and took it as cautiously as a two-year-old could to the living room.
“You didn’t have to buy her anything.”
“I did. She’s a child.” Suspecting that Kobe’s generosity was rooted in his poor Christmas experience growing up, I didn’t argue.
“Thank you.”
He took my hand and dragged me back into his arms. “I got you something too.”
“Kobe, I didn’t—”
“Hush.” He tucked a box into my palm, his eyes twinkling with a wicked grin.
I glanced down, finding a box of condoms with a red bow taped on the top.
Flushing with embarrassment, I laughed. “I see. Bold and brazen as usual.”
“I believe you requested this gift. Should I return them?” he asked, still glowing with amusement.
“Hell no.” I leaned in and stole another kiss. “This present, I will allow.”
“Good.”
“Lunch is ready. Let me collect Cosette. She’s likely to have that present unwrapped the minute we aren’t looking.”
I met Kobe in the kitchen. He had made himself at home. Cosette’s crayons and coloring books had been tidied, and he was in the process of lining bowls on the counter for the soup.
“This smells fantastic,” he said. “For the record, I’m useless in the kitchen. When there’s only me to feed, I never feel inspired to make extravagant meals. My cooking skills start and end with grilled cheese and Hamburger Helper. I’m ashamed to admit that I might never be able to return the favor.”
“I’m sure you’re being modest.”
“Oh no. I burned a pot black making hard-boiled eggs once. Forgot they were cooking and boiled it dry.”
Amused, I plunked Cosette in her booster seat.
Kobe ladled soup into three bowls. I dropped a few ice cubes into Cosette’s to bring the temperature down faster. Since I didn’t have rolls, I located a box of saltines instead.
As we ate, Kobe engaged Cosette in conversation, asking who her favorite princess was—Cinderella—what her favorite color was—pink—and how high she could count in French and in English—twenty for both before she started repeating numbers and confusing the order.
