Silently mouthingsorryto Isla,Fritz pulls a bottle of tequila from the freezer and gestures toward her with it, brows raised in offering. She nods once, pushing from her chair and storming to grab the bottle from his hand, downing a few quick swigs.
“Damn,” he mutters, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m so sorry, Isla. In my defense, when I agreed to break the news, I was under immense duress. I wasn’t myself. I was-”
“Don’t let him fool you,” I roll my eyes, “He lost some drinking game to Bel and that was his punishment.”
With brows raised, Isla scoffs, “Is talking to mesoterrible?”
“Absolutely not,” Fritz assures her, “Truthfully, I think you might be one of my favorite humans ever. But talking to you about Eamon… that shit’s terrifying. Do you need a chaser with that?”
“No.”
While I know she’s still furious that no one warned her about Eamon’s invitation, she seems to be humored by how scared Fritz is of her. It’s not very often that a demon like us is intimidated by someone, much less terrified like he is. And even despite themselves, they’ve found a strange sort of friendship.
All of us watch, Fritz full of nerves and Isla furiously consuming more tequila as my Dove opens the door to the giant, burly man standing on the other side. He smiles down at her, holding out a bouquet of white flowers and greenery, along with the largest bottle of brown liquor I’ve ever seen, “It’s both a Christmas and a housewarming present. You’re gonna need it living with those two.” Then he squeezes past her, on the hunt for the one person in this suite he has no chance of charming, yet the only one he’s interested in seeing.
As his eyes land on where she’s standing with the bottle in front of her like the shield of a fighter readying for war, they glitter with barely concealed hunger and malice, “Hey, Sweetheart.”
So This Is Fucking Christmas
Fritz
I’m so fucked.
How did I forget to tell her he was coming?
“Hey, Sweetheart.” I swear this man wants her to commit crimes against humanity on him.
“Eamon,” she aims for nonchalance, but her gritted teeth and arms locked in front of her chest tell another story.
“How are ya?” he asks, stalking forward and completely ignoring the two confused humans standing not ten feet away.
“Fine,” she sniffs, walking past him, taking the tequila with her. She plops beside the other guests, using them as a makeshift shield from a conversation with the giant, “This is Charlie and Mike. Charlie, Mike, Eamon.”
“Nice to meet you,” the two men greet with twin looks of uncertainty. I don’t blame them; this shit is awkward.
“You, too. How do you all know each other?” The veiled threat in his voice would be hilarious if it wasn’t so terrifying. I fear he would actually kill anyone who has dared touch Isla, even if she’s made it clear he won’t be permitted to have her.
Charlie seems to miss the unspoken threat lingering in the air should he answer incorrectly, mood still jovial, if a little suspicious, “Bel and I were roommates, so I met Isla through her. And Mike and I met at a journalism event in New York, and-”
“They’ve been basically inseparable ever since,” Isla giggles, and the two of them join in, laughing at the whirlwind love story the rest of us haven’t heard yet. All the tension leaves Eamon’s body at the admission, and the room seems to heave a breath of relief.
“Dinner is ready if you all want to be seated,” Caspian announces, beaming with excitement.
Eamon wastes no time, sitting beside Isla, much to her chagrin. Mike and Charlie seem to be catching on, sharing a look of amusement before wiping it from their faces.
Bel bounces on her toes excitedly and walks over to Caspian and me, “Can I help?”
With a kiss on her forehead, he shoos her away, nearly ushering her into my arms, “No, my Dove, go sit and let me serve you.”
I grasp her hand in my own and drag her with me to be seated. Try as I might, she refuses to sit in my lap, pushing me away with a laugh before planting her ass right next to me. I compromise by pulling her chair close enough to me that the legs nearly interlock. With an eye roll, she leans in and kisses my cheek, and I hold back from the overwhelming need to pull her in for more. We have guests, and I don’t think they’d appreciate seeing me do all the things I’ve imagined on this table.
Caspian carries the large bouquet Eamon brought to the table, setting it in the center and smiling, “It’s a perfect centerpiece.” However, I think Isla disagrees wholeheartedly. I wonder idly if she’s considering pouring her tequila on it and setting it on fire. She sure as fuck looks like she’d do it, and Eamon’s smug smile only inflames her further.
Before the two of them can get into it, Caspian brings over his first two creations on a huge platter.
“Pesto Focaccia bread with a balsamic dipping sauce,” he announces, “and a Caprese Salad using the same sauce as a glaze.”
“Holy shit, Cas, this looks amazing,” I tell him, and it does. Smells fantastic, too. With a round of agreement, everyone digs into the bread first. Of course.
