“You okay?”
He gives me a clipped nod and squeezes my hand like it’s a lifeline. “Yep. Nervous to see Dad and Yolanda.”
I rest my head against his arm as we wait for a group of people to move on to the next table. “They’ll be happy to see you. I promise. Like me, they missed you.”
I’m forced to release his hand when we’re each handed a plate of sliced ginger sweet bread. Melted butter slides off thedelicious-smelling treat and pools on the plate. One buttery bite and I’m a goner.
“Ohhh,” I say with a whine. “This one is going to beat ours.”
Eric stuffs most of it in his mouth at once, scowling unhappily. “Yeah, it is, dammit.”
I give him a playful poke in the side. “It’s okay. There are more categories than taste. We’ve got this.”
I’m pleased to see a crowd around where they’re distributing samples of our gingerbread cookies. Several people have their dogs with them and are grinning as they share the samples with their pups. Pride makes my chest swell.
Frosty yips when he hears another dog bark. We make our way over to our entry table. Eric shoots me a hopeful grin. I have the sudden urge to stand on my toes and kiss his handsome mouth. I start to turn my head, forcing myself to look anywhere but his forbidden mouth, when he brings a cold hand to my cheek.
“There’s a little smudge of butter on your lip,” he says, voice low and guttural as if he’s in pain.
My eyes bore into his as he swipes off the butter with his thumb. I have to bite my teeth together to keep from turning my head and sucking off the remnants in front of all these people.
Get it together, Clara!
You can’t kiss your stepbrother, especially not in public.
Twisted thoughts enter my brain, branding filthy images there. Kissing him on my couch or in my kitchen or in my bed assault my mind. It’s snowing outside and I feel like I could melt anything in a five-mile radius from me.
“Clara!”
I jerk out of my trance and swivel around to search out the source of the voice who called my name. Seconds later, Ruthie launches herself at me. A laugh barks out of me as I catch her and hug her. Immediately after, Layla joins in. It takes thema moment to realize Eric is here too. They both squeal with delight, abandoning me to hug their brother.
At first Eric is stiff, as though he’s shocked by their affection, but then, much like the butter on that bread, he melts almost instantly.
“You remember me,” he says, voice thick with emotion.
The girls both huff in annoyance. Ruthie says, “Duh,” as if he’s dense. He’s a guy. They’re definitely dense sometimes.
“Want to meet our new dog?” I say to the girls. “His name is Frosty.”
They let go of Eric, bouncing up and down with excitement. He turns around and then squats low so they can see Frosty.
I crack up with laughter when Frosty starts licking both of their faces as if they’re covered in peanut butter. It’s cute how happy he is to see them. They gush and praise him for being adorable in his doggie sweater.
“Great,” a deep voice says with a groan. “They’re going to start begging for a dog.”
My stepdad, Mike, pulls me to him for a hug. Mom follows after, but she gives me a big sloppy kiss on the cheek, too.
“He’s really here,” Mom says, with a sigh. “I almost didn’t believe you when you texted me.”
“Is he okay?” Mike asks, pinning his green eyes that match Eric’s exactly, on me.
I glance over at Eric who is grinning at our sisters, oblivious that our parents have walked up as well. He and the girls carry on an animated discussion. When he mentions “dog catcher,” I realize he’s telling them the story of how we came to adopt Frosty.
“He’s going to be,” I assure both Mom and Mike when I pull my attention back to them. “He just needs family.”
When Eric notices who I’m talking to, he slowly rises to his feet and his smile fades. My heart aches to see him hang his head in shame.
“Come here, Son,” Mike grits out. “Give your pops a hug.”
