“On the stove,” I mumble around a bite of cheesy pasta, reaching over to hit play on the remote,Home Alonealready queued up on the tv across the room. “Hot chocolate bombs are in the cupboard, but if you want a beer, there’s some in the fridge.”
“Which do you want?” he calls from the open fridge.
“Umm. Beer, please.”
He’s back moments later, a plate of food in one hand and his long, tapered fingers of his other hand wrapped around the necks of two bottles of beer. A lime wedge is shoved halfway into the mouth of mine, and I smile in thanks. He knows me so well it’s uncanny sometimes.
He sinks into the opposite corner of the couch and immediately digs into the plate of food in his hand as Kevin McCallister jumps around screaming‘I’m living alone!’on the tv.
He stretches out his legs in front of him, propping his socked heels on the coffee table. I have a cinnamon scented candle lit in the center of it. The room is dark except for the glow of the tv and the few strings of Christmas lights taped up around the living room windows. I glance over at him, where he’s digging into the plate of food balanced in his hand.
His dark blonde hair is flattened slightly from his hat, and he reaches up a hand to run it through the boyishly long strands, ruffling it and fluffing it as if sensing my scrutiny. The sleeves of his long-sleeved navy-blue shirt are pushed up his forearms, and as he moves the muscles bunch and flex.
Theo’s unfairly attractive in that goofy ‘golden boy next door’ sort of way. All long limbs and that easy, lopsided grin that’s almost permanently etched on his face. His teeth are straight and white—thanks to the same orthodontist I’d had to go to as a teenager to fix the gap between my two front teeth—though I doubt he still has to wear his stupid retainer every night like I do. His blue eyes are that striking light blue with darker rings around the edges. Where his brother Beau is all dark haired, dark eyed, and grumpy, Theo is the polar opposite.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?”
I sigh and shrug. “Yes and no. I’m excited for Beau and Val. Exhausted from work and trying to plan this whole party with less than two weeks’ notice and keep it a secret from Val.” I shrug again. “I miss my dad.”
“I know you do.” I glance up at him. He winks. “He’d be happy that our families are finallyfamily. And he’d be proud of what you girls have accomplished. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I whisper, fighting the sting in my nose as tears burn my eyes. “Christmases are just tough. This feels weird, going back to a tradition without him being here for it.” I shift in my corner of the couch. “How excited are your parents for the engagement?”
He laughs out loud, raising his blonde brows and grinning. “My mom is beside herself. When she found out they were dating she cried.Cried,Noelle. She blubbered on about how she’d never thought Beau would give her a daughter-in-law, and for it to be Val? She’s over the damn moon. She loves you three more than she loves Beau and me.”
“That is so not even true,” I laugh, shaking my head and slapping his bicep with the back of my hand, ignoring the hardness of the muscle beneath the material of his shirt or the way a zing races up my fingers at the contact. “She was so mad at me that one year I licked all the Christmas cookies so no one else could have any. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for that.”
“I think watching you eat them until you were sick was payment enough,” he chuckled.
“I still can’t look at a gingerbread cookie.” I grimace at the memory of the stomachache I’d had after eating almost a full tray of the damn things.
Theo polishes off his plate and leans forward, setting it on the coffee table, before leaning back into the corner of the couch. Resting one arm along the back cushions, he angles his body so that he can lift his legs and feet onto the couch lengthwise. I shift, raising my plate so he can place his feet in my lap. He’s so damn tall he takes up the whole couch, the big oaf.
“You’re lucky your feet don’t stink,” I mutter, lowering my plate back down so that it hovers over his ankles. He chuckles, wiggling his socked toes. I’m full, but it’s so delicious I don’t want to stop eating. Sighing, I take one more bite of the cheesy pasta and set my fork down on the plate, then set the plate asideon the end table next to me. I take a long swallow of my beer, emptying it, then heave myself to my feet, forcing him to pull his legs back enough to allow me up.
I pick up both of our plates and take them to the kitchen, setting them in the sink. “Do you want another beer?”
“Sure, thanks.”
I’m back and sinking into the corner of the couch again a few moments later, passing him his beer, and he replaces his feet in my lap. I’m mostly turned to face him now, my back resting against the armrest. I prop my elbow on the back cushion and lean my cheek into my palm, my eyes on the tv.
“What did you ask Santa for Christmas?”
I side-eye him and sigh. “Nothing exciting, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He shifts in his corner of the couch. “I mean it. There’s got to be something you want, right?”
I shrug. “Sure. All my bills paid, new winter tires for my car,the moon and all the stars…” He glares at me and I roll my eyes. I know what he means. “I don’t know, Theo. If I want or need something, I usually just get it myself. One of the perks of being a grown up with grown up money.” I glance over at him. “What about you?”
He shrugs, the same way I did, and stretches his legs out. His heels are in the valley that my criss-crossed legs have created. He smiles, a small half grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Santa can’t bring me what I want.”
I turn my head to look at him fully, though I don’t say anything.
“No witty response?” he teases, his blue eyes regaining some of their twinkle. Maybe it had just been the lighting.
“I doubt Santa is allowed to deliver illegal substances or hookers, Theo.”
He laughs out loud, letting his head tip back slightly. “There it is.”
