“No. No, ladies first.” I cringed at those words, picturing the precise look on Cindy’s face if she heard me saying that. “Or guest first.” Or something.Jesus, Graham. Get it together.
She broke through the silence. “Is that what I am? Your guest?”
“Well, of course.”
“Unwanted, though.” A smile played around the edges of her mouth, but her eyes looked unsure.
“No.”Definitelynot.
She shrugged. “Well, then unexpected, at least.”
“Maybe.” And then, because I couldn’t let her hang like that, I went on. “But appreciated.”
“Yeah?”
It was my turn to shrug—which made me feel like a kid again. A stupid teenager, always skirting around things, unwilling to commit. I immediately regretted it. I opened my mouth to say something reassuring. Like an adult, damn it. But my eyes were distracted by the amber glow of the bourbon bottle and—coward that was—I used it to get out of this conversation.
“Want a drink?”
Her brows rose. “Is that safe? With all the painkillers?”
“You take a lot of ibuprofen? I mean, before this?”
She shook her head.
“You’ll be fine.”
I went to the cupboard and grabbed two glasses, poured a couple fingers of booze into each, and glanced at her. “Ice?”
“You having any?”
“No.”
“That’s okay.”
I handed her the drink and waited for her to sit on the sofa before following her.
“What time is it?”
I checked the wall clock. “Almost five.”
She looked surprised. “Thought it was later. Still not dinnertime yet.”
“We can eat whenever you want.” I threw a look at the two mutts watching us like spectators at a tennis match. “The girls think now would be good. I’ll debone some chicken for their dinner.”
“Oh, well, we can—”
“It is a little early, even for them.” I lifted my arm to take a sip of my drink, but she stopped me.
“Hey. Um. Cheers.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I put my glass out, eyes trained on it. “Cheers.”
“Here’s to, uh…to spending Christmas with a…” She sucked in a shaky breath, drawing my eyes right to her face. “Handsome stranger.”
15
Christa
