“I guess I might be trying to suck up just a little,” he admits after a second.
“For what?”
He shrugs again. “You seem like you’re still upset with me after your Christmas party.”
My shoulders droop as I’m reminded of the second half of that night, when he kissed me back like his life depended on it and told me it could never happen again in the same breath.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Anything else I can do to make you feel better?” he asks, staring expectantly.
“No,” I return, trying to hide the sadness in my voice. “I mean, we agreed to be honest with one another, and we’ve both been holding up our end of the deal, right?”
His throat works as he swallows hard, and he chokes out a hoarse, “Yeah.” It sounds like another lie, just like the one he’s been selling me about not being into any kind of physical affection. But everything about his body language the other night led me to believe he thoroughly enjoyed having my hands on him … and my lips.
“Then I suppose I’m more disappointed than upset.”
“I’m sorry,” he rasps.
“Don’t be,” I tell him, forcing a smile.
He sighs and turns his attention back to the road, and I remember my sisters’ group text from earlier. “Are you still able to bring me to the homestead this weekend? I can always ask Rowan to pick me up if you’re going to be busy.”
“Would you rather go with your brother?” he asks carefully.
“Not really,” I admit. “But I can’t monopolize your time forever.”
“You’re not monopolizing my time,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I’m volunteering it at this point. Besides, I was admittedly looking forward to a good, hot meal.”
I frown. “Yeah. It’s not like you get that at home.”
He laughs again. “Unless you’re trying to uninvite me?”
“Of course not. I just thought you wanted us to cut back on the time we spend together.”
“What?”
“You said we should minimize the opportunities for … mistletoe incidents,” I say carefully.
Something flashes in his eyes. “I meant that we shouldn’t take any chances around Camellia. I don’t think we’ll be in danger in front of your folks.”
I study him for a second longer, noticing the way his cheeks are looking a little darker than usual against his short beard. “Okay then. The invitation is always open.”
He smiles. “You know, there’s a reason I always took Rowan up on that offer. What’s better than hanging out with your family and stuffing my face with your dad’s famous duck gumbo and your mom’s homemade bread pudding?”
“Maybe I need to learn her recipe,” I mumble.
“Nah, I’d make myself sick if we ate that stuff every day,” he muses.
“Is that why you never invited Rowan to come home with you to Camellia all those years?” I ask after a while.
He lifts a shoulder, but his eyes stay on the road. “I guess I was a little embarrassed for him to see my family all together. Someone always ends up arguing, and by someone, I mean Lo and me. We’re not the worst, but your family is just so … different.”
Now I feel guilty about harboring that little bit of resentment toward him. “Well, you know my family is always happy to have you.”
“Yeah. They may not love me, but they tolerate me better than my own,” he says on another sardonic laugh. “Speaking of, Loren asked if you’d be coming to the Reed family Christmas. I told her you were planning to stay in Baton Rouge for a few days, but I wanted you to know the offer stands.”
He gulps again, and his hands tense over the steering wheel.
