He pulls me in closer and I let him, ending up on his chest. “Now I get to show you the best Christmas,” Beau says.
“Oh no. We’ve already had the best Christmas. But we can still have a very nice Christmas.” I pat him on the chest.
“You can’t make up your mind before I show you my events.”
“Yes, I can. When you’ve had filet mignon, you don’t need to have a fast-food burger to know the filet’s better. But that burger can still be enjoyable. It’s just not going to be objectively better.”
He rolls out from under me, ignoring my flawless metaphor. Doesn’t he know that he’s the best part of a Southern Christmas? If so, why is he moving further away?
“Wait until you see what I’ve got planned for you first.” Beau rubs his hands together.
Is it to get a hotel so we can have sex? Because that’d be a great plan.
I begrudgingly get out of bed and get ready. I cross fingers, toes, legs, arms, and any other miscellaneous body parts that his family has things to do and I get some more alone time with Beau.
When we get downstairs, there’s a delicious breakfast spread set up for us. Eggs, pancakes, grits, bacon, biscuits and gravy, and an entire pitcher of sweet tea. Well, the day’s already looking better, even if my luck didn’t hold that much and we aren’t alone. Beau’s mom and dad are already at the table, halfway through their plates while we make our own.
“You going out to the mulch supplier today? I’ve got to head to the hiring fair for the upcoming season, so I’m glad you could come back,” Reed says to Beau.
Oh yeah, the mulch. I had sort of forgotten why we were here instead of ordering room service from The Plaza right now.
Beau nods. “Yeah. Hopefully I’ll be able to get it out of the way and then I can show Sonia how much better a South Carolina Christmas is than a New York Christmas.”
Eve chokes on her eggs, needing a large gulp of her sweet tea before she can talk freely again. “I wouldn’t take that bet.”
“Hey!” Identical yells of indignation come from Reed and Beau, with matching incredulous looks. Proving they’re related.
“A Southern Christmas has charm, but it still doesn’t compare.” Eve draws her line in the sand, telling the men in her life exactly how she feels about her old life.
Father and son look at each other like everything they know should be called into question with this new bit of information from Mom/wife.
“Oh, stop looking like I kicked your dog. I love you both and my life here. That doesn’t mean I can’t like other places too. If I had put my foot down and taken you to New York more often, you would know that too.”
Beau shakes himself from the stupor the new information gave him and turns back to me. “Do you want to come with me to the mulch vendor?”
Yes. But before I can say that very small, very quick word, Eve interrupts.
“You don’t have to do that; you can stay here and help me start decorating our trees while Beau’s gone.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
How do I get out of this without being rude to my casual hookup turned slightly more serious hookup’s mom?Dear Abbywould have a lot to say about this. If I had the time to write to a newspaper and then wait for them to pick my letter and publish a response.
“I don’t want to bother you. I can just keep bothering him until he gets done with work.” There. I think Abby would appreciate the quick thinking.
“It’s not a bother. I don’t want you to be bored at the mulch shop. Plus, you seem like the kind of gal who enjoys a good Christmas decorating party. And I don’t know if you caught it, but there aremultipletrees to decorate.”
Damn, I can’t argue with that.
Eve takes the resulting silence as agreement. “Excellent. Reed dug out the decorations yesterday, so we can start whenever you’re ready.”
I give in, because there’s no other option that doesn’t involve me running away screaming in a dramatic manner or being a jerk to this nice woman. “That sounds great. I’ll just check in with work to see if I need to do anything, if that’s all right?”
“Sounds good. I’ve got some of my own work to get done, if you want to join me in the office? It’s got some desks so you don’t have to break your back working on a laptop in a bed.”
“Perfect.” I smile, hoping it’s not a grimace.
Back in Beau’s room after breakfast, I drag out getting ready. Not that his mom doesn’t seem cool. But what if she asks questions about us? What do I say?
