The idea wasn’t horrible. If anything, my smile almost hurt my face picturing it. It had to be the Christmas spirit. Only explanation.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HARRISON
Ahigh-pitched whirring sound woke me. I lazily removed my arms from around Becca’s body and rose from the bed to check it out.If it’s another broken window…
Only it wasn’t. The lights were on in the kitchen, the digital clock above the stove blinking at me. A heavy combination of joy and disappointment took root in my gut. If the power worked, then Becca would return to the sorority house. That meant our time together was over, and I wasn’t ready for that.
Because she’s dynamite in bed?
Because I’m sick of being alone?
Because I want her around all the time?
I reset the clocks and the temperature in the house. The food in the fridge was edible and the furnace worked. I made my way back to the mattress, each step feeling heavier than the last. Disappointment usually stemmed from football—the long sighs, the heavy weight on my shoulders—so it was uncomfortable experiencing these same sensations at the thought of Becca leaving. If I only had a couple hours left with Becca, then I wanted to spend every second of them next to her.
“Morning.” I pulled her into my arms and kissed the top of her head.
“Something wrong?”
God, her voice was cute and sleepy.
“The power came back on.” I was already irritated with myself for being annoyed. I should be happy my life was going back to normal. I could watch football, drink beer, and not worry about my pipes breaking. Instead, I thought about going to sleep and waking up alone. About the lack of conversation or color in my house. But more, I thought about how things would surely change with Becca, and I had no idea how to stop it. Living in this temporary bubble, just the two of us, had been so easy.
“It did?” She bolted upright and brought the blankets to her chin, her face lighting up in a smile. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
“Must be.” I wished it was still dark and I could lose myself in her warm body. Have her stroke my face or put her freezing toes against my calves.
She leaned over to me and looked up with a tender expression on her face. “Merry Christmas, Harrison.” She smiled and rested her head against my shoulder.
Tightness formed in my chest. “You too, Becca.”
“I never would’ve guessed I’d be waking up with you on Christmas morning, but life has a funny way of working out, huh?” She laughed, the sound joyful and pure.
“I guess so.” I stretched, hoping to rid my body of the negativity plaguing her happiness. Sure, our time together was almost over, but I needed to chill.
“Presents!” She moved across the mattress toward our Snoopy tree, and the blanket fell, exposing her bare back and the two dimples right above her ass. I bit my knuckle at the pretty picture she made, forcing myself not to initiate something again. I wasn’t sure if it was the promise of being her date or the fact it was Christmas Eve, but sex with a woman hadn’t meant this much in a long damn while.
Just thinking about it is sending all my blood south.
“Harrison, you can open your gift now.” She threw on one of my extra-large plaid shirts before handing me a small box. “Remember, it’s stupid with a capital S.”
I fought a grin at her worried expression and removed the ribbon. Inside was a small wooden log about four inches in length. On one end, a Santa hat was glued above a set of googly eyes, an itty-bitty peg nose, and a painted-on smile. At the bottom, a pair of tiny peg legs were attached with glue and stuck out on each side. The remainder of the length was covered in a small piece of red and green plaid fabric resembling a blanket.
For the life of me, I had no idea how to respond. Was it a joke? Did she… make it? It looked like something my niece would create.
At my silence, Becca burst into a fit of giggles, confusing me even more. She clasped her hands over her belly and snorted at least five times before wiping under her eyes. “Your face… oh my. This was so worth it.”
“Is this a… joke of some sort?” I asked carefully, hoping I didn’t insult her or make her frown. Her face was meant for joy and smiles, but what the fuck was this thing? And why did she give it to me?
“It’s called a Caga Tío.” She stared at me, her expression somewhere between amusement and worry.
Those words meant nothing to me, and I cleared my throat. “Oh.”
Obviously.
“It’s a Christmas tradition in Barcelona. I learned about it in a class and thought it was the most interesting thing. See, you have this log—well, this one’s a miniature version. The families there use a real log, like the size of the ones in your fireplace, and they set it up with legs and eyes—like the miniature you opened.”
