“Sorry for being hospitable,” I rebuke.
He slides onto a stool on the other side of the counter. “It looks good. I mean, the turkey looks a little dry, but you have cranberry sauce, so we’re all good.”
I’m exasperated, and it’s audible. “Excuse me for not being up to your standards. See? Even on a holiday you’re being a pain in the ass.”
His chuckle vibrates through me. “Relax. It was a joke. You’re a little uptight today.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?” I’m not sure if he heard me or not.
I shake my head gently while I load his plate with a spoonful of stuffing. “Nothing. It was nothing.”
“Okay, as long as it’s not another accusation of my hockey persona misconceptions.” He pops a cornbread muffin into his mouth.
I grip the handle of the spoon a little harder. “Don’t. Just don’t bring it up.”
“Fine. Can I at least ask why you have such a strongdisdain? I’m sure you have a dartboard with my face in the middle hidden in your room next to your toys.”
My jaw drops, and I slide my gaze to him at his audacity. “What shitty manners you have.”
“Ooh, shitty, I can imagine that word is on the swear-jar list.” He grins smugly.
I point the spoon at him. “You really came here with no manners. I can’t believe you just said that.” Or that my face is burning right now.
“Gotta keep your low standards up,” he rebuffs.
I growl under my breath then ceremonially drop a giant dollop of marshmallow-covered sweet potato on his plate, but it only causes him to smirk.
“You just have no idea, okay.” I’m adamant that this topic needs to end.
Maybe he notices because suddenly he softens and swallows any retort he might have had for me. It’s silent when I set the plate in front of him.
“Looks good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I decide now is a good moment to make a cup of tea before I shovel half a pie down my throat. Filling a pot with water and setting it on the stove, I feel his eyes on me. It should make me self-conscious, but I’m only more curious of what he is thinking.
“So, uh… your family. You’re going to see them at Christmas or is that too much jolly joy for you?” I mundanely ask.
“Jolly joy is in our dictionary today?” He smiles wryly.
I shrug. “Could be. Anyhow, you’re kind of related to the coach, right?”
“Yep, Asher is my second cousin. Plus, my dad’s firm also represents a bunch of hockeysponsors.”
“You don’t sound thrilledorannoyed. You don’t mind?”
He’s busy cutting his piece of turkey when he lets out a sound. “Nah, it’s fine. As long as nobody makes me feel as though I’m where I am because of connections or special treatment. So far, it’s been okay. Asher and I keep things professional. And my dad? He wasn’t one of those dads who put pressure on me or anything, either. Instead, he showed up to games and would get a little too zealous with the other hockey dads.” Those memories make him smile to himself.
“Brothers and sisters?”
“A sister, Luna. I heard I was a handful as a kid, so I probably ruined their ideas of having any more,” he jokes.
The pot is boiling, and I turn to pour the water into a mug with a tea bag. “I think Seb and I were pretty low-key. I’m not sure I’ll see him this Christmas.”
“My mom wants to visit.”
