I get my love of travel from them, and I’m glad to see them doing all the things they dreamed of that they put off for my sake.
I turn up at the Lombards’ place in the afternoon with a bottle of wine and a bag of gifts I scraped together two weeks ago. A bit last minute, but at least I got something. I wanted to avoid coming empty handed, and to show how grateful I am that they always treat me like I’m part of their family.
The sight of Eve’s new camper parked in the driveway brings a smile to my face before I head in through the side door. David and Mrs. Lombard are in the kitchen. I shake his hand and she gives me a big hug.
“Here, I brought you this.” I hand her the wine. “Thanks again for having me over.”
“Of course.” She pulls down the reading glasses perched on her head to read the label. “Thank you. You’re such a sweet boy.”
“Can I help with anything?”
“You can help by getting out of my kitchen until I need your muscles to cart all this food to the table.” Mrs. Lombard shoos me with a wave of the holiday-themed dish towel in her hand. “Go on, the kids are in the living room.”
I head there to find Eve, Benson, and Jess hanging out.
“Merry Christmas,” I say warmly.
“Didn’t we do this about twelve, thirteen hours ago?” Benson lumbers off the couch.
“Shut up.” There’s no heat in it.
“I told you last night, you should’ve crashed here.”
My gaze darts to Eve—drawn to her first whenever I walk in a room these days—before I force it back to him. “My duplex is only a five minute drive from here.”
He gives me a bear hug. “Merry Christmas, man. Glad you can be here with us.”
Jess is right behind him. I hug her next, then freeze when I face Eve.
Before I left yesterday, I was able to hug her, no problem. But she wasn’t wearing one of these sweater dresses that fill my head with ideas I shouldn’t be entertaining, like fisting the soft material and peeling it off to unwrap her like my own filthy little present.
The deep green dress has a wide neck that shows her shoulders, and her hair is half down with big curls, the top swept back from her face in two braids tied off with a dainty burgundy bow.
“Merry Christmas, Cole,” she says.
My eyes close when she slips her arms around me. Her hair smells nice. I resist the urge to squeeze her closer just to find out how her curves feel pressed against me.
“Happy birthday. Almost,” I add.
She sticks out her tongue, then brandishes a mug. “Mulled wine—which is amazing, but super potent this year—or hot cocoa?”
“Hot cocoa,” I decide because she’s having it and it smells as sweet as she does.
Her teeth sink into her tempting bright red lower lip and her beautiful eyes gleam. “I was hoping you would say that. Come see what I put together.”
She all but drags me over to a hot cocoa station. It’s got mugs on a wooden tree, a variety of mix choices, and all sorts of toppings. She also included labels for everything and a menu with suggested combinations.
“Nice,” I say.
“It’s a masterpiece,” she gushes. “I had fun designing the signs.”
“I’m torn. Do I want marshmallows and a peppermint stick, or whipped cream and cinnamon powder?”
“It’s the holidays. Go big or go bigger.”
I snap my fingers and point at her. “True. Do you need a refill?”
“Please.”
