For some reason unbeknownst to the rest of us, our mother had decided to step down from her role as holiday hostess and pass the torch, so to speak, to Charlotte. She was the eldest Amato sibling and the only one of us—aside from our parents—who still lived in Cleveland, so it made sense in theory. Judging by her frantic tone, however, it was not the Christmas surprise Char had been hoping for.
“Here’s an idea,” I said. “We don’t have to have dinner at three.”
Silence met me from the other end of the phone.
“Char?”
“I don’t understand. We always have dinner at three.”
“But we don’t have to. Maybe this could be the year we, I don’t know, switch things up a little bit.”
My cock stirred when a blur of pink darted across the courtyard, toward the laundry room at the back of the building. That was all it took to get me hard these days—pink leggings or an icy-blonde ponytail. I was still reeling from our encounter at the pet store earlier today, the one that had ended with her fleeing and me coming in my hand in the storeroom next to bags of hamster pellets.
“That’s not how it works and you know it,pasticcino.”
Well, there goes my hard-on.
I loved my sisters, but they still treated me like their baby brother, the little boy they had spent years dressing up asa pirate, prince, or ruthless outlaw for their games of make-believe. It hadn’t all been bad, though. Savannah had taken me for my first manicure, a self-care practice I still partook in today, Madison, who was closest to me in age and a James Beard award winning chef, had taught me all her best cooking hacks, and Charlotte had helped me put together a business plan when I’d dropped out of business school to pursue my “photography hobby” full-time.
Most importantly, all three of them had taught me how to be a fan-fucking-tastic boyfriend . . . assuming I didn’t let my insecurities get the best of me first. Spoiler alert, they usually did.
I rested my hips against the kitchen counter. “We already don’t celebrate ChristmasonChristmas, so does it really matter?”
That was another Amato family tradition—celebrating Christmas in January. Mostly because of cheaper flight prices.
“Just like Jesus would have wanted,”as our mother liked to say.
“Just book the seven a.m. flight on the ninth, would you?”
“You got it, Char.”
“Unless you need me to do it for you.” This was exactly the kind of thing I was talking about. “I can loan you the money if you—”
“Char, I said I would book it and I will.”
I could feel the weight of her judgmental stare two thousand miles away. Char might be a whiz with numbers, but she could have just as easily gone into the FBI. Her interrogation skills were unmatched.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“Looking forward to seeing you, sis.”
“Uh-huh.”
We said our goodbyes after that. I had just finished setting my mug down on my desk when there was a soft knock at the door. Buddy, my orange tabby, jumped down from his usual spot in the front windowsill to greet our visitor.
“Not a chance, Bud,” I told him, scooping him up in my arms before opening the door wide for the angel in pink on the other side. “Twice in one day. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She smiled. “Nice cat.”
“He is, actually. A lot nicer than his sister, Marley.” I stepped back, pointing toward Buddy’s striped sibling. “Ralphie’s around here somewhere, too, and believe me, you’ll know him when you see him.”
“Marley and Ralphie?”
“And Buddy,” I said, scratching him behind the ears. His thunderous purrs vibrated against my hand. “They all came from the same litter. Named after Christmas movie characters.”
Nellie crossed her arms over her chest. She had traded in her earlier jumpsuit for something more casual—pink biker shorts and an oversized black sweater that matched her walking boot.
“Are you sure you’re not actually Santa?”
