A lot.
I want to touch more than just those thighs.
Our hands meet in the popcorn bowl, our eyes meet before either of us moves our hand away, and it’s as cute and as cheesy as the movie we’re watching.
We haven’t even made it to second base, but I’m definitely feeling some feelings.
Those feelings only intensify as we head to the store the next morning, and he tells me to pick out whatever ornaments I want. We drive to the Christmas tree lot next, and he lets me take the lead. He doesn’t balk when I pick out the biggest tree, as I imagine how perfect it will look in the middle of his floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay, and he doesn’t complain with a single word as he wraps it in twinkling lights the moment we get it unloaded and set up.
Instead, he hums Christmas carols along with the random playlist Alexa blares for us while I sing at the top of my lungs as I take the ornaments out of their protective packaging to get them ready to hang on the tree.
He pours two glasses of some sort of liquor, and he hands me one.
“A Bradley tradition,” he says, holding his glass up.
I must look confused because he clarifies as I tap my glass to his.
“I’ve had a glass of this every year around the holidays since I was fifteen, usually while I’m decorating or doing something festive.”
“Fifteen?” I repeat, taking a whiff of it.
He chuckles. “Yeah, well, when you have two older brothers and an older sister, you get started early. It wassomething Madden drank in college, and he brought a bottle to our family holiday gathering. Dex was home, too, and they got wasted on it. They offered me some, and I chugged a full cup. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before I was puking my guts out.”
“Most people would never drink it again, but that made it a tradition for you?” I tease. I take a sip and wrinkle my nose. It’s strong, whatever it is, and I take a look at the bottle. “McGillicuddy’s peppermint schnapps,” I read.
“I always keep a bottle around for the holidays. Reminds me of simpler times with my brothers.”
I’m tempted to ask if Archer got drunk on it, too, but since he never kept a bottle of it around, I’d venture to guess he wasn’t part of that tradition.
And besides, I don’t particularly want to talk about my ex right now.
I tip the glass to my lips and take a sip, and it’s actually pretty good. It warms my chest and leaves me with a minty taste in my mouth.
“Hot chocolate was a tradition in my family, and honestly, I think this stuff would be pretty good in a cup,” I say.
He nods. “It is. I’ve had that many times. But straight is still my favorite.”
We sip on our drinks slowly, so nobody winds up puking his or her guts out. Once I finish the first glass, I pour a second as we continue to work on decorating the tree together.
I’m a little tipsy an hour later when I take a break to make us some hot chocolate. Only…I can’t find any.
“Ford?” I yell, and he’s behind me a second later as I stand in the pantry.
“Yes?”
I chuckle. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”
He twists his lips with a bit of disappointment. “I don’t think I do.”
“It’s a holiday tradition. I don’t justwantsome. Ineedsome.”
He laughs. “There’s a restaurant downtown that has hot chocolate and churros.”
“Hot chocolate and churros?” I ask, tilting my head. “I think it just might be the combination I never knew I needed.”
“Then let’s go,” he says.
“Wait,” I say, and I grab his arm.
