“Nah.”My grip tightens around her.“I wasn’t the one taking the final.That was all you, June Bug.”
“Mm-hmm.And yet, here we are.”
Yes.Here we are.In the spare bedroom of June’s childhood home at six in the morning on Christmas.If that isn’t a fairytale, I don’t know what is.I look around the small room as the start of a sunrise peeks through the closed window.
“Blame your mom.”Lifting my head from the pillow, I kiss the top of her head.“She’s relentless.”
June shifts on the queen-sized mattress until her chin rests against my pec and her baby blues peer up at me in the cutest way possible.“You could always tell her no.”
“And lose the favorite future-son-in-law trophy?”I scoff.“I think not.”
“You’re theonlyfuture-son-in-law,” she reminds me, and damn if it doesn’t make me want to pound on my chest and scream it from the rooftops.She didn’t deny it.Didn’t say I’m thinking too far ahead or rushing shit.Not that I plan to pull out a ring at this very moment, but the fact that she’s open to my delusions?It’s hot as hell and comforting in a way I’m not sure either of us will ever fully understand.I’m still getting used to the whole June-isn’t-going-anywhere bit.Some days it’s easier than others, but overall, I’d like to think I’m knocking it out of the park.Admitting I want to hold the title of son-in-law to her parents?If that’s not growth, I don’t know what is.
“I just feel bad,” she murmurs.
“Why?”
Her bottom lip juts out.“Because I took you from your brothers for Christmas.”
“Trust me, my brothers are fine.They can handle one holiday without me,” I tell her.
She drags her fingertips along my bare chest.“I know, but I still feel bad.”
“You feel bad that you have a healthy relationship with your parents and enjoy spending time with them over the holidays?”I counter.
Her nose scrunches, and she opens her mouth to give me a reply when a loud knock echoes from the bedroom door.
June flinches and burrows into my chest, attempting to disappear.
“June?”I call, as if she’s the one knocking on the door.You know, for the plot.“Give me a sec, I’m not dressed?—”
“Not dumb enough to think you actually obeyed the separate bedroom rule,” a low voice booms, “but if y’all could come downstairs before your mama’s cinnamon rolls get cold, that’d be great.”
Well, there goes our ruse.Pink blooms across June’s cheeks, and she pulls the floral covers over her head.“There goes your trophy,” she mumbles before disappearing beneath them entirely.
She’s probably right, but to be fair, I was a good boy who stayed in my room, determined to keep my hands to myself.So if anyone’s losing anything, it should be June’s wholesome-daughter trophy.Yeah, after the things she did to me early this morning, the girl’s far from innocent, but if we’re talking awards, she definitely earned a different trophy.
With a low chuckle, I push aside the reminder of how good her mouth feels when it’s wrapped around me and call out, “We’ll be right down, sir.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gerald mutters.“It’s a good thing I like you, son.”The floor creaks beneath the closed door, followed by quiet footsteps disappearing down the hall.
Son.
I’m still getting used to it.The welcoming, open-arms mentality the Withers family possesses.It’s nice, though.At first, it was little things.FaceTime calls meant to be between June and her parents before one of them would inevitably rope me into the conversation.Then it was the invitation to the family text thread.Yeah, that one threw me for a loop.Add in the just-checking-in phone calls every Sunday, and the handful of hints about the Withers’ family traditions during the holidays, and I had no choice but to buy us tickets to visit from Christmas to New Year’s.
But being called son?By someone who isn’t a total asshole?Yeah, I’m not sure I’ll ever fully wrap my head around that one.Not complaining, mind you.Why would I?June’s parents are awesome.But after years and years of loathing the sentiment, coming to terms with the fact that it doesn’t have to carry a negative connotation is going to take some getting used to.
But for some reason I can’t explain, I don’t think Gerald or Laurie will lose their patience as I work through it.
Peeking out from beneath the sheets, June pulls me back to the present and murmurs, “I cannot believe you just said, we.”
I cock my brow.
“We’llbe right down?”she emphasizes.“You just confessed I’m in here!”
“Your dad is many things, June Bug.But stupid isn’t one of them.”I kiss the tip of her nose, well aware she’d never let me get away with one on the mouth before we’ve brushed our teeth.“Now, hurry up.”I smack the outside of her thigh.“I want a cinnamon roll.”
With a quiet laugh, she climbs from beneath the covers and slips back into her pajamas heaped on the cool floor.The same red-and-white pinstripe design matches my own.I slide the bottoms into place and tie the drawstring around my waist.They were a gift from her parents.We all received a matching set.Gerald.Laurie.June.And me.Apparently, it’s a tradition.Everyone opens a matching set every Christmas Eve.When I opened the box tucked beneath the tree, my heart grew three sizes, just like the Grinch.
