Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
“First batch done.” Gunnar set the platter on the table. “Go on and eat. There’s more coming.”
Chairs scraped, the brothers threw their usual barbs, and a frisson of joy tripped down her spine.
She’d imagined a clean-cut husband and children who looked just like the two of them.
Not rugged, tattooed bikers who were some of the most generous men she’d ever known.
Not an orphaned little boy, desperate for family.
Focusing on her vision board had cut her off from a whole world of possibilities.
“What do you usually do for Christmas?” Boone asked her.
“If Willa’s in town, I help out at the inn. It’s really fun. Her dad dresses up as Santa, and they have carolers and cookie decorating… He even leaves a trail of powdered reindeer footprints.”
“What about your family?” Gunnar asked from the stove.
She could see how weird her answer sounded to mention her friend and not her parents.
“We find time to get together, but the village pays more over the holidays, and the guests are extra demanding, so they both work a lot. My mom and I exchange presents on Christmas morning. My dad…” She shrugged.
How did she explain Buck O’Neill? “He’s invited to a lot of parties. ”
The men went silent, concentrating on their pancakes, the only sound the clink of forks on plates. Way to make things awkward. Well, they’d asked, and she’d told the truth.
Butter sizzled on the griddle, and Cody said, “Can I make Amy a present?”
Thanks for the distraction.
“Yeah, of course,” Jude said. “What’d you have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” Cody looked at her.
“Do you want to give her some of the gingerbread cookies?” Finlay asked. “Tomorrow’s the holiday party. We can wrap them up nicely and put them in your backpack. Does that sound good?”
“That’s the last day of school, right?” Jude asked.
Cody sat back in his chair, looking uneasy. “It’s my last day? I don’t get to go anymore?”
“No, no.” She set down her fork. “It’s the last day before winter break. Preschool gets a whole month off.”
“I still go to school?”
“Yes. They’re just taking a break for the holidays. You’ll go back in January.”
“Okay.” The boy looked deep in thought. “If I’m not gonna see her, I’d better make a picture, too. She’ll be sad without me.”
“That’s a great idea. You’ve got that new art table in your room with all the crayons and paper.” Finlay smiled at Gunnar, who quickly turned back to the griddle.
Cody dropped out of his chair and ran off.
“Wait,” Gunnar called. “What about the pancakes?”
“I’m not hungry.”
After the boy reached the stairs, Boone asked, “Who the hell’s Amy?”
“A kid in his class,” Jude said.
“Maybe Jude wouldn’t have gotten suspended so much if he’d had an Amy.
” Boone laughed. “You remember Ms. Duncan?” he asked his brothers.
“Oh, man. She was such a bitch to me, and I never knew why. Until one day, when she asked a question, and no one but me raised a hand to answer. She wouldn’t call on me—acted like I was invisible—so, finally, I just called it out, and she said, ‘That’s enough, Jude.
’ Can you believe it? He hadn’t been in her class in six years, and she still called me by his name. ”
Boone was too busy laughing to notice the way his brother’s shoulders tightened.
“Remember when Decker got a D on that essay in Mr. Branson’s history class?” Boone asked. “He stayed after to find out what was wrong with it, and Mr. Branson skimmed the paper, handed it back with a shit-eating grin, and said, ‘Nothing, Decker. Nothing at all.’”
“Well, Mr. Branson was an asshole.” Everyone shot Finlay a look.
Which was fair. She didn’t usually swear.
But couldn’t Boone see the effect this conversation was having on his brother?
“You know, not everyone should be a teacher. If you can’t see the kids as individuals, if you can’t see what’s really going on behind a vest and a bad attitude, then you shouldn’t work with children. ”
“Okay, next batch.” Gunnar interrupted the conversation with a fresh platter of steaming pancakes.
She got his message to change the conversation. “What about you guys? What do you do for the holidays?”
“Usually, we have a big dinner for Christmas Eve—” Wyatt began.
“Rack of lamb,” Gunnar said on his way back to the griddle.
“And then a bunch of side dishes.” Wyatt stabbed a pancake with his fork and brought it to his plate. “My client’s making me pozole, so I’ll bring that.”
“Your client?” Finlay wondered if he meant someone he was seeing. Why would a pet owner make him soup?
“Yeah, that’s why he lives in an Airstream and not a damn house,” Boone said as he poured syrup. “He trades his services for weird shit like socks and—”
“Pozole.” Gunnar looked at Boone like he couldn’t understand how his son didn’t get it. “Fair trade to me.” To Wyatt, he said, “Trim the dog’s nails or something and get her to double the batch.”
Wyatt blew out a breath of frustration. “I don’t groom pets.”
“Sorry, trim the talons on the raptor,” Gunnar said.
“Squeeze the cougar’s anal glands,” Jude said.
They all cracked up. Tension broken, Finlay went back to eating, but she wished Jude didn’t keep everything inside. She knew how much he hated the way his reputation had impacted them, but they didn’t.
“Okay, so Wyatt’s bringing pozole,” Gunnar said. “What else?”
“I’ll bring snacks,” Boone said. “Chips, pretzels.”
“Yeah, because Christmas Eve is just like a tailgate party,” Wyatt said. “Step it up.”
“Oh, okay,” Boone said. “Would you prefer a baked brie? Maybe a cranberry crostini?”
“I’m not eating cranberry crostini,” Jude said.
“Bring a jar of salsa and call it done,” Gunnar said.
“Sounds good to me,” Boone said. “You ever try those lime chips? They slap so hard.”
Okay, clearly, this was a potluck kind of thing. She had to participate, but she didn’t really cook. “Can I bring dessert?”
“Sure,” Gunnar said. “What’re you thinking?”
“Bring whatever you want,” Boone said.
“Says someone who doesn’t give a crap what he puts in his cakehole.” Gunnar poured the warm hot chocolate into mugs. He set two on the table and then called up the stairs, “Cocoa’s ready.”
“Be right there,” the boy called from his room.
Gunnar made his way back to the table. “So, dessert?”
“I’d love to make a B?che de Noel.” Finlay could already see the fork tines she’d draw in the chocolate icing to look like bark, the plastic frogs and snakes she’d add for decoration.
Do they sell moss at the craft store?
“Works for me.” Gunnar seemed pleased.
“He usually buys one from The Singing Baker or Coco’s Chocolates,” Jude said. “So that’s perfect.”
“Oh, good.” She liked that she had something meaningful to offer. “I’ve always wanted to make one.”
“Cool.” Gunnar went back into the kitchen to pour two more mugs full of cocoa. He brought them to the table. “What’s he doing up there? I’m gonna check.”
“Don’t rush him. He’s making a present.” Wyatt’s chair scraped back. “I’ll bring his cocoa.”
“I’ve got a way with the ladies,” Boone teased. “I’ll help him with the card.”
“You know how creepy that sounds, right?” Wyatt asked.
All three headed for the stairs, leaving her alone with Jude.
She got up to clear the plates, and Jude followed her to the sink. As she rinsed, he loaded the dishwasher. She couldn’t help noticing his goofy smile. “What’re you thinking about?”
“You stood up for me.” He kissed her on the mouth.
“Well, somebody had to. You’re not responsible for lousy teachers.”
“Look at you, getting all worked up.” He slid his fingers through her hair. “You’re beautiful.” His gaze was soft and warm. “You make me happy.”
He overwhelmed her. His affection, his scent, his size and strength.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t form a sentence…
could barely take a breath. It almost felt like a déjà vu moment, though she’d never imagined being in a home with his dad and brothers, eating gingerbread pancakes and drinking hot cocoa.
He shut off the faucet, gripped her under her arms, and set her on the counter. Pushing her legs open with his hips, he set one hand on her cheek while the other slid into her hair. He kissed her with such devotion, such worship, that her body pulsed with need.
His urgency, his desperation burned hot enough to incinerate the barrier that kept their bodies from fusing. She needed it. The way he wanted her… It made her whole.
Gunnar barked out a laugh, and heavy boots hit the stairs.
Their mouths tore apart, but their bodies stayed pressed together. She tangled her fingers in his hair. “I can’t believe I get to kiss you in my kitchen on a Sunday morning.”
Cody came crashing into the room, followed by the three men. “Look what I made, Miss O’Neill. The guys said I did a good job.” He handed her a drawing. “I’m going to give it to Amy in school tomorrow. Don’t fold it ’cause it’ll get ugly.”
“I won’t fold it.” He’d drawn a picture of two stick figures standing in a grassy field, flowers growing on long, droopy stems. Next to them was a crude swing set. “Oh, she’s going to love this.” She wiped the cocoa mustache off his upper lip.
“All right, we’re out of here,” Gunnar said. “What’s the plan? You want Christmas Eve at my place or here?”
“Yours,” Jude said. “But let’s have Christmas here so Cody can open his presents.”
“You sure you want all of us to come over?” his dad asked her.
“Yes.” She answered a little too quickly, but she knew they understood what it would mean to Cody to have the whole family here.
“Sounds good,” Gunnar said. “I’ll bring the groceries and cook so you guys can just enjoy Christmas Day as a family.”
With her mom and dad, she’d be apologetic. She’d worry about imposing, causing them more work. But Gunnar wasn’t like that. He was genuine. All she could do was smile. “That sounds perfect.”
He gave her a sharp nod. “Invite your folks.”
“Oh, they won’t come.”
“Up to them whether they do or not.” The older man shrugged. “At least, they’ll know they’re welcome.”