Chapter 24 #2
I moved closer and covered our hands with my other hand, pulling them up to kiss the back of his. “What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That the CEO of Summit Beverages didn’t know who I was, and even if he did, I wouldn’t jeopardize my relationship with them by bringing in my dad to sell them insurance.
” He shrugged. “And perhaps unsurprisingly, when a couple of friends invited them over for Christmas lunch, they accepted. Hayes, party of two, not three.”
I shoved his chair back from the table and climbed onto his lap, wrapping my arms around him and holding him in the tightest hug possible. “I hate them,” I grumbled in his ear. “Hate them so fucking much.”
“Thank you,” Adrian whispered. He was quiet for a moment, just holding me as tightly as I held him. “No one’s ever cooked for me before,” he said finally, his voice muffled in the side of my neck. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
The admission hit me harder than it should have. I thought of all the meals I’d shared over the years—family dinners around our old kitchen table, holiday spreads that took all day to prepare, the easy comfort of home-cooked food made with love.
The idea that Adrian had never experienced that made something protective and tender rise in my chest.
“If I have my way,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them, “this is the first of many.”
Adrian pulled back and met my eyes. There was something soft and sweet in his expression. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I meant it. More than I’d meant anything in a long time.
“Then maybe get off me and let me enjoy it before it gets cold,” he teased. But he pulled my face close to give me a long kiss before he let me go.
We ate in comfortable companionship after that, occasionally commenting on the food or the snow falling outside the windows. Adrian asked about the holiday traditions I’d grown up with. I found myself talking more than usual, sharing stories I hadn’t told anyone in years.
“She used to make this every Christmas Eve,” I said, serving him a second helping without asking if he wanted it. “The whole house would smell like garlic and herbs for hours. Maya and I would sneak down to steal tastes while it was cooling.”
“Did you get caught?”
“Every time. Mom would act all stern and shoo us away, but she’d always cut us tiny pieces anyway.” I smiled at the memory. “She said the best part of cooking for people was watching them enjoy it.”
Adrian was looking at me with that soft expression again, the one that made my chest tight. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She was.” I cleared my throat, suddenly emotional. “She would have liked you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. I think she’d’ve had a weakness for smart-ass city boys with good hearts.”
Adrian’s laugh was warm and delighted. “How do you know I have a good heart?”
“Because you’ve been putting up with my grumpy ass for weeks,” I said, reaching across the table to brush my thumb across his knuckles. “And because of the way you talk to Maya. The way you’ve thrown yourself into this town, even though I know it’s not your usual type of place.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind about what my type of place is,” Adrian said quietly.
My heart rate kicked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His fingers turned under mine, palm to palm. “I like it here. More than I expected to.”
The weight of that admission settled between us, carrying implications neither of us was quite ready to voice. Instead, I squeezed his hand and stood to clear the dishes.
“Leave those,” Adrian protested. “Let me do them.”
“Absolutely not. You’re the guest. Besides, I have a very important cultural education to provide.” I gestured toward the living room, where my sweet man was getting ready to have his Die Hard cherry popped hard.
I’d arranged pillows and blankets on the couch, creating a cozy nest that was definitely more intimate than necessary for movie watching.
Adrian groaned dramatically. “If you make me watch It’s a Wonderful Life, I’m not going to be in the mood for sex. We’ll have to find a pair of twin beds and be all 1930s and shit.”
“I promise you’ll want to fuck after this.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “If it’s Home Alone or anything where the Santa gets progressively fatter, I’m out.”
“Stop flapping your jaws and trust me.”
“I don’t love Elf, but I do love Zooey Deschanel singing,” he said, as if reluctantly offering me options.
“I don’t need your concessions, asshole,” I said, yanking him down beside me. “I just need you to take a breath and let this happen. Okay? Tonight’s date is my plan. Mine. Understand? You’ll watch this and you’ll like it.”
“So bossy,” Adrian complained. But as he tumbled down beside me, he sucked in a breath of excitement. “Wait. Are we watching what I think we’re watching?”
“Zip it,” I said, reaching for the remote.
He grinned at me and mimed zipping his lips before leaning in and making a production about kissing me without opening his mouth.
I shoved him off with a laugh. “You’re so weird. Stop and pay attention.”
The movie started, but I found myself more interested in watching Adrian’s reactions than the familiar action on-screen.
He made sarcastic comments during the exposition, laughed at the one-liners, and gradually relaxed until his head was resting on my shoulder and his hand was splayed across my chest.
“Okay,” he admitted during the scene where McClane writes his message on the dead terrorist’s shirt, “this is actually pretty entertaining.”
“Just wait until the ending. ‘Now I have a machine gun. Ho ho ho.’”
“You’re such a dork,” Adrian said fondly, turning to press a kiss to my neck that sent heat shooting down my spine.
“Your dork,” I replied without thinking.
Adrian went very still against me. “Are you?”
The question hung in the air between us, loaded with meaning.
I could deflect, make a joke, pretend I hadn’t just claimed him in the most casual way possible.
But looking down at him—hair mussed from the pillows, eyes soft with something that looked deceptively like affection—I found I didn’t want to take it back.
“If you want me to be,” I said quietly.
Instead of answering with words, Adrian shifted until he was straddling my lap, his hands cupping my face as he kissed me slow and deep. He tasted like red wine and possibility, and when he pulled back to rest his forehead against mine, we were both breathing hard.
“I want you to be,” he whispered.
The rest of the movie played forgotten in the background as we kissed on my couch, hands roaming over familiar territory that somehow felt new in this context. This wasn’t desperate fucking driven by lust and alcohol. This was softer. More tender. Like we had all the time in the world.
Like we were marking the beginning of forever, instead of counting down to the end of temporary.
When we finally made it to the bedroom, Adrian was wearing my old Sullivan Hardware hoodie and nothing else, and I was pretty sure I’d never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
I woke up before dawn to the sound of snow hitting the windows and the warm weight of Adrian’s body against mine.
His hair stuck up on one side, and there was a small purple hickey under his ear, but he looked perfect.
Peaceful in a way I’d never seen him when he was awake and performing for the world.
I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him, and padded to the kitchen to start the coffee. The apartment was quiet and warm, fairy lights still twinkling in the windows, the lingering scent of garlic and herbs mixing with the smell of snow and contentment.
As the coffee brewed, I found myself thinking about the evening before.
The way Adrian’s face had lit up when he’d seen the dinner I’d prepared.
The soft sound he’d made when he’d tasted my mother’s lasagna.
The casual intimacy of watching a movie together with his head on my shoulder like we’d been doing it for years.
I poured coffee into two mugs—making sure his had just the right amount of oat creamer in it—and carried them back to the bedroom. Adrian was starting to stir, making soft sleepy sounds that made my chest tight with affection.
“Morning,” I murmured, setting his coffee on the nightstand and leaning down to brush a light kiss across his temple.
He made a pleased humming sound, eyes still closed. “Coffee?”
“Of course.”
“You’re perfect,” he mumbled, finally opening those blue eyes to blink at me sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Early. I need to open the store, but you should sleep in.”
“Mm. Don’t wanna. I’ll come with you.”
The casual way he said it—like accompanying me to work was the most natural thing in the world—made something flutter in my chest. “You don’t have to.”
“Want to,” he insisted, sitting up and reaching for his coffee. “Besides, someone needs to make sure you’re not being too grumpy to the customers.”
An hour later, I was beginning to think bringing Adrian to the hardware store had been a mistake. Not because he was causing problems, but because watching him interact with my world was doing dangerous things to my heart.
He’d come downstairs wearing another one of my old Sullivan Hardware hoodies—a gray one with the faded logo that I’d had since high school—and carrying his coffee in the hardware store mug like he belonged there.
His hair was still sleep-mussed despite his attempts to tame it, and he had the relaxed, satisfied look of a man who’d been thoroughly loved the night before.
Bonnie had greeted him warmly, and the two had immediately gotten into a long conversation about the Christmas window display while I sorted stock… albeit a little more distractedly than usual.
“Morning, Bonnie! Morning, Maddox!” Mrs. Hoffman called as she bustled in, shaking snow from her coat. She stopped short when she saw Adrian behind the counter, organizing receipts with the focused attention he usually reserved for creating content.