Chapter 7
Bunny
I let my legs that are dangling off the edge of the kitchen table gently rock, suck the white, homemade frosting off the tip of my thumb, and lovingly beam down at The Kid who is finishing up his holiday cookie creation.
“Look!” He angles his plate for me to better admire his artwork. “He’s a gingerbread man chanic.”
Oh…
Oh…boy.
How can one person be this adorably awful?
“Get it?” Additional enthusiasm rips through his expression. “ Man chanic?!”
Rather than snow on his parade – after all it is Christmas Eve – I simply coo, “ You’re cute. ”
Kid’s cheeks slightly blush as he brushes off the praise with a bashful smile.
“ Really? ” grumps Mutt from the seat beside him. “He makes a corny fucking dad joke-”
“I gotta practice,” our boyfriend interjects, grin wildly growing. “I mean I am gonna be a dad.”
He is.
They both are.
And that’s where I’m trying to keep my focus for now.
My attention.
My energy.
Yeah, Brad’s dead – for a fucking fact – but the saga that is McAdams I know isn’t.
However, it’s literally almost Christmas.
The first Christmas I get to actually spend with people I love, living and building a life we love, which is something I never thought I’d have.
That I’d live long enough to have.
I wanna enjoy it.
Fuck that, I’m going to enjoy it.
I refuse to let Brad steal that from me from the beyond.
And if he magically feels the need to go all ghosts of Christmas past on me, I will not hesitate to call the local ghostbusters to assist in him fucking off.
And they actually have that in this town.
Like it’s a real thing.
Posie told me about it.
Where they meet.
How often.
That they call themselves The First Vibes club.
Even their open invitation policy to have anyone join that wants to assist in warding off evil spirits or beings from their homes or places of business.
Not really my thing but sometimes weird times, will wield weird measures.
Such as mauling a stalker to death.
Nolan poorly hides his warmth over the father fact. “Like I was sayin’-”
“ Complaining ,” I correct while dipping my middle finger into the leftover frosting once more.
“How come he gets praise over his farmer joeman-”
“ Man chanic,” Kid huffs on a snatch of a gumdrop.
“-but I cleverly make you in a bikini-”
“That’s not clever.”
“-and I’mma gingerbread morman?”
“You tryin’ to say Mormon?” Kid questions during another gummy grab.
“No, I was trying to combine moron and gingerbread man into like a pun thing like you did.”
“Ohhh,” our boyfriend nods between smacks, “ fail. ”
“Epic fail,” I instantly echo.
“Stout Scarab fail.”
“ Ouch ,” grumbles Mutt while pulling off the two M however, our boyfriend pauses the follow through to fetch his vibrating phone from his pocket.
One swipe is all it takes to reveal whatever was just sent.
And whatever was just sent instantly drains all the color from his scruff covered face prompting Kid to cautiously inquire, “What is it?” He cleans his lips with a hasty swipe. “ Who is it?”
“Garcia.”
Kipp prepares to pout only to have it interrupted by the text being turned to face us.
Garcia: Santa isn’t the only one coming to town.