Chapter 28 Jason #3
After a few more minutes of peace, relaxing into the chatter, content to listen and not participate—I figured it was time to go find Joe. It wasn’t rude now. Peeling myself out of the puppy pile on the couch was difficult, but I managed.
My wine was tepid as I made my way toward the kitchen, following the sound of voices.
“Mom—”
“Finish frosting.”
“But Jason’s—”
“Your boyfriend can wait until you finish the frosting.”
I’d never heard Joe be so petulant. It was so cute. Jesus. I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene, my heart squeezing. Tray after tray of cookies were covering half the counters. Most of them were already frosted, artfully—because Joe had been the one to do it.
The stove had several huge pots on top of it, including one that made the whole room smell like chocolate.
Marshmallows were scattered on the counters, as was cocoa dust. Confusing my nose, the scent of roast turkey filled the air from inside the oven.
There were mashed potatoes on the stove too, and Mrs. Milton was beating them into submission.
She was a small, round woman with even rounder hair. Her dress was covered in holly leaves and berries. Garish and gorgeous. There was an apron around her waist that I had no doubt she’d brought with her.
Joe—was in the corner, his back to me. There were a few icing smears on his back. Looked like they were left by tiny hands—probably Mavis. His white t-shirt hugged every curve of his body. Jeans practically painted on his ass, though loose by his legs.
Just looking at him made my knees weak.
It felt like it’d been a lifetime since the last time I’d seen him.
Touched him.
Mrs. Milton noticed me before Joe did.
“You must be Jason,” she said in greeting. I turned to face her, though my eyes stayed on Joe. It was worth any accidental rudeness to see the way he snapped to attention. He spun around, the biggest, brightest grin on his face the moment he spotted me.
I nearly dropped the wine bottle, he was so pretty.
“Jason!” Joe said my name with obvious enthusiasm. “You’re here!”
“I’m here,” I said, my heart in my throat.
“Mom!” Joe set his icing bag down and skidded across the room on socked feet. He was in my space quicker than I could blink. High on excitement, Joe was like a giant puppy as he looped his arms around me, picked me off the ground, and gave me a shake. “This is him!”
“I can see that,” she laughed.
My lungs wheezed and I fought for my life not to drop the wine as Joe squeezed the hell out of me. He set me back down, beaming at me. “I’m frosting cookies.”
“I bet you’re a pro,” I said, remembering how good he’d been at making gingerbread houses.
“Hi.” Joe kept smiling. His skin was flushed. I cocked my head to the side, amused and curious.
“Are you drunk?”
“What?” Joe blinked owlishly. “No!”
“He’s had three cups of eggnog,” Mrs. Milton laughed. “And yet…still the best froster I have.”
“I love your eyes,” Joe told me. “And your hair. My mom said she’d dye it. Don’t dye it, Jason.” Joe frowned. “Don’t do it. Promise you won’t? Promise you—”
“I won’t let your mom dye it,” I laughed.
Joe sagged, relieved. “Oh good. I love your hair. Did you know that?”
“I do now.”
He was totally a happy drunk.
“Can I kiss you?” Joe’s words caught me off guard, especially with his mom literally right there.
“Of course.”
“Oh good.”
Then he kissed me. Practically swept me off my feet again. Hands cupping my face, smearing frosting on my cheekbones and jaw. I didn’t even care. Soaking him up. Tasting the eggnog and chocolate on his lips. It shouldn’t have been a good combination but it was.
When we parted, Joe looked dazed.
He glanced down my body, hungry eyes catching between my legs.
“It’s been too long,” he sighed.
“Oh, believe me, I know,” I replied.
“Should we…”
“Hell no.” I kissed him again, just to soothe. “Not with your family five feet away.” I kept my words quiet enough I hoped Mrs. Milton wouldn’t hear. My efforts were in vain.
“They can go,” Joe wheedled. “For just…twenty minutes. They can go.”
“Disloyal,” Mrs. Milton laughed. “You’d send us out into the snow just so you could get some nookie?”
Joe’s face scrunched up with horror.
“I think she heard me,” he told me.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I think she did.”
He smiled. “Later?”
“Good plan.”
He kissed me again, then pulled back. “You have frosting on your face.”
“It’s okay,” I promised him.
“Oh good.”
Jesus. He was so cute. I wanted to bite him.
“How good are you at icing?” Mrs. Milton asked. “He’s gotten slower and I’ve still got twenty cookies that need done so we can get them out of the way.”
“Oh, he’s terrible,” Joe said. I laughed.
“I’m terrible,” I agreed. “But—willing?”
“I’ll take it.”
Christmas Eve dinner was just as chaotic as the lead up had been. There wasn’t room for everyone in the kitchen so we all spread out. I ended up sitting in a corner, with Joe on my lap, munching through a giant plate full of turkey and mashed potatoes.
He was sobering up now.
Which was probably good.
I could tell because he kept squirming on my legs, like he was worried he was crushing me. He and George were having a conversation about Joe’s website. Apparently George was a graphic designer and had offered to make one for him for free.
They squabbled over pricing.
But George ultimately won that particular fight.
I didn’t want to be an ass for rooting against Joe, but…I was glad. Glad to see Joe accepting help now, without pushing back.
He’d changed.
Hell, so had I.
I was dreading going back home.
And as the night wound down, and I lost to Mr. Milton at Mario Kart three consecutive times, that dread only grew. It was nearly two in the morning before the adults decided it was time to retire. Mrs. Milton had drunk the entire bottle of wine I’d given her.
I stayed while they took turns brushing their teeth in the single bathroom.
Jesus. That many people sharing a bathroom?
Nightmare.
I lingered till after everyone had laid down in their respective spots. Joe was the last in the bathroom. I’d said goodnight to him already. Kissed his shoulders, his neck.
When I headed into the hallway, then the living room, I quietly stepped over the sleeping bags. I was heading for the door, when Joe’s voice stopped me.
“Where are you going?” he asked, muffled around toothpaste.
I paused, then turned around.
“Home?” My heart skipped a beat.
“No, you’re not,” he said. The foamy tooth brush was still in his hand, some of that white fluff smudged around his lips. “Get your ass in the bathroom and brush your teeth.”
He’d never talked to me like that.
It made me laugh.
But I did as I was told.
Joe had given his bed to his parents. Which meant that we were squashed onto the same air mattress we’d shared when we’d been snowed in. He turned his back to me. When I didn’t snuggle up to him quick enough, he patted his own shoulder pointedly.
So, I settled against him, pressed my face to his nape, and breathed him in.
“I told you I’d give you the Christmas you deserve,” Joe murmured sleepily when I was bundled around him like I was supposed to be.
He was out like a light a moment later.
But I stayed up long after.
Listening to the symphony of breaths that echoed through the room. Listening to the beat of his heart. Staring up at the play of lights on the ceiling. At the Christmas tree. At the family I’d somehow been invited inside.
When I fell asleep, it was with a smile on my lips.
And the certainty that I was in the right place.
I was happy.