Chapter 7
He narrates as he gathers supplies from the gigantic pantry that he stormed into like he was on a raid.
“Cocoa mix. Peppermint schnapps, and a bottle of whiskey so expensive I wouldn’t even breathe near it.”
I’m grinning. No, I’m glowing.
“Grab the whole milk from the fridge,” he calls, “you’re getting real cocoa. No packet shit for you, baby doll.”
Baby doll.
The husky words detonate somewhere in my chest.
What?
The.
Actual.
Hell.
I’ve never felt this sensation before.
“Here you go.” I pass him the gallon before I drop it.
There’s no small talk when he returns—a man on a cocoa-making mission.
But I can’t seem to keep my mouth closed due to all the nervous energy. “I’m still in shock. It’s just us for Christmas?”
“Looks that way.”
He pours the milk into a pot with a glug that echoes in the quiet kitchen. I watch his shoulders tense as he focuses hard on the stove instead of me.
“Two days.”
“Give or take,” he replies, gruff, stirring aggressively.
The silence stretches, thick and simmering, while the milk slowly warms under this careful watch. It’s ridiculously seductive for such a domestic task.
I can feel every inch of him even though he’s not touching me.
Whew. Two days of this? I’m not sure I can take it.
Face heating, I keep worrying at my bottom lip, my fingernail, the hem of my sweater. Anything I can do, trying not to stare at how huge and hot he looks in this kitchen.
How safe all that power makes me feel.
Spence breaks the silence first.
“I wondered if you were coming.”
It sounds like a confession he didn’t mean to give voice to.
“Marshall invited me weeks ago. He wanted to make sure I felt welcome, even though Justice had insisted I come.”
I lean against the counter, drawn in by his magnetic force field.
“Your boss said the team was doing a family Christmas. I thought it would be nice to belong somewhere for the holidays. Justice and I only got close again recently, but… you know that.”
His hazel eyes seem to darken as he tightens his brow. “Yeah. I know what you mean. I’ve been alone a lot too.”
Something flickers behind his eyes, like regret. He clears his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to downplay your experience.”
“You didn’t. It has been lonely.”
Until now.
“But being here with you makes me happy.”
Something in him tightens—only perceptible if you pay very close attention. He doesn’t reply, though.
“It’s just so strange everyone canceled… at the same time,” I say softly.
The way his body shifts isn’t the same as it was before, and that makes cold awareness trickle down my spine.
“They didn’t know I was coming, but I’ve got this weird notion that Marshall set this up,” he says, and there’s no sugar in that tone.
“What?” I blink, searching his expression.
“Think about it.” He starts whisking the cocoa mix harder than necessary. “Every couple had a reason to bail all at once. Sure, there’s a snowstorm, but they could have come early; it’s been forecast for days. Those men have the expertise to plan and execute elaborate missions”
I freeze. What I think he’s suggesting shouldn’t make heat curl in my belly, but it does.
“You think they suspected we’d come, and they’d arrange it so we’d be alone. Setting us up.”
“Not Justice,” he quickly grumble. “Fuck no. He’d never want me alone with you. But Marshall and Beast? Those men are strategic. They don’t leave shit to chance.”
A strange thrill ripples through me—a mix of fear, excitement, disbelief.
He pours the cocoa into oversized stoneware mugs decorated with wreath-wearing reindeer. “Marshall’s been making comments to me.”
I catch his gaze when he finishes. “What kind of comments?”
His eyes are an entire storm. “The kind that suggests he thinks something exists between us that absolutely cannot happen.”
Oh, my heart stutters.
Not because I’m offended.
But because the light inside me dims at the truth of it.
“Because of Justice,” I murmur.
He grabs his mug, his knuckles blanching. “Among other reasons.”
“As in?” I ask, straightening. Wanting the truth.
He pulls back fast, retreating toward the pantry. “You want peppermint schnapps in this?”
“Is it my age?” I call after him. “Because I’m twenty-seven. I’m an adult, Spence.”
He groans; it’s quiet, tortured. “I’m not in my twenties anymore.”
When he returns, there’s something almost resigned in the set of his brow. I lift my mug and give him a small smile. “Spencer McCallister, are you like fine wine?”
“I—do you want yours spiked?” he croaks.
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I’ve never had a drink made by a man like you. Or… anything else for that matter.”
Apparently I found my inner flirt, because I have NEVER said anything like that in my life.
The look on his face is pure meltdown.
He stares at the bottle as if it’s a threat. “Spiked it is,” he mutters, pouring with a fist clenched around the neck of the bottle.
After he’s put a shot in mine, he splashes his own, and when he finally looks at me, something like terror behind his expression.
“Justice is my best friend,” he says hoarsely. “My swim buddy. My brother in every way that matters.”
I curl my fingers around my mug for balance. “I know.”
“He trusts me.”
“I know that too.” I exhale, letting him see the vulnerable truth beneath everything else. “That’s why I feel safe with you. You know what happened to me in the past. It’s not easy being alone with a man.”
He glances down, intelligent gaze tracking some invisible line on the countertop.
“Good,” he rasps, turning to face me again. “I would lay down my life to protect you. Nothing will hurt you when you’re with me.”
The conviction in that vow knocks the air from my lungs. It reaches places inside me I thought were permanently closed off.
“I know,” I whisper.
Something electric moves between us. It feels inevitable.
Still smiling softly, I lift my mug. “Now… cheers to two days in Christmas paradise.”