Chapter 19 Kat
kat
“Merry Christmas, Vixen.”
I wake up to Grayson's sweet words and his lips on my forehead as I cuddle into him tighter. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
It's been a long time since I've woken up in the arms of the same man numerous, and consecutive, days in a row. And that man was Jeff—also known as the distant sleeper. He never argued about what side of the bed I wanted; he just wanted to make sure there was space between us. The pillow fort Grayson built the first night? That actually would’ve been Jeff’s dream.
Then there's Grayson, who when I made a joke last night before we finally went to bed about making the wall again, had the exact words of “fuck the pillow fort” before pulling me into his hold.
Once last night I rolled away, as my shoulder was starting to hurt, and before I knew it, I was right back in his arms—new position, but same grasp.
It’s becoming addicting. A thought that should scare me, but weirdly doesn’t.
What’s going to happen tonight when we don’t sleep next to each other?
The snow stopped last night, so I know today's our final day at the Timberline. Logan has the jet ready to take me to St. Lucia, but I’m not sure if Grayson is going back to Nashville or headed to his parents in Connecticut.
Would he want to come to the beach with me?
Could he? Is it weird if I ask? Am I needy if I do?
Am I a bitch if I don’t? What are the rules?
Why is there not some guide to love that gives women the road map of how to navigate a relationship?
Oh…I should write one…
"What kind of Christmas Day do you have?"
His question pulls me from my random thoughts of getting into the publishing game. “What kind of day?”
"Yeah. What's your Christmas routine? I find it fascinating how everyone grows up thinking their way of Christmas is the only way, only to find out that everyone does things slightly different.”
“I don’t know about that, I feel like my way is pretty common.
” I say as I roll over, wanting to look at him in the lazy morning light.
“After my dad left, Mom and I made it a point each Christmas to never get out of our pajamas. It wasn’t an f-you to him, just something we started doing together to make a new tradition.
Breakfast consisted of cookies, cinnamon rolls, and absolutely nothing healthy.
We'd open presents—stockings first, because we're not psychopaths—and then after, we just laid around all day watching whatever we felt like putting on, and then ordered Chinese food for dinner.”
That makes Grayson laugh. “Really? Pajamas all day and Chinese for dinner? I heard that they’re one of the few restaurants open on Christmas, but I never met anyone who actually got it on Christmas.”
“It was our favorite,” I say. “Also, Mom was never a big cooker. She always argued why should she have to do something that she doesn't like on a holiday?
“As someone who just implemented that rule in his life, I respect her outlook.”
“It made the day fun. Low stress. A true day of spending time together and just unwinding.”
“Also known as the exact opposite of my family growing up.”
“Let me guess, your family has an agenda and a timed itinerary?”
“It's an unofficial one, but it exists,” he says.
“Shit. I was joking.”
“Oh, there’s no joking about the strict schedule of a Ross Christmas. And it doesn’t matter how big the family is, how many grandchildren are added to the mix, the day is set in stone and cannot be moved.”
“We wake up sharply at eight-thirty in the morning. Which is fine as adults, but setting an alarm as a child, knowing that when it went off you could leave your room was…something. But that’s because no one is allowed to go into the family room until my mother gives the go-ahead.
You know, to make sure everything is perfect for the family picture. ”
“Nothing like a forced family photo to show how happy everyone is.”
“Exactly,” she says with a laugh. “Wait. If you’re taking a perfect family photo, does that mean you…dress up?”
He laughs. “Oh yes. Tie and all. How else are we supposed to show up to the formal breakfast?”
Kat’s eyes about pop out of her head. “Back the fuck up. You're telling me that as a child, knowing that Santa came last night and there were presents about, that you had to get fully dressed in uncomfortable clothes and eat a multi-course breakfast before you could open presents?”
“And no one could leave until everyone was done. Which was the worst when my brother was going through a phase where he refused to eat eggs. In all my years, I don't think a single present has been opened before ten.”
“Wow,” Kat says in disbelief. “I know you and I are just getting started, but can I petition that we spend Christmas with my mother—or anywhere but Connecticut?”
He laughs. “You haven’t heard the worst of it.
That formal breakfast is followed by presents, which takes hours because my grandmother is insistent we all open one at a time, and we also can’t have our phones out during the process.
Oh and did I mention that it’s my entire family?
Aunts, uncles, cousins, and their partners and kids?
It takes forever. By the time we’re done and everyone is miserable, it’s time for lunch, which is a respectable spread of sandwiches and appetizers, before the family photo, and then dinner to be served promptly at six p.m.”
“Where do the cookies fit in?” Kat asks. “Cookies are an important part of Christmas, and the fact that you haven’t mentioned them yet worries me.”
He shakes his head, and my jaw drops.
“Are you telling me that you are a cookie-less family?”
“The only ones we ever saw were the ones we left for Santa.”
“That's... I don't even know what to say. It's just wrong.”
“That’s a Ross Christmas for you.”
“Well that’s not how you’re spending this year,” I say, sitting up off the bed. “Put your pajamas on.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You want me to get out of bed to put on my sleeping clothes?”
“Exactly.” I move closer so I can straddle him, figuring that my boobs in his face will make him agree with my idea.
“We’re going to go downstairs and eat breakfast. If you order one egg, you’re doing this wrong.
Today is about carbs and sugar. And I have on good authority that they are serving cinnamon rolls, waffles, and pancakes with nothing healthy on the side. ”
“And we’re doing this in our pajamas?”
“Exactly. And then when we’re done, we’re going to go into the kitchen and steal every last Christmas cookie there is.”
“Is there any protein in today’s diet?”
“Not a lick. Because when we get back to the room, our day is going to consist of Christmas movies, cookies, naps, and sex.”
Grayson's smile can't be contained. “A day of nothing but cookies and sex?”
“And naps.”
“Of course.”
“How does that sound for our first Christmas together?”
His smile is as bright as any Christmas tree lights. “Sounds like the best Christmas I've ever had.”
“How am I stuffed when all I had was empty calories and powdered sugar?”
I gently dab my mouth after swallowing my last bite of banana foster french toast. “It was those eggs that I gave in and let you eat. The protein messed up the balance.”
"I needed my strength," he says with a laugh before leaning in close. "I do remember that sex was a part of the agenda today. You don't want me passing out, do you?"
"We can't have that," I say, my body heating just thinking about Christmas sex. Which I have to assume ranks at the top of all days to have sex. "If you want one more, you can have it."
He kisses my hand before sitting back. "No, I can’t eat another bite. Though I am ready for my afternoon of fun that also included cookies and naps.”
“Say no more.” I put down my napkin before standing up. “I’m going to go break into the kitchen. Are you coming with me for the Christmas heist?”
He shakes his head. “I’m going to wait for our server to come back. Make sure he’s taken care of. And the others who are working today.”
You can tell a lot about a man on how he treats the wait staff. And if he’s doing what I think he’s about to do, this man just earned a long, afternoon blowjob.
“That’s really nice of you,” I lean down and kiss him. “Chip in extra for me too, okay?”
He nods. “You got it. Meet you at the elevator?”
“Sounds good.”
I give him one more kiss before I start making my way to the kitchen, hoping there’s a worker who I’ve met over the last few days who can sneak me back for some treats. I have no clue if there are actually cookies back there, but there have to be a few, right?
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!”
I smile as I turn to the sound of a voice I don’t think I’m going to forget for a very long time. “How am I ever going to start my day without my very own Santa greeting me?”
“Oh I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” he says. “Merry Christmas, Katherine.”
“Merry Christmas, Howard.”
We embrace in a hug before Howard hands me a gift bag.
“Howard, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Oh it’s nothing,” he says. “Just a little something to make up for the room mix-up, the snow, and having to spend your Christmas here with us.”
“It’s no problem,” I say, looking over to Grayson, who is currently being squeezed by the waiter, whom I’m pretty sure just got the tip of his life. “It turned out to be a pretty good few days.”
That makes Howard smile. “I see that. I’m glad the Timberline can be part of your story.”
“I’ll always remember it,” I say. “And maybe it’ll be a little more memorable if there happen to be any Christmas cookies laying around?”
He smiles and nods his head toward the kitchen. “Follow me. I’ll show you my secret stash.”
“You’re the best.”
Howard leads me back through the kitchen and back into a large pantry. “Let’s see…what do I have?”
I was just hoping for a few chocolate chips and maybe some sugar cookies. But what Howard pulls out of the cupboard in a plastic bag is enough to get Grayson and I through New Years.
“Here you go. Want some milk to go with them?”
I shake my head. “Howard, you don’t have to give me your entire stockpile.”
“You think that’s all I have? That was my tomorrow bag.”
I laugh as I take them from him. “Well, thank you. Grayson and I both appreciate it.”
“So where to when you leave this place?”
“St. Lucia,” I say. “A few days of sun and a beach. I enjoyed the snow, but I’m a warm-weather girl at heart.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Seven o’clock, as long as the roads are clear.”
“Oh, tonight?”
“Is that a problem? I thought the roads were set to open.”
“They are,” he says, suddenly seeming like he’s scrambling. “Before you leave, do you have time to meet with Declan and I?”
“Yeah, sure,” I stutter out. “Do you want to meet now and get it out of the way?”
He shakes his head. “Oh no. I don’t want to ruin the last little bit of time you have here today. Maybe around four, before you head to the airport?”
“That’s fine.” I say, except that it’s not fine because why is he being so cryptic. “Is everything okay?”
He can’t hide the smile. “Let’s just say, it’s very good news.”
I should be happy, but a sense of dread comes over me. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”
Howard leads me out of the kitchen before walking away, and I’m left standing there confused. What would he want to talk to me about besides…
Shit. They’re picking me.
I’ve never been so disappointed to get a client in all my years in PR.
Honestly, in the blissfulness of the past couple days, I almost forgot that’s why we were here in the first place. But that has to be what he wants to talk about. I can’t imagine they’d ask to talk to me just to let me down easy.
But…shit…Grayson. Did I want to win? Yes. But, I don’t want to beat him again. From the little bits I gathered, he had a good presentation. He had good ideas. It feels…don’t know, it feels wrong. Is this my feelings for him clouding my reaction? I don’t think so, but they don’t help.
Does he know yet? Is that why they didn’t want to meet now? That would be pretty shitty of Howard to tell me, knowing I’d still see Grayson before I left.
I suck in a breath and walk back through the restaurant toward the elevator. Except Grayson is still at our table, looking at something on his phone.
I stop to look at him, trying to read his face. It’s like he can feel my eyes on him, because he looks up, and his face is white, and he just looks…sad.
Fuck. Is this it? I don’t want to assume, but there’s nothing in his expression right now that gives me any sort of hope.
The realist in me takes center stage. I thought we could mix business and pleasure. I should’ve known it was a pipe dream. Because seeing his face now? He doesn’t have to say anything.
We’re over before we even began.