Chapter Four
Eric
I’m in the zone.
Ingredients are all over the damn place as I sample a few different versions of the gingerbread batter I’m toying with using. It’s kind of ridiculous how into winning this thing I am. Just because I got canned at my job doesn’t mean the competitive streak is gone too.
“So, what are we doing exactly? A gingerbread house? People? Cookies?” Clara asks, reaching past me to swipe her finger along the edge of the bowl of the newest batch.
She sucks a finger between her lips and makes a groaning sound that’s distracting as fuck.
“Ohhhh, yes. We have a winner. This one is really good.”
None of them are particularly sweet because of their purpose, but this one has a unique flavor. We’re going for creativity with our entry, but we’re hoping the taste will be as good as it can be.
“The glazes will be what sets it apart,” I explain to her as I set the bowl down. “One for humans and one for dogs.”
“What’s the difference?” she asks. “Is the human version better?”
“Sweeter. The dogs can’t have all that sugar.”
I show her the ingredients on my phone for the dog’s glaze. “Peanut butter and pumpkin puree.”
“That sounds super tasty, though.” She cocks her head at me. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we just made one that was good enough for humans but safe enough for dogs?”
It’s certainly less complicated than making multiple recipes.
We spend the next couple of hours focused on perfecting our recipe that’s intended to be consumed by both humans and dogs. The house smells like ginger and molasses and I haven’t thought about stocks not once. I’m happy. I haven’t had real fun in so long, I forgot what it felt like.
You always had fun with Clara.
While the gingerbreadmen-shaped cookies bake, I lean my hip on the counter watching Clara as she washes more of the dishes we used up. Her dark hair has been pulled up in a messy pile on her head and she’s changed back into that sinful snowflake-midriff-showing sweater. I’m so fucking here for it.
Pervert.
I ignore my inner hater to sneak a peek at her ass in her leggings.
Looking doesn’t hurt a damn thing. I’m a man who can appreciate the sexy swell of a woman’s curvy ass.
My cock twitches in agreement. If she weren’t my stepsister and were just some woman I wanted to fuck, I’d have no problem crowding her from behind and letting her feel how aroused she makes me.
Fuck, I need to get my shit together.
What if she sees me drooling over her with my dick trying to tear out of my jeans?
I can’t lose her again. Not when I finally got her back in my life. My stupidity tore her from me once before, but I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.
To keep myself distracted, I set to cleaning up some of the mess on the countertops. Clara glances my way and flashes me a sweet smile that makes my chest ache. I smirk at her which has her cheeks turning as pink as her sweater. Fucking adorable.
Movement outside the window steals my attention.
I squint through the heavily falling snow to see something running near the pond.
It’s a small dog, I think. The thing races between Clara and her neighbor’s townhomes toward the parking lot.
Seconds later, a massive man in a blue uniform trudges through the snow following the dog’s tracks.
I abandon my cleaning rag to rush over to the front of her townhome to peek out the door. An animal control truck sits idling in the parking lot with the back cage door open.
Out of nowhere, the little dog runs for me, past me, and into the house.
I see the guy round the corner and I panic.
Quickly, I shut the door and spin around to face the little runaway.
He stares up at me with the most pitiful eyes I’ve ever seen.
If I had to guess, he’s a toy poodle mixed with maybe a Yorkshire Terrier.
And, he’s old, exhausted, filthy, and shivering.
I scoop him up and hug him to me, unsure what to do. What I’m not doing is letting him get captured. The dog catcher looked scary as fuck. I’d run for my life too.
“I’ve got you, little man,” I whisper. “You’re safe now.”
Clara walks into the living room. “Who was at the door—is that a dog?”
We both stare at her with puppy dog eyes, one of us shivering from the cold and the other twitching with nerves.
“He was about to die,” I blurt out, voice low. “I just saved him.”
Her brown eyes widen as she approaches. “Oh, look at him. He’s an elderly pup. Where’s his owner?”
A knock on the door startles us both. I shove the little guy into her arms and motion for her to hide. Once she’s scurried out of sight, I answer the door as nonchalantly as possible.
It’s the creepy dog catcher.
“Hey, man,” I say, sounding guilty as fuck.
He narrows his beady eyes on me. “You seen a white dog running around here? I’m looking for him.”
“What? No.”
His gaze drifts past me into the house. “Smells good in there.”
“I’m baking cookies. Is the owner looking for the dog?”
He grunts and runs his tongue over his yellow teeth. “No owner. His owner died a few weeks ago. No family to take it in. The little bastard keeps escaping the facility up the road. I’ve rounded him up three times now from this complex.”
I point past him and exclaim, “He went that way! I saw him running!”
The man utters a thanks and lumbers off in the direction I pointed at. I close and lock the door before turning to find Clara. She peeks around the corner with the dog who’s now wrapped in a soft taupe towel.
“The bad man’s gone,” she croons to the dog. “You’re safe now with us.”
Relief floods through me. I think we just stole a dog, but it’s good knowing his real owners aren’t out looking for him. He just wants a home. You have to give the little dude credit for literally finding one for himself. He chose well. Clara’s home is the best.
“What do we call him?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. “Frosty?”
He yips and his tongue lols out as if he likes that name. Frosty it is.
“You showed up just in time, Frosty,” I tell him. “Let your new momma clean you up while I take the cookies out. You’re in for a real treat, buddy.”
Twenty minutes later Clara returns with a freshly bathed Frosty. The cookies have cooled and I get to test our contest entry on our new little friend. I hold out a leg of the gingerbread man to see if Frosty is interested. He eagerly eats it up and yips for more.
“Are you allowed to have pets?” I ask, guilt flooding in that I made a quick decision without consulting her.
“As if Reid could tell me no. His son is married to my bestie,” Clara sasses, reminding me of how she earned the nickname “sass” as a kid.
“Besides, if the beer bros can have a fake mechanical bull in their front yard, and Maggie over there can have five hundred cats, I think I can have the bestest doggie in the whole wide world.”
Her neighbors are strange, but I like that she knows them all and feels at home here.
Back in New York, I didn’t even know my landlord’s name, much less my neighbors.
Everything about that place was cold and impersonal.
Here, it’s warm and comforting. Again, maybe getting fired was exactly what I needed.
We spend the rest of the evening making our dog/human gingerbread cookies, only stopping long enough to run to the pet shop to grab some supplies for Frosty.
“When do you go back to work?” I ask once we’re settled on the couch for the evening, one of Clara’s silly Christmas Hallmark movies on the television. “Frosty and I will be lonely without you.”
Hearing his new name, his tail thumps against Clara’s arm, but he doesn’t wake up. Since he’s not a young pup anymore, the day has finally caught up to him and he’s exhausted. I stroke my palm over his back hoping he feels loved even asleep. It’s sad he lost his owner.
“Monday,” Clara says with a sigh as she hugs Frosty to her. “I’m having fun this weekend. I wish I could take a longer break.”
She yawns and leans her head against my shoulder. Because I can’t help it, I lift my arm so she can snuggle against my side, and then wrap my arm around her. I nuzzle my nose against her hair, bathing in her familiar scent I’ve missed so much.
As we watch the movie, I admire all the decorations we put up today. The place looks like Christmas puked all over and I love it. Nostalgia hits me right in the gut.
“When are you going to go see our parents and the kids?”
Her question has oily guilt sluicing through me. It makes me feel like a sicko holding her like she’s my damn girlfriend or something. Clara is my stepsister. We share family. Fuck.
Still, I can’t bear the idea of letting go of her right now. She feels good glued to my side with our sleeping dog between us.
“Soon,” I grit out. “Probably.”
“They miss you. Ruthie and Layla talk about you all the time.”
“I’m surprised they even remember me.” I frown because I’m a selfish dick. “The longer I’m away, the harder it is, you know?”
She reaches over to take my hand in hers. “They still love you. We all do.”
I’m relieved that they all have to love me because I’m family. Even Clara. There’s no escaping me, even when I fuck up, because we’re bound together through our parents’ marriage.
“You should invite them up to the Christmas Extravaganza tomorrow,” I tell her before I chicken out. “We could use all the extra votes we can get.”
Her fingers thread with mine and it feels intimate. Forbidden but also right. I squeeze her hand, desperate to cling on to her.
“The girls will love it. Plus, our little baby needs to meet the family.”
Frosty yips in his sleep. Cutest dog I’ve ever seen in my life.
I stroke my thumb over the back of her hand and kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for letting me crash land here, sass. When my world shattered, all I could think about was getting back to you. Somehow, I knew you’d be able to fix it and you’re doing just that.”
She tilts her head up to look at me. With her this close and her parted lips looking positively succulent, it takes incredible self-control not to dip my mouth to hers. How fucked up would that be? I’d deserve a kick to the balls.
Would she kick me?
Or would she kiss me back?
It’s a dangerous line of thought and one I have no business thinking about. And yet, I wonder if her lips and tongue taste as sweet as the treats she keeps feeding me.
“Hey, Eric?”
“Yup?”
Her eyes close and she sighs. “Do you ever wish for something…”
I wait for her to finish the thought, but she doesn’t. She shakes her head and then rests it against my chest. Her unfinished words hang in the air for me to inspect and obsess over each one.
I wish for something I can’t have.
The past couple of days, it’s all I can think about.
Does she feel it too? Am I bad person for hoping so?
When she falls asleep, I carry both her and Frosty to her bed to tuck them in. It takes immense strength to leave them and crash on the bed in the room I’m staying in. I lie awake in the dark, my hand lazily stroking cock, wishing I could answer that question.
Yes, sass. I wish that too.