And I think, ever so briefly of his lips on mine, his big hands on my waist, and my back against a tree in the groom’s mother’s back yard.
Before I can get much further with that train of thought, he brushes his hands together, then notices me.
“You surviving?” he says, the ghost of a smile on his face, nodding.
I make eye contact, which deserves a medal.
“I’m doing all right,” I tell him. “Though I’m not sure Bryce and Ryan are ever going to sleep again.”
Grady just laughs.
“It’s Christmas Eve, no one under the age of ten was going to sleep anyway,” he says, and crosses his arms in front of himself, then looks over at the pile of gifts. “Think there’s enough?”
The presents take up an entire wall. There are big ones, little ones, weirdly-shaped ones. They’re all wrapped and all have nametags.
My first instinct is to be impressed.
My second is to be sad that I missed watching Grady carry all this stuff.
“This is all from your office?” I ask.
“Nah, some is from the radio station’s drive,” he says. “Some my parents asked for and I picked up. A couple are from the office.”
There’s a tiny voice in the back of my head that says: he’s the world’s nicest guy, but he never called?
Sigh. I look at his forearms one more time, then look away before I get too flustered.
“Anyway, if you want, I can take you home now,” he says, turning back toward me. “I think there’s still a little while before dinner, and now that I’ve got everything out of the truck I can just run you over there —”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly.
Grady blinks.
“You sure?” he asks, skeptical.
“I don’t mind staying for dinner,” I say. “I mean, if you don’t mind. Saves me having to microwave something for myself.”
He shrugs.
“Unless you want me to leave already?”
“I’m happy for you to stay,” he says. “My parents are thrilled and the kids are having a great time, I just wanted to make sure that —”
“You’re supposed to kiss,” a voice says.
We both turn. Taylor, the eight-year-old, is standing in the wide entryway to the living room, looking at us, arms crossed over her chest.
Instantly, I feel like someone’s lit my face on fire.
“What?” I say, my voice higher than it should be.
“Who says?” Grady asks, voice perfectly calm, teasing.
“There’s mistletoe,” Taylor says, and points. “You have to kiss.”
I follow her finger, and she’s right: there’s mistletoe hanging in the center of the doorway, a good ten feet from where Grady and I are standing.
“We don’t have to kiss,” I point out.
“We’re not even under it,” Grady says at the exact same time.
We look at each other, and suddenly, I feel like Mitch has taken his potato masher to my insides.
Grady doesn’t look annoyed, or grossed out, or exasperated. He looks… amused? Like he’s smiling a little bit. Teasing.
He looks like he doesn’t hate the idea. For a moment, I swear I can feel rough bark against my back.
“Yes, you do,” Taylor says, with an air of absolute authority. “It’s the law.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s just tradition,” I tell her. “Mistletoe isn’t legally binding, it’s only —”
“Are you sure?” Grady asks.
I stop. My face gets hotter. I’m probably the same color as his Santa outfit right now.
“I’ve never actually read all the laws,” he continues. “Have you?”
I give him a quick head-to-toe look, heart thumping, mind racing.
“I can’t say I have,” I tell him. “You think that one’s in there?”
“Of course it’s in there,” Taylor says.
“I’d hate to risk it,” Grady says.
Now I’m giving his flirty smile right back to him, my head cocked to one side.
“Better safe than sorry, right?” I ask. “I wouldn’t want to get your family in any trouble.”
He closes the distance between us in a few steps. Puts his hand on my waist. I put mine on his shoulder and swallow hard, feeling the muscles flex under my fingers.
“Just in case?” he murmurs, raising one eyebrow.
“Just in case,” I agree, tilting my face up.
Then Grady leans in and kisses me.
Chapter Six
GRADY
Adeline’s lips are soft and warm. She moves into me as I kiss her, the slightest forward motion, and I slide my hand further around her waist until we’re fully touching, her fingers now around the back of my neck.
I’ve been thinking about this for four months. I’ve been trying not to, but I have. I open my mouth and touch my tongue to her bottom lip and she pushes forward again, her lips parting under mine, my hand tightening around —
“Gross,” says Taylor.
Adeline and I both startle backward, just in time to see the eight-year-old roll her eyes and walk off.
Then we look at each other. She’s still bright pink, the same color she turned when Taylor suggested we kiss. Her lips are bright red, and I can’t stop looking at them, or at her because even in that sweater she’s driving me crazy.
Adeline half-smiles at me, then shrugs. I shrug back.
Then I take her hand, pull her in, and kiss her again.
Without an audience, it deepens instantly: mouths open, bodies together. I flatten my hand against the small of her back, the other laced through her hair as she presses against me.
Finally, we end the kiss, pull back, breathe, and thank God for that because these pants are about thirty seconds away from becoming very family unfriendly.
I swallow hard.
“Adeline,” I murmur, and I’m about to ask something like why are you kissing me like this when you wouldn’t even give me your real phone number, but then I hear my mom’s voice from upstairs.
“Grady!” she calls. “Come pick your sweater!”
“I’ll be back,” I tell her, instead, and let her go.
“Have fun,” she says, and she still sounds breathless.
I head upstairs, a swirl of desire and confusion.
I get the snowman sweater, which only plays one song: Frosty the Snowman, obviously. When I come back down Adeline is playing a Christmas-themed version of Candyland with Bryce and Sasha, both of whom are flagrantly cheating.
She just laughs and lets them get away with it.
“This is the first time I’ve seen Sasha smile like that,” my mom says, handing me a salad to toss. “She’s a serious kid.”
There’s a squeal of laughter from the next room, and my mom looks over. To be sure, it’s Sasha, both hands over her mouth as she giggles.
My mom just raises both eyebrows at me.
“I think she might be a keeper,” she says, and then steps over to the stove.
Salad still in my hands, I look over at where Adeline and the kids are playing. She’s sitting on the floor, laughing right along with them. When her head is turned, Bryce reaches toward her and a second later, I hear the strains of Santa Claus is Coming to Town.