“If there was one food …” She starts to mimic me, and I shake my head.
“That mouth is going to get you in trouble,” I say, and her eyes fly to mine. “Favorite drink.”
“Coffee,” she answers without hesitation. “Actually, before I had Dylan, I hated the taste, then when he went through his eight months of crying for twenty-three hours a day, coffee was my lifeline.”
“Just regular?” I ask.
“If there is milk, that is even better, but I can drink it black,” she says. “Sometimes, I used to splurge and buy the flavored creamer.” She cuts up the salad. “You?”
“Water,” I say, and she looks up. “What? I like water.” She shakes her head. “Favorite holiday.”
“Usually, I would pick Christmas,” she says, “but as he gets older, and the gifts get harder and harder to buy, I’m going to go with Halloween.” My heart sinks, but I don’t show her nor do I make eye contact with her. “You?”
“Christmas,” I answer. “Hands down for me, it’s Christmas and not for the gifts. My family couldn’t care less what was under the tree. The thing that I love is being with my family. I don’t even know how many there are of us anymore, but just hanging out with them and being with them for four days.” I look at her, and she just looks at me. “It’s just everything.”
“What do you guys usually do?” she asks.
“We usually have it at my parents’ house since it’s a touch bigger than everyone else’s,” I say. “My mother usually does the cooking, or they cater, but more often than not, it’s my mom who cooks. On Christmas Eve, we just get together. Everyone comes over, and we watch movies, or the kids play games, but it’s just us. We usually all stay at my parents’. Well, we did before. Now with so many kids and since they all live a block away, they usually just go home and come back at the ass crack of dawn.” I laugh. “We open the gifts in our pjs, and then we make a huge breakfast.”
“That sounds like exactly what Christmas should be about,” she says. I don’t add in that she is going to experience it for herself this year because I’m afraid she’ll close up again.
“Favorite color?” I ask, and this time, she answers without thinking twice.
“Pink or purple. What about you?”
“I would say blue.” I don’t add that guys don’t usually have a favorite color. “Favorite movie.”
“Gosh,” she says, cutting and adding to the bowl of salad. “The last movie I saw was Beauty and the Beast.” She laughs. “I mean, we watched it on my phone, so you can imagine the size of it.” She looks at me. “You?”
“Anything but Frozen,” I say. “Like literally anything but that movie.”
“Should I ask why?” She laughs.
“My niece went through a phase. And by phase, I mean every single time it finished, she watched it again. At first, it was okay, but by day two, I wanted to snap the Wi-Fi wire.”
“So no Frozen for movie night?” She smiles at me, and I walk over to her, leaning down and kissing her, and she kisses me back this time.
“I’m going to start the grill, and then I’m going to make the potatoes,” I say, and she nods. This time, she leans up and kisses me first. I want to run around with my hands over my head and cheer out victory, but I don’t. After I walk outside to start the grill, the door opens, and Dylan comes out.
“Is it almost ready?” he asks, and I have to laugh at him.
“In about fifteen minutes,” I say and go inside. The salad is now done, and she’s waiting for me. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to start the potatoes,” she says, “but I don’t know how to work your microwave.” She points at my microwave. “That has way too many options. Mine has a dial that you turn to the amount of time you want.” I walk over and show her how it works.
“Do you want to eat inside or outside?” I ask, and she shrugs. “Sweetheart, just pick.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” she says, looking at me. “Either one is fine.”
“Dylan.” I call his name, and he comes running in. “Inside or outside?” I ask, and he chooses outside.
“What do we need to set the table outside?” she asks, and now it’s my turn to shrug. “Do you have place mats? A pitcher so I can bring some water out?”
I show her where everything is, and she sets the table while I check the steaks. When I walk out with a plate, I look over at the table and stop. She has set it with place mats and napkins. She has brought out the glasses and a pitcher of ice water that will slowly melt before we sit at the table. “It’s ready,” I say, bringing the steaks to the table, and Dylan comes out, sitting on one of the chairs. “Sit. I’ll go get the rest,” I say, and she, of course, doesn’t listen to me. She follows me inside, and when we get into the kitchen, I turn around and grab her face in my hands. “Thank you,” I say right before I lean in for a kiss. “For having dinner with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Caroline
His voice is so soft that if he wasn’t so close, I wouldn’t have heard it. “Thank you for having dinner with me,” he whispers right before his lips crash down on mine, and I open my mouth for him. I wrap my arms around his neck, for the first time admitting that I want this kiss more than anything. I also admit I really like this guy. I also push away the thoughts of what is going to be left of me when he moves on.
His hands move from my face to my neck and then to my waist, pulling me to him. His tongue dances with mine softly at first, and then the kiss deepens, and I feel him against my stomach. I moan, and it’s swallowed by his kiss, making his hands slip down to my hips, and he pushes me into the wall. My hands move up into his hair, the hair I itch to touch all the time. “Fuck,” he hisses, moving from my lips to my neck, and I move my head to the side to give him better access.
“When you two are done kissing, can I eat?” When I hear Dylan, my hands drop so fast, but Justin just keeps his hands on my hips, and he laughs in my neck.
“Yeah, buddy,” Justin says, turning to look at him. “We’re coming right out.”
Dylan nods and skips away to the door going outside. “Oh my God,” I say, and Justin looks at me. “I can’t believe he caught us making out.”
“I’m planning on making out with you a lot, so the chances of him catching us again are very high,” he says and kisses my neck, but his hands fall. “Assuming you are okay with making out with me?”
“I mean …” I start to say, and he looks at me. “I like kissing you, but I also don’t want him to think that …” I try to find the words. “That I’m, you know.”
“I don’t know.” He looks at me and then puts his hands on his hips. “I think that he will see us kissing and know that when you like someone a lot, it’s okay to show them you like them.”
“He’s never seen me kiss anyone,” I say. “And I mean anyone. Not even his father.”