Page 95 of When There Was You
“Baby, my appetite for you only grows.”
My breath hitches. “Same here. Now stop looking at me like that or I’ll never leave.”
A lascivious smile draws my attention to his lips. “Tempting.”
We eye each other a moment longer, staring like a couple of lovesick idiots. He grasps the back of my head and guides me to his waiting mouth. He kisses me earnestly, melting me from head to toe.
“Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.” More pitter patters.
“I will. And Butch?” The emotions of the day almost overpower me as I collect my thoughts. “Thank you for inviting me today. It meant a lot to be here. I’m sorry I fought you on it.”
He shakes his head decisively. “No apologies, Sundance.”He pulls me back into his grasp. “You came, and I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day. All my favorite people in one place. It was my best Thanksgiving too.”
My eyes glisten and I nestle into his chest a little deeper. Hearing his heartbeat thud so reassuringly under his clothes, it’s as if it’s talking to mine. Two hearts, reaching toward the other, finally free to seek love again.
No lasso necessary.
Forty-Eight
Ireturn to the Hamilton household on the morning of cookie day. It’s strange coming straight to his parents’ house, but I’ll see Butch later, after he returns from a client meeting with his father.
All females from Thanksgiving are present, plus two cousins close to Liz’s age—Shelly and Barbara.
Jerri wasn’t kidding about the production aspect. Long folding tables are set up for decorating, one holding tubs layered with the hundreds of sugar cookies and gingerbread men baked yesterday. Jerri names the new varieties underway: cherry pecan balls, thumbprint cookies, molasses crinkles, peanut butter kisses, and Grandma Gray’s melt-in-your-mouths.
Christmas music from the radio plays softly in the background as we chat, bake, snack, and decorate.
Once I’ve helped Jerri make several batches, I’m steered to a table brimming with royal icing colors, assorted sprinkles, edible silver balls, and small candies. The two grandmothers, Dot and Mabel, are old pros and deftly school me on technique.
I’ve never decorated a cookie in my life, but I get the hang of it quickly and enjoy the deliberation and experimentation. After the first half-dozen, mine even start to look pretty.
Funny stories are swapped, good-natured teasing abounds, and more cookies get produced than in a commercial bakery. I’m not sure what to label the sensation blanketing me…it’s like being transported into a heartwarming holiday movie.
Emmy races in—this girl favors running as her main mode of transportation—plops into the chair next to me and is about to grab a blank when Liz reminds her to wash her hands. Emmy drags her feet to the sink, but she cleans up without complaint.
“Need any help?” I ask when she returns. As if. Jerri said this was tradition; the kid’s probably been at it for years.
She shakes her head. “I’m literally going to make a whole gingerbread family.”
I give her an encouraging smile, inwardly cracking up over her constant use ofliterally. “That sounds fun.”
Emmy lines up two large gingerbread bodies next to a couple of smaller ones. Wasting no time, she dives in with different colors, obliterating each with candy. It’s an utter mess when she finishes—a big, beautiful mess. Her expression lights up as she shows everyone her masterpieces.
Later that afternoon, Butch strides in and the sight of him makes my stomach dip. The energy between us crackles…everything supercharged since Thanksgiving. He’s greeted warmly by the crew, and when Jerri slips her arm around his waist, he stares down at her affectionately and squeezes her closer.
“Smells terrific in here. I think I just gained five pounds. And by the amount of frosting on Emmy’s face, she ate more than she decorated.”
I’m midway through adorning another sugar cookie when he heads my way.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He gives me a tender kiss on the top of my head before he slides into the chair his daughter recently vacated. His smile reaches those pretty eyes, and all I can think is,mine.
“Hey, Lumberjack.”
“Whatdid she call you?” Liz asks. Butch ignores her, casting me a withering stare.
“Lumberjack,” I supply, unable to suppress my grin.
Liz guffaws. “Priceless.”
