Page 86 of His Ruin
When Dylan pulls back, he brushes my hair out of my face. “Let’s eat and get some sleep. We have a drive tomorrow.”
Christmas is a few days away, and we’ve been planning to visit my parents for a week. It’ll be the longest he’s been away from work since he started his company, and it’s meant to help us reconnect. Exchanging gifts and spending our afternoons cuddled up on the sofa as we watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate while a snowstorm blows in.
I finally lift my hand to his face, trying to let go of all the negativity of the evening. “Our bags are already packed.”
He smiles. “Good. Which means I get you all to myself tonight.”
Yeah.
All to himself.
We arrived earlier than planned at Mom and Dad’s house. Mostly because an argument started this morning when Dylan found that I had left his work planner out of his bag. That led to a screaming match about taking this timeawayfrom his job.
He apologized.
I forced us into the car without a second thought.
Anything to be away from our own home.
As he rolls up the stone path of the mansion, a light snowfall begins, signaling that the storm is on track. I smile softly at the snowflakes dusting over my window, finding a comfort I didn’t realize I needed in this weather.
Dylan’s phone rings, cutting through my dream as he curses and turns it off.
Always working.
Even when he isn’t at the office.
“Is it Mark?” I ask.
Dylan pulls up to the garage, cutting the engine. “Yeah, but I sent him to voicemail.” He rolls his head across the rest, taking my hand in his before lifting it to kiss my knuckles. “This week is about us.”
I huff a chuckle. “And my parents.”
“Right,” he nods before peering into the backseat piled high with brightly wrapped gifts. “Do you think we got them enough?”
A real laugh escapes me. “I think you’re spoiling them.”
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, his expression warming. “I love your laugh. I’ve missed it this week.”
I hum as we share a kiss, our chaotic morning long forgotten. “Let’s go before they come searching for us.”
“Can’t have Mom walking in on us making out again,” he jokes, bringing a chuckle from me at the memory.
We load our arms down with presents, the cold biting past our thick coats as we hobble up the iced-over stairs. Dylan observes the driveway with keen eyes. “I’m going to have to shovel and salt that for them.”
The front door opens, revealing Mom with her new streaks of grey in her hair. It’s pulled back tightly into a bun, her eyes lighting up the moment she spots us. “Oh! Come on inside before the wind sweeps you away!”
Dad takes the presents from me and kisses my cheek. “Welcome home, honey.”
“It’s good to be back,” I smile as I shed my coat and hang it up by the door. Fresh cinnamon and cream waft through the air, the smell of homemade eggnog and candy canes taking me back to nostalgic days. There are Christmas decorations everywhere, tinsel and ornaments hanging off the massive tree in the living room. There’s garland along the kitchen island and over the roaring fireplace, lighting up the whole house as warmth wiggles into my skin.
“I’ve missed you!” Mom gushes as she squeezes me into a tight hug.
Dad and Dylan do that weird, man-clap thing where they shake hands and pat each other’s backs. Mom kisses my fiancé‘s cheek before gliding back into the kitchen and shoving her red oven mitts on her hands.
“I’ve got fresh snickerdoodle cookies coming out now,” she sings.
Dylan places a hand over his heart, resting his head back as he rocks on his heels. “You know my only weakness, Mom.”
