Page 41 of Go Back to December
The noise of the match switches off abruptly, replaced by Bing Crosby’s melodious rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy.”
And then something truly horrible happens. As the music softens, I realize it’s not the solo Bing version of the song.
David Bowie joins him, singing of peace.
Baz’s gaze locks on mine.
“Are you supposed to be somewhere else? For the holidays. With your family or—” His words drift off. “I didn’t ask at the hospital. I should have.”
His approximate apology draws my familiar irritation and makes my heartbeat retreat to a less frantic pace. “My mom and stepdad are on a cruise, and my brother is on active duty overseas.”
“But you must have had plans.”
My intended holiday agenda was to volunteer at the women’s shelter, and then eat my bodyweight in shortbread cookies while binge-watching multiple seasons of Extreme Cake Decorating Showdown. Which I’d never confess to.
What he’s really asking is if I had arrangements to spend the holiday with someone.
“Melody?”
The soft turn to his voice makes me unsteady. “Can we focus on the plan for today?”
Down the hall, Oscar clamors, Asshole.
Baz groans. “What are they all doing here?”
“They’re here for you, you selfish idiot.” I’m relieved when his familiar scowl returns. Because I can work with it. “Your family is trying to make things right. Why won’t you let them take care of you?”
When he rattles his head, I’m tempted to shake it harder between my own hands. “We shouldn’t be lying to them.”
“I’m not asking you to lie. Just obscure the details.”
He is impossible. “Things with Annabel seem okay.”
Baz shrugs. “When Oscar was born, we made an effort to see more of each other.”
“Then she wouldn’t mind staying a few days to help you.”
“She’s on deadline for a huge project up at the lake. And we’ve already said you’d stay.”
“You could tell them we broke up.”
“What kind of asshole breaks up with someone at Christmas?”
He’s outraged at the very idea. His nose scrunches in disgust.
It’s adorably distracting and sends my nerves a-flutter. “We need ground rules.”
“For what?”
“How we interact in front of your family.” Heat rises on my cheeks. “G-rated behavior only.”
“I’m not going to stick my tongue down your throat and feel you up in front of my parents.”
The roughness of his tone drowns out his sarcasm. Its immediate effect is that now I can envision nothing else.
His lips on mine. Those long hands exploring me.
A pot drops onto the kitchen floor, startling me back to the present moment. Baz is staring at me.
