Page 283 of Playing With Fire

“Not that one. The Christmas one.”

Of course.

I exchange the perfectly acceptable white platter for the one with holly leaves around the edges.

Mom smiles.

“Thank you.”

I set it on the counter.

“Anything else?”

“You could tell your brother to stop eating everything before dinner.”

“Already tried.”

“Try harder.”

From the living room, Declan yells, “I can hear you!”

“Good!” Mom calls back.

I laugh and reach for another cookie.

Mom raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I'm allowed. I made them.”

“Uh-huh.” She goes back to stirring.

I check my phone.

Nothing.

Not that I'm waiting for anything.

Except I absolutely am.

Bishop had a charity appearance at a children's hospital earlier this week, followed by the Phoenixes' annual ugly sweater party, so I came to Evergreen ahead of him.

He's supposed to arrive sometime this afternoon.

And after spending the last several weeks getting used to waking up beside him, I hate how much I've missed him.

Which is ridiculous, considering it's only been a few days.

My phone vibrates.

Ken: Just passed the Evergreen sign.

My stomach does a ridiculous little flip.

Me: About time.