“Quick! Someone take a picture! Anna’s voluntarily helping in the kitchen!” Julian jokes.
Annalisa responds by lobbing a wooden spoon at her boyfriend, which he easily deflects with a laugh.
The house is beautiful, but the only problem is that it’s open concept, so there are no walls dividing the kitchen and TV area. This is a problem because it’s raining outside and the guys are bored, which means annoying us is their only form of entertainment.
“Go video call your parents,” I tell them. “You all promised you’d wish them Merry Christmas on both Christmas Eve and Day.”
“We all did that already,” Julian says.
“Then go play outside or something,” Annalisa orders them as she gets another spoon, having lost hers.
Noah sits down beside Julian at the kitchen island and steals a cucumber from the salad we just finished preparing.
“It’s raining outside.” He reaches to steal another cucumber but Charlotte swats his hand away, and he gives her a kicked puppy look.
She huffs but ends up falling for it, giving him another cucumber slice before moving the salad to the counter.
“When has the rain ever stopped you from doing something?” she asks him.
He tilts his head, contemplating the question. “Well, never. But dinner’s almost ready, and my mother would have a conniption if she found out I ruined Christmas Eve dinner by showing up soaking wet.” Judy is a woman to be reckoned with.
We tell them to make themselves useful and set the table if they insist on bothering us, which they do with the utmost dedication. Eventually, we’re sitting around the table eating, and the guys are too busy stuffing their faces to annoy us any longer.
Jason looks at me, sauce all over his face. “I already knew you made good pancakes, but your pasta is amazing!”
“I’m glad you like it, Jason.” I smile at him, then laugh when Aiden throws him a napkin and tells him to try not to miss his mouth anymore.
“This cucumber salad is really great too. What dressing is this, Char?” I ask, scooping a second serving onto my plate.
“Actually, Mason mixed a bunch of stuff for the dressing and wouldn’t tell me what it was,” she tells me, and the blood drains from my face. I’ve been an expert at avoiding speaking directly to Mason since we got here.
“It’s a secret,” he replies. “My mom taught me. But maybe I’ll show you, k-bear, since you clearly like it so much.”
His mom taught him? Natalia? The sweet, innocent woman who was nothing but nice to me when I met her? Is it hot in here? Why am I sweating?
“Actually, you know, I think too many cucumbers give me a stomachache, so it’s probably best I don’t know the recipe. Hey, is that a bunny outside? I swear I just saw one jump by on the back porch.” All my words jumble together and when everyone turns to look for the fictional bunny, I pull on the collar of my shirt a few times to air myself out, dropping my hand and smiling casually when everyone turns back to look at me.
“Uh, I guess we missed it. Are you sure you don’t want the recipe?” Mason asks slowly.
“Yup. Hey, Jason and Jackson, why don’t you tell everyone about the level you beat on Intense Alien Vampires today?” I say, and the twins take the bait and the spotlight off of me immediately.
“It’s Return of the Zombie Aliens Part Three and a Half.” Jason sighs exasperatedly. We’re never going to get the name right. “But it was so cool! We used the trick you told us about, Noah, and …”
I tune out after that. Aiden nudges me and tilts his head in a silent question. I know, Aiden, I know. I’m a mess. I just send him a tight smile and stare at my plate for the rest of dinner, not at all hungry for that second serving of salad on my plate like I was a few minutes ago.
Everyone helps clean up after dinner and Aiden takes out the stockings he brought—ten in total, one for each of us—and lets the twins hang them up above the electric fireplace. They then set out some cookies and promise to put the milk for Santa out before bed. Afterward, Aiden and I somehow get lucky and manage to get some uninterrupted alone time.
We’re sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing each other, eating Nutella sandwiches for a late-night snack and playing a very intense game of would you rather.
“Okay, would you rather lick Nutella off Noah’s toes or streak at the next school football game?”
“That’s easy,” he answers. “Streaking.”
I take a bite of my heavenly sandwich and instantly disagree with his choice. “Really? Over Nutella?”
He gives me a sexy smirk, which causes heat to rush to my face. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
I wouldn’t know, but when he looks at me like that …