“What time do we need to leave for the play?” I catch Natalie before she disappears to whatever mom task she’s off to. “The kids have to be there by 5:30, but the show doesn’t start until 6:30. You guys can meet us there. We have seats reserved for you, and my parents too. Just look for our names on the chairs when you get there.”
That gives us a couple of hours to kill. I turn to Preston, who’s scrolling through his phone. “How are your baking skills?” He looks over his shoulder and then back at me, pointing to his chest. His face crinkles the same way it does when he’s trying to work out an essay question.
Okay, I’ll take that as not great.
“Come on. Looks like my teaching time isn’t over yet.” I go into kitchen mode, pulling down the ingredients, and digging out the holiday cookie cutters. There’s just enough time. They’ll be finished baking by the time we need to leave and cooled for us to decorate tomorrow with the kids. Then they’ll have homemade cookies to leave for Santa in a couple of days if they make it that long.
“Can you grab me the measuring cup from the drawer over there?” I nod in the general direction. While he fumbles around trying to free it from the overflowing drawer, I plug in the mixer and unwrap the butter before grabbing the sugar. Preston breaks the cup free, dropping it into my waiting hand. I measure out the cup I need before dumping it in with the butter and flipping on the paddle to cream them together.
“You’re not going to follow a recipe?” he asks, a hint of wonder in his voice.
Tapping the side of my head, I wink and give him a smile. “Okay, crack two eggs into that small bowl and then slowly pour them into the mixer for me,” I instruct while measuring out a teaspoon of vanilla extract. That done, I look around the island for the flour I thought I’d grabbed. It’s missing, which makes sense because I remember Natalie keeps it at the top of the baking cabinet, and I can’t reach it without a stool.
“Second guessing your skills?” he teases.
“Nope. Just forgot the flour. Can you grab it, it’s on the top shelf in that cabinet.” The second, he pulls it off the shelf, the kitchen fills with a cloud of white powder. He splutters as the flour coats him from head to toe.
I can’t hold back my surprised laughter but in the next instant, I join in the sputtering as I suck the flour into my own lungs. “Oh my god, I can’t believe that just happened.”
Preston drops what’s left of the bag on the counter, and more flour puffs into the air on impact. His face is stark white, except for his eyes, which are blinking rapidly. His lips pop as he blows off the flour coating them. “I don’t even know what to do,” he says slightly stunned. Another wave of laughter ripples through me. “Natalie,” I yell toward the stairs.
Hurried steps sound around the corner “What the…” Nat’s mouth gapes like a fish. The picture of pure astonishment. A fit of laughter bubbles up in my chest, Preston joins in. His boisterous cackle breaks through Nat’s daze.
“Faulty…flour…bag,” he wheezes. She shoos us into the garage, white floury footprints dust the floor in our wake. “Strip down. There should be some garbage bags on the shelf.”
“You’ve got a little something in your hair,” I taunt Preston.
“Oh shoot, really?” He runs his fingers through his hair shaking his head in my direction. The flour floats free from his long strands dropping a light coating around us in the garage.
“Okay, okay I think you got it.”
He quickly undresses, shoving the floured clothes in the bag. I’m momentarily dumbstruck, mouth hanging open. It’s not like I haven’t seen naked men, but my in-person experience is limited and none of them came close to the living Greek statue practically naked in front of me.
Preston clears his throat, suddenly conscious that I’m staring, I snap my mouth shut and reluctantly meet his amused gaze. His cocky grin should irritate the crap out of me, but it just makes him look more charming. “I’m going to go change for the show and give you some privacy.” He shuts the office door behind him, relief floods my body, and my embarrassment wanes.
Shucking off my flour-coated clothes and stuffing them into the garbage bag, I drop it on the washing machine. The garage’s freezing temperatures quickly hitting now that I’m stripped down. The dryer is full but digging through the load of laundry I come up empty for something to put on. My eyes cast around the space, I didn’t think this through. Before I find anything, Preston steps out, jeans hanging low on his hips, that defined V muscle on full display. He’s shirtless and I can’t decide if I like this look more.
My arms instinctively move to cover my naked chest. I expect him to avert his eyes, to apologize for walking in on me, but he doesn’t. He gives me a once over, taking in every naked inch of me on display. “I thought you might want this?” He holds out a worn tee shirt. I grab it from his grip, with thanks, giving him my back before sliding it on over my head. I’m swimming in it. It smells of laundry soap and the woods, just like him.
“Clara.” I turn back around, bumping right into his chest, his big hand rests on my waist, burning my skin through the thin fabric. My breath catches at the hunger in his eyes. My stomach knots when the space between us closes and our chests meet.
The garage door groans, rattling as it rises to open. A frigid wind blows in, causing a shiver to wrack through my body. Goosebumps bead up quickly on my arms. But is it really from the weather?
We pull apart as Damion steps out of the truck and strides in our direction, but we’re not fast enough, and if looks could kill…“Why are you both in my garage half naked?”
“There was a slight mishap in the kitchen.” My eyes find the specks of flour still coating the ground and grin.
A look of confusion crosses his face, but I don’t stop him as he crosses the threshold. He stops in his tracks, an unrestrained laughter falls from his lips. “Better get cleaning,” he calls back to us.
ChapterNine
Ispot Natalie’s parents near the front of the auditorium as we work our way through the crowd. Cheryl leans over the back of her seat chatting with a woman in the row behind her. Marcus has his nose in his phone. “Oh Clara look at you.” Cheryl sees me and lights up as I approach, Preston in tow. “You’re so grown up and so beautiful,” she gushes, rising to hug me. “Marcus, isn’t Clara lovely?”
“Yes, very lovely.” His eyes not quite managing to leave the screen.
“Preston, these are Natalie’s parents. Guys, this is Preston my… boyfriend from school.” The label gets caught in my throat. What started as a ruse is feeling more real every day.
I see the tug of a smile on his lips, he reaches out to shake their hands—I can’t help a twinge of pride, ever the unsuspecting gentleman—then joins me a few seats over, leaving the best two for Nat and Damion. The audience settles as the house lights dim and the curtain parts to reveal our pint-sized cast in a familiar nativity setting. The kids begin to perform the age-old story.