Tastes Like Sugar (Collier’s Creek Christmas)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

SULLY

One of the many things I learned early on is that there’s no such thing as too much sugar when it comes to my husband.

I watch as he drowns a sliver of pie in whipped cream. There’s so much of it, you can no longer see the actual pie on the plate. Grinning happily, Hayes spoons up a large bite, and like the sugar addict he is, he smears some of the whipped cream on the side of his mouth.

My chuckle is quick to come. It always is when I’m with Hayes. That didn’t change in our eighteen months of dating or the three years we’ve been married.

Leaning in, I happily lick off the cream before kissing him firmly.

He sighs into the kiss, but I know if I don’t pull away, this is going to get awkward pretty damn fast.

“You’re incorrigible,” I say, keeping my voice low. In the next room, our family is waiting for us. It’s our turn to host Christmas Eve dinner. What we should be doing is dishing up dessert for everyone, but this man of mine is far too good at distracting me.

When I take in his expression, I melt a little further. A wide smile has settled on his lips, one that causes fresh butterflies to take flight in my gut. “What did I do to deserve that smile?” I ask, practically breathless.

“You just gave me a taste of my favorite.” He arches a brow, his gaze fixed on mine.

We’ve played this game a time or two, and I’m here for it. Every single time. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“You know that it’s you, sugar.”

I do know, but I still love hearing him say it.

It’s inevitable that I press another kiss to his lips. This time, he darts his tongue out and slides it just so against mine. I sigh at the contact, barely holding on to my restraint. Using all the control that I have, I pull back, whispering, “Dessert has always been our thing.”

He parts his lips, but the fast tapping of claws on our newly tiled kitchen floor pulls us up short. We both glance over to the open doorway as Taz lollops inside like the soft brute of a dog he is.

“Oh shit.” Hayes is upright immediately and rounding on our not-so-innocent three-year-old German Shephard who looks far too pleased with himself that he’s captured one of Abigail’s shoes. Wide-eyed, Hayes glances back at me. The plea in his gaze is obvious.

“Fine.” I shake my head as I reach for some leftovers, lips twitching. “If he gets the shits, you’re on clean-up duty.”

“But you know the only way to get Taz to release shoes is with leftovers.” He scratches behind Taz’s ear as he looks at me with his own puppy-dog eyes.

“And who’s fault, exactly, is that?” I arch my brow. There’s zero snipe in my tone. Taz came to us as a rescue from Jayne a couple years back. He’d already had a weird fetish for shoes and had then destroyed more pairs than I wanted to count. It was actually Hayes who figured out that human food was the only way to distract our new family member. Whether a bowl of cabbage or a chunk of lamb, Taz was weirdly not that concerned beyond him clearly knowing it simply wasn’t made for animal consumption.

And given that Hayes has since managed to rescue lots of shoes with leftover treats, I definitely can’t be mad at him. But damn, our dog’s stomach doesn’t always agree with our bribes.

As soon as I call Taz’s name, a slice of turkey stretched out to him, he drops my sister’s shoe and races over. He immediately sits, obediently.

“He’s such a con artist,” Hayes says with complete affection.

“He seriously is.” Amazingly, Taz does follow commands, and his obedience was something Hayes had worked hard on when training him. A good thing, too, as Taz is crazy strong. He also likes to hang out at the firehouse when we’re both on duty, which is upwards of a full forty hours a week, since I ensure my hours match my husband’s as much as possible.

“Is it damaged?” I ruffle Taz’s head and glance over at Hayes as he examines Abigail’s shoe.

He shakes his head. “No, thank fuck.”

I chuckle at the genuine relief on his face. Out of all the shoes available to Taz when we’re with family, I swear it’s always Abigail’s he goes for. “If we have to replace another pair, I think we should get shares at Abigail’s favorite shoe store.”

“It’s because he doesn’t want me to leave,” Abigail says as she enters the kitchen.

Hearing her voice, Taz darts to her. She chuckles and squats down to give him a cuddle.

Hayes’s smile is soft even as he rolls his eyes. “I think it’s more to do with him being offended by the smell.”

The glance she cuts him has him dashing away and me snorting.

“You’re never too old, Michael,” she says pointedly, her brow arching impressively high.

“Yes, ma’am.” Sugary sweetness coats his words, and this time I roll my eyes even as warmth settles in my gut.

It took more months than I liked for my sister to be truly comfortable with my and Hayes’s relationship. A combination of our age difference and seeing Hayes as a son had been difficult for her to adjust to. That and something about a really awkward situation between one of her former high school students and a member of staff didn’t help her reaction.

At the end of the day, love won. That and her respect and desire for us to be happy.

She stands and eyes the plates we haven’t finished dishing up. “Need a hand finishing up?”

“Nope, we’re almost done.” I pass her a couple of plates with pie on them, though, saying, “If you can take these, we’ll just finish cutting the pie.”

“Sure thing.” Her smile is warm. “And if you can lock away my shoe, that’d be great.”

Hayes chuckles and sets about wiping her shoe while I finally finish the job Hayes and I had come to the kitchen to do.

I make quick work of heaping the slices of pie on the multiple plates. When we bought this place a few years back, it had seemed a little large—at the time, unnecessarily so. But with the number of bodies crammed into our dining room at three different tables, it was the right call.

Drying his hands, Hayes sidles up to me, the scent of sweet cinnamon following. I glance at him, half expecting him to be drooling over the pie again; instead, his eyes are on me. Intensity burns in his gaze that I will never tire of seeing, let alone feeling.

It’s the same look he directed my way when he first told me he loved me. That it was under a garland of mistletoe at the Collier’s Creek Christmas Bash, not a couple of short months after us meeting, makes the memory even sweeter.

“When everyone leaves, that whipped cream is going to be coming with us into the bedroom.” His voice is all huskiness and promise.

I clear my throat, easily getting lost in the visual. “That sounds messy.” And so perfect.

His gaze sizzles. “Just the way you like it.”

I barely contain my groan, and the thickening of my cock is so not optimal for all the obvious reasons. “You’re so mean,” I grumble with zero heat.

“And you love it.”

“I do.” I close my eyes when he presses a light kiss to my waiting lips. When he pulls away, I peer at him, loving the flush in his cheeks.

“Love you.”

My smile is instant, as is the fresh swarm of butterflies. “More than coffee?”

A sexy-as-hell quirk of a smile is aimed my way. “Even more than sugar.”

I huff out a pleased laugh, picking up three plates to carry out to our family. Before I leave, I glance back at him. “I love you, too, but that doesn’t mean we can’t see how sweet that cream tastes later.”

Smirking, I walk away, loving Hayes’s groan and the curse under his breath.

Hayes is absolutely my addiction. Nothing tastes as sweet as he does.