That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Sara

The next morning, I’m in the kitchen slicing up French bread, when I hear a throat clearing behind me. Even with a pan of eggs and butter on the stove, I still catch the scent of pine-scented bubble bath mixed with Old Spice. I take a deep breath and turn around.

Freshly inoculated, Sara.

“You’re up,” I manage. “Obviously.”

Over a plain white T-shirt, Three is wearing a hoodie the exact same blue of his eyes. And in case I hadn’t clocked it before, the man fills out a pair of sweatpants better than any history teacher I’ve ever had. His hair is rumpled and wild above the angry lump from the fire extinguisher, and his eyes are hooded. Almost shy. “Thanks for looking out for me last night,” he says. His voice is full of drowsy gravel.

“Just doing my job. No big deal.”

He tips his head to indicate the stove. “And now you’re whipping up breakfast too?”

I set down the knife to avoid getting distracted by the deliciousness of post-sleep Three. A girl could end up slicing off her finger. “It’s just eggs and toast.” I shrug, popping two slices of bread in the toaster. “I had to eat. So, again, no big deal.”

I’m trying to let him know—and to remind myself—I’m not doing anything special for Three Fuller. Nothing different than what I’d already be doing for me, anyway.

He pulls a stool from under the island, and slides onto it. “Well, eggs and toast is more than anyone else ever makes for me, so…”

His voice trails off, and my pulse ticks up. Three must not have a significant other after all. At least not one who takes care of him. Or maybe he does have someone special, and she just doesn’t like to cook.

Or maybe you should stop thinking about Three’s relationship status.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, changing the subject to anything but Three being in love with some other woman.

“Still pretty foggy, but at least a little clearer than last night.”

“You did seem pretty out of it.” I fill a glass of water at the sink, and hand it over along with his morning dose of meds. “Do you want anything for the pain?”

He washes the medicine down, wincing. “To be honest, a lot of yesterday is a big blur to me, so I’m gonna stick to antibiotics. I don’t think pain meds and I are meant to be friends.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s kinda how I feel about brownies now.”

“Right.” He pushes out a laugh, as I pour him a cup of coffee. Then I arrange the sugar bowl, creamer, and a spoon on the island in front of him. He picks up the steaming mug. “Mmm. Smells good.”

My cheeks heat up as I flash back to last night, although I’m sure he has no memory of his groggy ramblings about how good I smell. Three takes a sip without adding anything to it, then lifts his gaze to mine. “Tastes good too.”

My heart skips a beat. But I quickly school my face into a mask of nothing-to-see-here - folks . “It’s just coffee,” I say before turning to collect butter and jam from the fridge.

Ugh.

Why do I feel so out of control of my body and brain? Yes, Three’s an insanely attractive man. But I’ve been down the hot-guy road before—with this hot guy, specifically—so I know better than to put much stock in physical attributes. In fact, the few men I dated in college and law school looked vastly different from one another, and we took our time getting to know each other as friends first. I appreciated their sense of humor, their kindness, their intelligence.

I definitely didn’t focus on their abs.

But the truth is, I have years of history of attraction to Three. A history that does involve abs, and also his humor and intelligence. Not to mention he was the kindest man I knew.

Until he wasn’t.

So I guess I can’t be too surprised that I slipped back so easily into admiring him on the surface, because I’ve already experienced his depths. I just have to make sure to keep things shallow for the next few days.

“Just so you know,” he says, “I did text my family last night before I went to bed. I figured it was too late for them to pivot at that point, so I told them the truth. Well. Most of the truth. I didn’t specify how or why this whole thing happened.” He touches his skull, cringing. “I can’t remember much anyway.”

A wave of relief washes over me, although I probably shouldn’t care whether or not the Fullers think this situation is my fault. It’s not like I was the one who broke Three’s heart. Still, I can’t help wondering if he was protecting me, or if he had other reasons for not wanting them to know we’re together.

“I’ll bet they’re pretty upset,” I say, setting the butter and jam on the island. Then I fill my own coffee mug, along with a generous serving of cream.

“Probably.” Three drops his brow. “I haven’t looked at my phone yet. The cruise line warned us the Wi-Fi onboard is spotty, so texts and calls could be unreliable. In another couple hours, they should be at sea, so I’m waiting until then to check my messages.”

I tip my chin. “But they won’t be able to contact you at that point.”

“Exactly.” He bobs his head. “I’m afraid hearing their actual voices might be too hard. I don’t want to get all sappy and beg them to come home and be with me for Christmas.” He huffs out a small, sad laugh. “I’m just glad they all get to be together,” he adds. “The rest of my family, I mean. Even if I can’t be with them.”

I blink at him, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Yeah.” The syllable comes out gruff. “I try to be generous.”

And sometimes you even succeed, I think. Unless you count that one summer …

Three averts his gaze, staring down at his coffee, so I take the opportunity to fork some eggs onto a couple of plates and snag the bread from the toaster. Then I come around the island with our food and slip onto the stool beside him.

Seated like this, we don’t have to look at each other while we eat, which is probably a good thing. Eye contact with Three can be dangerous.

Ask me how I know.

I dig into my breakfast, alternating between bites of toast and eggs, and sips of coffee. Three does the same, working on his food without speaking either. We’re about halfway through when I can’t stand the silence anymore. “So you’re off work for two weeks for winter break, huh?”

From my peripheral vision, I catch him nodding. “That’s one of the reasons we planned the cruise for Christmas,” he says. “It’s the only time of year I have two weeks off in a row. Thanksgiving’s only one week. Same with spring break.”

I continue to eye him sideways. “Don’t teachers get summers off?”

“Yeah.” Another nod. “But I run the summer school program for the school district. And I lead guided fishing tours at The Beachfront Inn on weekends. My cousin, Olivia, works there with her fiancé now. I kinda like helping her and Hudson out. And I really like the extra money.”

I add an extra dash of salt and pepper to my remaining eggs. “You don’t need a special administrative degree for that?”

He squints at me. “To lead fishing tours?”

I puff out a laugh. “To run summer school.”

“Nah.” Three selects a piece of toast from the stack. “There aren’t a ton of takers in a town this small. A teaching credential is plenty.”

“Hmm.” I shovel a forkful of peppery eggs in my mouth.

“I also oversee swim lessons at Abie Lake once the weather’s warm enough.” Three spreads a thick layer of jam on his toast. “And I still pick up a lifeguard shift every once in a while.”

My memory digs up a visual of Three in his lifeguard tank top and board shorts. I start to gag on my eggs. “That’s a lot of jobs,” I manage to rasp, once I stop choking.

“I’m the girls basketball coach, too.”

“Wow.” I clear my throat and gulp but my eyes are watering now. “I guess you’ve gotten”—blink, blink—“pretty ambitious over the years.”

Three chews his toast, and I note the bob of his Adam’s apple when he gulps. “For the record, I never lacked ambition,” he says. “Some kids just need a little more time before they find their direction.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I shove more eggs in my mouth, trying not to choke again.

“That first year after graduation, Nella talked me into taking some college classes online.” He swipes a few toast crumbs off the counter onto his plate. “To be honest, I was just trying to act like an adult. Fake it till you make it, you know? So I studied a little bit of everything, but I really ended up loving the history courses. I got hooked. Applied to Albany U to complete my undergrad, and the rest is … well …”

My eyebrow quirks. “History?”

“Oh, man.” He flashes me a look. “That is … that was … just such a horrible pun. Like practically criminal. You may be called upon to defend yourself in court someday.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “That’s what I’m here for. Horrible puns, hot baths, and barely palatable breakfasts.”

“Well, your eggs are pretty good.” He tilts his head. “But I thought you were here because you almost killed me with a fire extinguisher.”

Ugh. My stomach lurches at the reminder that this whole situation is my fault, so I turn my head before Three can see my smile fade. “Do you want more eggs? Toast? Anything?”

“No thanks.” He wrinkles his nose. “Usually I inhale my food like I’m trying to set a world record, but I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Maybe that’s a side effect of the concussion. Or the meds.” I slip my phone from the pocket of my pajamas. “You want me to look up lack of appetite as a symptom?”

“No need.” He drops his fork onto the plate and pushes it away. “I’m sure I’ll be eating you out of house and home soon enough.”

I set my phone down on the island. “Well, hopefully you’ll get the all-clear at your checkup on Tuesday.”

“Yeah.” He balls his napkin up and tosses it on his plate. “And by then, the home evaluation will be done, and you can head back to the city for Christmas.” He stops short of noting that he’ll still be stuck here in Abieville while his entire family and most of his friends are gone for the holidays. But the truth hovers in the space between us.

“Well.” I avert my gaze, and slide off the stool. “If you’re not going to have more food, I guess I’ll just get the dishes then.”

I collect our plates, forks, and coffee cups, and stack everything in the sink so I can hand-wash them. I don’t want anything in the dishwasher when the evaluator comes. My goal is perfection.

Minus the reindeer linens.

When I transfer the eggs into a storage container and wrap the toast up in foil, Three says, “You’re actually saving those eggs and toast?”

“Of course.” I shrug. “I don’t like to waste anything if I don’t have to.”

I’m just sticking the food into the fridge, when my phone buzzes behind me. But it’s on the island where I left it next to Three.

“Is that the evaluator texting?” I ask over my shoulder. “He’s supposed to send me a confirmation for our meeting.”

Three checks the screen. “Not the evaluator,” he says. “Unless he’s listed in your contacts as The Queen.”

The Queen?

I slam the refrigerator shut and whirl around.

“I totally forgot about my mom.”