I’ve faced off against veritable Nordic giants. Been slammed into the boards by goons drunk on violence more times than I can count. Had my ribs cracked twice with the jab of someone’s stick on the ice.
But I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared or tense in my life than when I was watching Maddie open that envelope. I worried that I’d overstepped. Jumped so far over the line that it was somewhere on the far horizon. I hoped that she would be pleased with the gift, but I prepared myself that she might be annoyed.
What I wasn’t expecting was for her to literally tackle me, clutching onto me like a spider monkey.
I also wasn’t expecting to like it as much as I did.
I liked the way it felt when she was in my arms. Liked it even more when she stepped back and looked up at me with huge eyes, and I swept my thumbs under them softly, brushing her tears away. Liked it the most when she looped her arm through mine, spreading her fingers on my bicep, and then stayed that way as we walked to the kitchen for Christmas brunch.
And all I could think was how happy I was that I’d made her happy. That I’d be happy every day to make her happy like that.
Now, she’s eating clumsily with her fork in her left hand, while her right hand stays firmly planted on me. Adam keeps shooting slightly perplexed glances towards where she’s touching me.
And I keep smiling at him. It’s great.
“What’re you kids up to today?” Alicia smiles around the table at all of us enjoying our mix of eggs benedicts, and waffles with syrup, and tomato and green pepper omelets, and, at the center of it all, Adam’s pastries. “Dinner is at 4pm, so please try to be back by then from whatever you’re up to.”
She really is a nice lady.
Pity about her son.
“Elizabeth and I will be hitting the slopes again,” Adam says with a pointed look in Maddie’s direction. “It’s so nice to have a partner who enjoys the things I do.”
“Indeed,” Maddie’s mom agrees. For some bizarre reason. The way she takes every opportunity not to defend her one and only daughter is beyond baffling to me.
But Adam’s not-so-subtle dig bothers me to the point that I decide it’s time to knock him down a peg or three.
I take a bite of my glazed pecan braid—which is, annoyingly, an absolute pastry masterpiece shaped like a wreath with two freaking turtledoves nesting in it—and wince, acting like it’s painful to swallow.
“What?” Adam’s eyes are on me immediately, blinking behind his glasses as he studies my reaction to his food.
“Oh. Nothing. It’s, um, delicious.” I half-gag, then politely wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Super delicious.”
Adam eyes me, his face a perfect blend of suspicion and fear. To a guy like Adam—whose entire identity is built on gourmet fancies—serving bad pastries has got to be up there on his top terrors list. Especially when serving them to his favorite hockey player.
Well, his ex-favorite hockey player. Which I think—hope—I’m well on my way to becoming.
I smile placidly at Adam, then turn to Maddie. “When do you usually give everyone their gingerbread people?”
Her eyes dart to Adam, then back to me. “Later. After dinner.”
Right away, I decode this to mean that Adam doesn’t like her giving them out during his brunch, so that he’s not upstaged. Which, sadly, doesn’t surprise me in the least. And I’ve known the guy a total of three days.
“You should give them out early this year.”
“Oh, no,” Maddie protests. “Let’s do it later.”
“I wanna see mine now.” Jax immediately backs me up, throwing his own half-eaten pecan braid down on his plate. “I’m hungry for gingerbread.”
Maddie looks at her brother like he’s grown a second head. “You hate gingerbread. I always make you a sugar cookie version.”
Jax raises his eyes heavenward. “Give us the cookies, Mads.”
I like Maddie’s brother. I can see from a mile off that he genuinely cares about her. And he’s made an ally of me because he sees that I do, too. Gives me that weird warm feeling in my stomach again just thinking about it.
Dot starts to demand her gingerbread cookie, too. And Mr. Plumlee joins in.
“I’ll grab them.” I scrape my chair back and begin to stand, but then I look at Adam with wide, innocent eyes. “That is, of course, if Adam doesn’t mind.”
Adam looks like he minds. A lot. His face is a mask of frustration and upset, but he can hardly go and say that he minds now, can he? Otherwise, he’ll look like a total prick.
So, he’s forced to nod.
“Great.” I jump to my feet to fetch the platter from the pantry.
“I’ll help you,” Maddie says tightly.
And then, she follows me. Right into the pantry. Shuts the door behind her.
It’s a very small pantry.
So small that we’re practically chest to chest.
I look down at her, hyper aware of how close we are. The heat of her body. How small she is, yet somehow, she’s filling this entire space—her perfume mixing with scents of gingerbread cookie, her breathing shallow and quick.
The sound of it makes my heart speed up, pounding in tandem with her inhales.
I take a step closer (if you can call it a step), closing the remaining inch between our bodies so that we’re standing flush together. I flash her a devious smile. “If you wanted to get this close to me, you could’ve just gotten rid of that pillow wall in our bed, you know.”
She looks left, then right, her cheeks reddening like she’s suddenly deeply second-guessing her shut-us-in-the-pantry decision.
“What I want is to know why you’re making such a big deal over the damn cookies?”
“Because nobody puts Maddie in the corner,” I quip. “I would offer to try the Dirty Dancing lift with you to accompany that statement—I think I’d nail the move, personally—but I’m afraid we’d smash the pantry to pieces and people would think we are up to no good in here. Or lots of good, depending on how you frame it.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “What in the name of Father Christmas are you talking about, Seb?”
“What I’m saying is that you should be loving every minute of seeing Adam squirm out there. But instead, you’re acting like you’re still afraid of hurting his feelings. Like you need to lurk in his shadow so as not to upset him.”
Her eyes grow even bigger and rounder as my words sink in. To further convey my point—excellent husband that I’m aiming to be—I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers skimming her cheekbone. This draws a shudder from her that has me continuing on, sliding my hand behind her neck.
“You deserve to be celebrated, Maddie. Deserve to be praised. Deserve to have all of those people look at you and talk to you with way more respect. And I’m pulling double duty as your husband to help you get everything you deserve.”
She gulps, which I don’t blame her for, because it suddenly feels like there’s no air in here. Everything feels hot and feverish, and every place our bodies touch feels electric. She’s staring up at me, pupils dilated, breath coming shallow through those full lips…
Full lips that are begging to be kissed.
“You’re special, Maddie.” My voice is so full of gravel, I barely recognize it. “And I’m going to do everything in my power to show you just how special you are.” I lean towards her and close the space between us, everything in me suddenly desperate to know how sweet she tastes.
She tilts her face up, eyes fluttering closed, and a little gasp escapes those parted lips.
“Show you how beautiful you are,” I murmur as I move closer still, my own eyes closing.
Because she is. My wife is gorgeous.
And I plan on damn well making sure she knows it.
“What’re you guys doing?!” The sound of Adam’s voice makes the heat in my veins turn to ice and my eyes fly open.
Maddie and I spring apart—not that there’s far to go—and I look down at her. She’s still wild-eyed and breathy, her skin hot and her expression dazed, and I curse Adam under my breath. He should really follow the advice on the sign Dot gave him and try not being a dick.
With a regretful smile, I run the pad of my thumb over Maddie’s bottom lip, drawing a full body shiver out of her. Then, I lean down to whisper in her ear. “Guess I’ll have to show you later…”
And with that, I reach past her, grab the doorknob, and throw the door open. I may or may not be hoping to accidentally smoke Adam the Absolute Buzzkill in the face with it.
No such luck, though. He’s standing a couple feet away, arms crossed.
“Ah, sorry,” I say, making sure I don’t sound in the least bit sorry. Which is very un-Canadian of me but necessary right now. “We just can’t seem to keep our hands off of each other, right, Mads?”
I sling my arm around my wife, who’s stepped out of the pantry after me, cheeks the color of my hockey jersey.
“Right,” she says. And she sounds like she means it. Which I, again, like way too much.
Adam glowers at us in a way that makes me want to laugh. And with his tacky, jingling Christmas sweater, the green hat that Elizabeth asked him to wear (for “fashion,” apparently), and his glasses sitting slightly crooked, he’s giving me pretty intense flashbacks to the Whobilation scene in How The Grinch Stole Christmas.
“Oops, forgot the cookies.” I reach back into the pantry and pull the tray off one of the high shelves, and then, I look straight at Maddie. “Shall we get back to the group, love? Give out the delicious cookies you made?”
Maddie laughs a perfectly sweet laugh. “You mean the cookies we made, babe.”
Adam’s face is redder than I’ve ever seen it, and for a moment, I’m mildly concerned for his health. But then, he turns on his heel, uttering a supremely mature, “Hmpf.”
As we follow him back to the dining room, I’m smiling confidently and Maddie looks half-proud, half-mortified.
“Sorry for the delay, everyone, but I promise that these are worth the wait.”
It’s cute to see Maddie blush as everyone oohs and aahs over her cookies. They really are spectacular. She’s managed to capture the most amazing details—mine is wearing a #19 jersey and skates, Dot’s is sporting a blouse and a low bun, Mr. Grainger’s is smoking a cigar, Jax’s comes complete with arm tattoos and is wielding an ax…
And Elizabeth’s has a huge brown blob on her shirt and glitter in her frosting hair. Which may or may not have been my doing.
Maddie looks at the cookie made in the likeness of herself, and traces its mouth. Like I was doing to her mouth minutes ago. She looks lost in thought, her eyes glazed and her expression far away.
She must press the cookie a bit too hard because she mutters, “Oops, I smudged my lipstick.”
I give her a heated look, and I’m gratified to see those green eyes darken once again. “That’s a look I’d like to see more often on you.”
