by R. C. Martin
“In the McCoy family, we have Christmas present rules. Since Pepper, Rosy, and I were old enough to pick out gifts for one another, we were given a designated dollar amount. Our age.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah. Our parents are exempt from the rule because they always got us things from our list, or clothes. My mom always got us a shit ton of clothes, wrapping them and shoving them under the tree. Padding the amount of gifts was more like it. Obviously, since we’re all older, she doesn’t do that anymore. Anyway—
“Before we were old enough to get jobs, our parents were stuck buying our gifts to one another. So, we were limited to our age. When we started working, the rule just stuck. We make it a point to spend as close to our age as possible. The scarf and the socks for Rosy were nineteen and change. The pencils were a dollar—so, almost twenty-one.”
I knit my eyebrows together, turning my head to peer up at him as I ask, “So you spend as close to twenty-one dollars as you can on your sisters?”
“Plus Harry, the boys, and Sophia.”
“So Rose spends nineteen and Pepper spends twenty-five?”
“Yup,” he says with a nod.
A small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. There’s something really endearing about that tradition. I try not to think about the fact that I was raised as an only child, and the last Christmas gift I ever received was a plastic doll at the age of five. That was before my father left. My mother made certain I understood that it was the last gift my father would ever give me. It took a while to sink in, and I carried that doll with me almost everywhere. I loved it. I loved it until I realized that my mother was right; then it was just a reminder that she was telling the truth. He wasn’t coming back.
“Millie?”
Sage’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I look through his glasses and into his eyes, and then I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You okay? You zoned out for a minute.”
“Oh,” I mutter with a feeble shrug. I don’t really wish to discuss the past, so I change the subject before he can press. “Are you sure it’s not rude if I come empty handed? I know that I don’t know your family very well, but you could help me.”
“Nah,” he insists, dropping my hand and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He pulls me into his side as he assures me, “It’s your first holiday with us, baby doll. Besides, you’re going to have to put up with my mom and dad all day. That, in and of itself, is a gift to us all.”
“Every time you say shit like that, it makes me nervous. You know that, right?” I tell him, circling my arms around his waist.
It struck me, like really struck me a couple of days ago, that I’m finally going to meet Mr. and Mrs. McCoy. Finally being an incredibly ambiguous term in this case. I won’t lie and say that I’m not curious about them. I am. Their reputation proceeds them, and I don’t just mean in the sense that their children speak of them often, painting them as both strict and successful. It’s more than that. It’s who their children are. Kind, considerate, beautiful people, all of them—which doesn’t come from nowhere. They were raised that way.
Yet, it’s not my curiosity that makes me nervous. It’s the reality of knowing that tomorrow, I’m going to be the twenty-six-year-old college professor who is dating their twenty-one-year-old son. I know of the discord in their relationship; I know they are opinionated, and not at all shy about expressing what they think or how they feel about what’s going on in their son’s life. I just—I don’t know what to expect, and it turns my stomach into a bunch of knots even now.
“Hey,” he says, stopping abruptly. Someone bumps into my shoulder and I turn my neck to catch a glimpse of some frantic shopper who doesn’t even realize that she just ran into a bystander. “Doll face?” I draw in a deep breath, shifting my focus onto Sage. “How many orgasms did you have this morning?”
My eyes grow wide and my mouth falls open as I stare at him, not at all prepared for that question—here, in the middle of a crazy mob of last minute shoppers.
“What?” I manage.
“Orgasms, baby. How many?”
“Sage—”
“How. Many?”
I scowl at him before I hiss, “Four.”
A sly grin pulls at his lips and the hand that rests on my shoulder slides down my back and over the top of my ass. He then pulls me into him closer, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Sounds like your man took care of you this morning. I’ll sure as fuck take care of you tomorrow, too. I’m not going to toss you to the wolves, baby doll. What have I been telling you, huh?”
I tighten my grip around his waist, ignoring the people walking around us as I say, “We’re in this together.”
“Hell, yeah, we are. So you have nothing to worry about, got me?”
I nod and he leans down and smacks a quick kiss against my lips. He then taps my ass and winks at me. It makes me smile. I love my arrogant little shit—my dreamer—my badass rock star.
“Come on, doll face. There’s more shopping to be done.”
For the next couple of hours, we wander in and out of stores. Sage doesn’t waste time, already fairly certain about what it is that he wants to get each member of his family, but the lines at each register are exhaustingly long. Over and over I think to myself: Christmas is not a surprise. These people have had all year to shop—why are there so many crowding the mall today, just hours before the big day?
Despite my confusion, and my desire to get away from the masses, having Sage at my side makes it all bearable. He promises that as soon as we’re done, he’ll take me back to his place and we’ll lay low for the rest of the day. After he’s made his last purchase, an adorable little, lavender dress that I helped him pick out for Sophia, I couldn’t be more relieved.
“Next year, I’m making you shop earlier,” I warn him as we begin to trek our way to the exit. “Like, September, I think.”
He laughs, but I’m not even kidding.
I’m so busy thinking about how practical my idea is, I don’t notice when he starts to steer me in a direction other than out. It isn’t until I see the grand piano in the middle of the foyer, just beside the food court, that I start to question where he’s taking me. He looks around and I follow his gaze, not sure exactly what he might be looking for.
“Sage? What are you doing?”
“Hey, excuse me,” he ignores me as he calls out to a stranger, sitting at a table a few feet away. The man looks up and Sage nods over his shoulder as he asks, “Is someone playing that thing?”
The stranger points behind us, and we both turn to see a sign that says Back in Thirty Minutes.
Sage turns back to the man, calling out a thanks that I’m not sure he even hears above the chatter of people. Then Sage starts pulling me toward the piano.
“Sage? Baby, what are you doing?”
“Come ‘ere,” he insists, ignoring my question once more.
When we’ve reached the piano, he sets his shopping bags down and slides onto the stool.
“Sage!” I whisper shout in warning, looking around to see if anyone is watching.
He rifles through the music propped up in front of him, humming his approval and grunting his distaste when he comes across a piece he likes or dislikes. “Ah. Yeah. This one,” he mutters, spreading out the pages.
“Sage!”
“Come ‘ere,” he repeats, offering me his hand.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I know how much you like it when I play. Haven’t played for you since that first time. Come ‘ere. I owe you for braving this place with me today.”
I stare at him for a second, still unsure as to whether or not this is a good idea.
Those blue eyes behind those annoyingly sexy horn-rimmed glasses win.
I take his hand and he tugs me down beside him. He smiles at me, pressing a quick kiss against my lips, and then shifts his focus to the music in front of him.
“Okay,” I murmur.
He places his fingers over the ebony and ivory keys, draws in a deep breath, and then starts the opening bars of Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker: Waltz of the Flowers. My heart races as I watch his fingers move effortlessly and so gracefully. Within seconds, his performance takes me someplace else. I don’t hear the the sound of people conversing; I’m no longer worried about whose seat we’ve taken; I barely remember where we are. As he plays, signaling with a chin lift when he’d like me to turn the pages of sheet music, it’s just him and me and the grand piano. It’s him and me and the music.
He takes my breath away.
In this very moment, in this particular space, Sage is offering me a little bit of magic. Just like the the evening spent with his siblings and his niece and nephews as we all worked together to put up the Montgomery tree, I’m given another dose of what makes Christmas special. As I turn the last page for Sage, it hits me anew that the man I love is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given. I know that there’s so much more of him that I’ve yet to discover, but I want to. I want all of him—I want everything with him.
When he lifts his hands and drops them into his lap, I’m pulled from my daze at the roar of applause that erupts from behind us. We both turn to look over our shoulders, and my stomach drops at the sight of a large crowd standing around and cheering Sage on. He offers them a sexy smile and a wave. Then, chuckling softly, he shifts his gaze back to me.
“I think they liked it. But I was playing for my girl.”
Without thinking, I grab hold of each side of his face before I lean into him and kiss him. Immediately, his arms snake around my waist and he holds me close, the cheers around us growing louder.
I try pulling away, embarrassment suddenly making me less bold, but he grips the back of my neck and opens his mouth around mine. I whimper, my body and my brain in disagreement about what it is that I want.
“Sage,” I manage, pushing away from him just slightly. “One performance was enough. Your encore is for me. Take me home.”
“You got it, doll,” he says with a smirk. “Let’s jet.”
IT SNOWED ALL night. Now, as I stand looking out of my bedroom window, waiting for Millie to finish up in the bathroom, I let the beauty of the undisturbed blanket of white calm my nerves. I hope today is a good one. I hope that my parents don’t scare Millie. They’re good people, my parents. We don’t always get along, and we certainly don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t respect them. I keep my distance because it’s just easier. I get on Millie for being stubborn, but the truth is, I can be, too. That stubbornness against my parents’ unyielding standards and expectations can be explosive. I’m hoping that today will be low on drama.
I promised my sisters that I would fill my parents in on the future of Mountains & Men before today. I haven’t. In fact, I haven’t seen them at all since I’ve been back from the tour. I called mom a few days ago to let her know I was bringing Millie, but we didn’t talk for too long. She was busy with last minute restaurant business. Mom and dad always take the week between Christmas and New Years off. It’s about the only time they take off, and the days leading up to their time away are always a bit hectic.
“I think I’m ready,” says Millie, pulling me from my thoughts.
I look away from the window and find her standing in the middle of the room, looking absolutely amazing. She has on a pair of brown boots that come up to her knees, her wool, cream-colored socks peeking out over the top. Her legs are adorned in a pair of tight, dark red leggings, and the long-sleeved, cream sweater dress she’s got on clings to her breasts and then hangs loose until the middle of her thighs. She’s got a plaid scarf draped around her neck, and her hair is loose, falling over her chest and all the way down her back.
My dick jerks as I take her in from head to toe. Twice. When I cross the room, closing the distance between us, I get a whiff of the vanilla fragrance she wears. I’m sporting a semi I don’t even try to hide as I slide my hands against the small of her back and pull her body to mine.
“Fuck—you look gorgeous, baby.”
She looks down at herself, hiding her face from me as she says, “Thank you.”
“Hey,” I mutter, wanting to see those dark green eyes.
She peeks at me from beneath her lashes and I can’t help myself. I need a taste. I dip my head, angling my mouth against hers, and her arms immediately find their way around my neck. I tease open her lips with my tongue before I dive in, seeking the warmth of her mouth. She sighs on a moan, and I’m suddenly fully erect. With a grunt, I pull her even closer, knowing already that I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off of her today.
By the time we manage to pull away from each other, we’re both panting. Her lips are red and swollen and I have to look away before I decide to do something stupid—like reach my hand into her panties to see how wet she is right now. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down hard as I drop my forehead against her shoulder. The scent of vanilla is even stronger from down here, and I groan in frustration before I turn my face, tracing my tongue up the side of her neck to that soft spot just behind her ear.
“Sage,” she whispers, a shiver running through her as she slides her hands over my back.
“Shit, doll face. You taste so good.”
“Baby, we have to go.” She’s still whispering, her voice airy and sounding as desperate as I feel.
“Yeah,” I reply, sliding my hands down over her ass. I give her a squeeze and she gasps.
“Sage, baby, if you don’t stop touching me like that, it won’t just be my thong that’s soaked. I didn’t pack another pair of leggings, and I really like this outfit.”
“Jesus, fuck.” I take a step away from her, reaching up to smooth my hand over my hair as I try and calm my dick down. She giggles and my eyes lock with hers before a crooked smile crosses my face. I shake my head at her. “That shit isn’t funny, doll face.”
“I wasn’t the one to provoke you.”
“You walked in here in those leggings.”
She smiles at me, and the happiness I see in her eyes does me good.
“Fuck you later.”
“Promise?” she hums.
“You bet your sweet, little ass.”
We both grab our coats, shrugging them on before gathering the rest of our things. Millie throws her purse over her shoulder and then reaches down to pick up Maestro while I take the two bags of gifts I wrapped and packed last night. I run out ahead of my girl and my pup, tossing the presents in the trunk before I start the car. When they’re both inside, I scrape off all the excess snow, and then we hit the road.
The neighborhood has yet to be touched, but all the main streets have been plowed, making our drive across town pretty painless. We pull into my parents’ driveway at eleven o’clock on the dot. We’re right on time, but we’re the last to arrive. Rosy probably stayed the night, and Pepper has a habit of being early everywhere—even with three kids in tow.
I hear it as Millie draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. I look over at her and see her staring at the big, stone faced, two-story house in front of us. The McCoys have inhabited the place for the last seventeen years. A lot of great memories are inside that house. Yeah, there are some not-so-great ones, too—but that’s life. That’s family.
“Don’t be nervous, doll face.”
“We’re in this together,” she replies softly, turning to look into my eyes.
“You got it. Besides, there’s only two people you don’t know in there.”
She coughs out a little laugh. “Right. Just two people. Just the two people who made you.”
“Hey,” I murmur, reaching over to bury my fingers in her hair. “We don’t always get along, but that doesn’t mean there’s not love between us. I love you. You’re with me. That makes you family, remember? Once they know you, they’ll love you, too.”<
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She nods, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s not so certain. I can’t blame her—not with her history—but that’s all about to change.
“Come on. Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”
HE DOESN’T KNOCK before he opens the front door and escorts me inside. I set Maestro down as soon as we cross the threshold, closing out the cold when my hands are free.
“Maestro!” Henley cries, running toward the dog.
“I come in with my hands full of presents and today it’s Maestro you want? I see how it is,” Sage teases, setting his bags aside as he slides out of his coat.
“Presents?!” Henley squeaks, shooting up onto his tiptoes.
“Yup.”
“What did you get me?”
“You’ll have to wait and find out, buddy,” Sage replies with a laugh. “Why don’t you take Maestro in to say hello to Carter?”
Henley obeys, as does Maestro when Henley’s little voice beckons him down the hall.
“Let me take that for you, doll,” says Sage as I begin to shrug my way out of my coat. “And leave your boots at the door. Mom hates shoes in her house.”
I do as I’m instructed, anxiously tugging on my wool boot socks after I’ve stowed my boots with all the other shoes lined up neatly along the wall. Sage kicks his off and then grabs his gifts in one hand, taking mine with the other. I lace our fingers together and hold on tight, Sage giving me an encouraging squeeze in reply.
Carter’s laughter can be heard from the entryway, and as we make our way further into the house, I make note of all the other noises I hear. Somewhere in the distance, there’s Christmas music playing, battling against what sounds like a sporting event on the television. This, of course, is buried under all the activity that’s happening, everyone talking jovially to each other.
When we first walked in, I noticed a large sitting room decorated elegantly. It seemed like one of those rooms where no one actually sits on anything, making its title a bit of an oxymoron. But as we bypass the flight of stairs that leads to the second level, the hallway opens up into a huge open floorplan, the kitchen and dining room to my left, and the living room to my right—and that’s exactly what it looks like: a room in which this family has lived.