by Kaylee Ryan
“Good. Stubborn as hell,” I tell them once we’re inside. “He’s balking at being nice, but I see cracks in his façade every day.”
They both laugh. “Sounds about right.”
“What’s that?” Gramps says, joining us.
“Oh nothing, just talking about the weather and the drive here,” Mom says, walking toward my grandfather and giving him a hug. “How are you, Dad?” she asks.
When I was a little boy, it would confuse the hell out of me that she also called him Dad when he’s my dad’s dad. As I got older, I realized it was easier with all three of us being named Rhett. Sometimes she refers to him as Senior, but mostly it’s Dad, and Gramps eats it up. Dad said that Mom had a lot to do with the riff between them disappearing. Gramps has a soft spot for her. Grams passed when Dad was a senior in high school. Gramps has been alone since. Regret fills me, just another reminder I should have spent more time here.
“Good to see you.” Gramps returns her hug. “Son,” Gramps says. Dad smiles and leans in to give him a quick hug. “Jerry and the kids will be here in about an hour,” Gramps tells us.
“Son,” Dad looks over at me. “Help me get our bags? We’ll have just enough time to freshen up before everyone gets here.”
“What about food?” Mom asks. “Is there anything that I can do?”
“Nope. Rosa was here this morning. She’s got everything ready to go. We just have to heat it up,” I tell her.
“Well, we stopped off at the store, and I plan on making cookies. No-bake.” Mom looks at me. “I know those are your favorite, and I haven’t made them in forever. I also got the ingredients for peanut butter.” She winks at Gramps.
“We had some good no-bake just a few weeks ago,” Gramps tells her. “Saylor made them.”
“Saylor?” my parents ask in unison.
“Yeah, she’s working for Jake and Molly down at the Corner Pocket. She’s actually living in their garage apartment. She’s alone, no family. She spent Thanksgiving with us,” I explain.
“Sweet girl,” Gramps says. “Val, why don’t we go sit while these two bring in your things?” He looks over at me. “I had Rosa make up the room down the hall from mine for them.”
I nod. It’s odd, usually they’re on the same side of the house as me, but I don’t say anything. It’s just a room; they’re all great, and he’s not being standoffish, so I don’t want to piss him off by questioning his room assignment. It’s his house after all.
Forty minutes later, the alarm buzzes again. Mom is in the kitchen baking while Gramps, Dad, and I sit at the table and watch her. She insisted we would be in the way. “I’ll get it,” I say, jumping to my feet. Jerry has his hand up to knock when I open the door. “Bout time you get here, old man.” I pull him into a hug. “Merry Christmas.”
I greet Jake the same way, opting to lean in and kiss Molly on the cheek. Then she’s there, Saylor. She’s beautiful. Her hair is in big soft curls flowing down her back. Today she’s wearing another pair of those legging things with a red sweater, a black scarf, and, of course, those fuck-me boots of hers that I’ve grown to love. Sure, they look great on her, but I’ve imagined her in those and nothing else. It’s a new development from annoyance to desire. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve visited the Corner Pocket more than I would have if she wasn’t behind the bar. We still bicker back and forth, but now it’s… different, as if we’ve called a silent truce and we’re old friends just giving each other shit.
“Saylor.” Her name is a whisper on my lips as I lean in and kiss her cheek. She sucks in a breath. That sound mixed with her sweet scent has my cock taking notice that she’s here. I’ve learned my lesson around her; I wore a black button-down with a pair of jeans, opting to leave the button-down untucked.
“Merry Christmas, Rhett. Thank you for having me. Are you sure I’m not intruding?” she asks.
Not able to resist, I place my arm around her and pull her into me. “You’re always welcome, Short Stack.” She nods, and even though I don’t want to, I release her and lead them into the kitchen. I lean against the counter while my parents greet them. Then Mom turns to Saylor. I can see the hesitation in Saylor’s eyes. I have to shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her to ease the worry.
“You must be Saylor?” Mom asks.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you,” she replies softly.
Mom wipes her hands on her apron and rounds the island, pulling Molly first, then Saylor into a hug. “It’s so nice to not be outnumbered by these goons.” She smiles with affection.
I can visibly see Saylor relax.
“I’m making cookies. I hear you’re good at no-bake,” Mom says to Saylor.
“I used to bake all the time with… yeah, I made some a few weeks ago.”
“Perfect, I could use some help.” Mom reaches into a drawer and tosses her an apron. The beaming smile that Saylor gives her in return is blinding. “Molly?” Mom asks.
“I’ll supervise. You want them to be edible, right?” she jokes.
“Oh, come on now, you’ve baked with me before.”
“She has, and remember what the kitchen looked like when you were done?” Jake asks.
Molly smacks his belly. “Hey now,” she scolds him.
Jake pulls her into him and kisses her. “You know I love you,” he mumbles, but we can all hear him.
“Enough of that. Shoo.” Mom waves her hands. “Go bond, do manly things. Us ladies need some girl time.”
Dad and Gramps are already headed toward the living room. Jake whispers something to Molly and follows them. I make eye contact with Saylor and mouth, “You okay?” She gives me a shy smile and a nod. Good enough for me. I follow Jake into the living room.
“So what’s her story, man?” I ask Jake. Dad and Gramps are engrossed in conversation, not paying any attention to us.
“That’s her story,” Gramps grumbles.
Shit. How did he hear that? “I’m just curious,” I tell him.
“Honestly, man, I don’t know it all—at least I don’t think I do. She’s not had it easy in life. She’s one of the nicest people you will ever meet.” He gives me a pointed look.
“What?” I ask.
“You want to know, you get it from her,” Gramps interrupts us again.
I look over at him and nod. He holds my gaze for so damn long I start to squirm. Finally, he must find what he’s looking for, and he turns back to his conversation with Dad.
“So, I want to run something by you,” Jake says.
“Lay it on me,” I say, pushing thoughts of Saylor and her story out of my mind.
Jake looks over his shoulder toward the kitchen, then pulls a small black velvet box out of his pants pocket. With another look over his shoulder, he opens the box. A diamond solitaire shines back at me. “What do you think?” he asks.
“I think congratulations are in order.”
“I’ve read articles where I shouldn’t do it on a holiday, you know, but this isn’t her gift. I just thought all of our closest people are here, and I want her to remember it.”
“You doing it today?” I ask him.
“I think so. I mean, I’m nervous as hell, and I feel like I’m screwing up by not having some big elaborate proposal full of romance, but I can’t think of anything except asking her, her saying yes, and spending the rest of my life with her.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “You two are solid. She’s going to love it. You need my help with anything?”
“Fuck! Maybe. Maybe I should take her down by the pond? I mean, we’ve all spent so much time there over the years. She loves it there.”
“Done.” I stand. “Let’s go get the UTV gassed up and throw in a couple of blankets. You can take her for a drive later.”
He nods. “Yeah, I like that.” Standing, he follows me.
We have to pass through the kitchen to get to the garage. “Smells good in here.” I lean over Saylor’s shoulder and look at what she’s doing.
“What’s that?” I ask her.
“Sugar cookies,” she says as she works on cutting out shapes that look like stockings.
“We’re going out to the garage,” I tell them.
“Are you asking permission?” Mom asks with a grin.
Saylor’s shoulders lift with her silent laughter.
I step into her, my front aligned with her back. “What’s so funny?” I ask, giving her hips a gentle squeeze.
“Nothing,” she says with a giggle.
Mom looks up and then down at my hands on Saylor’s hips and smirks. “You’re in the way. Now shoo.” She waves a flour-covered hand toward the door that leads to the garage.
Reluctantly, I step away from Saylor. “You ladies be good,” I say, turning for the garage. Luckily, Jake is so preoccupied with his proposal to Molly, he doesn’t notice how Saylor’s affecting me. The girls on the other hand—well, at least my mom, she’s onto me. I don’t even know what it is; there’s just something about Saylor that has me wanting more. So much more, which is crazy because I don’t even really know her.
“My son seems quite enamored with you,” Valerie says.
I choke on a laugh. “Um, we barely like each other.”
“Really? You could have fooled me.” She smiles kindly.
“They usually are bickering back and forth,” Molly adds. “However, lately that’s been less and more… friendly.” She looks over at me. “What was that anyway?” she asks.
“What was what?” I play dumb. I know exactly what she’s asking, and I don’t have an answer for her.
“That.” She points at my hips.
I shrug. “Who knows why men do the things they do?” I say, shrugging. What I don’t say is that since that day at the pond when we went ice skating, there have been more soft touches. Like when he stops by the bar, he’ll reach out and grab my hand or stay and walk me to my car, things like that. There’s been a lot more of that. I have no clue what it means, if anything, so bringing it up isn’t an option.
“Well, I know my son, and I think he likes you,” Valerie chimes in.
I can feel my face heat. “He’s just being nice,” I counter.
“Uh-huh,” she and Molly say at the same time.
“What’s next?” I ask, laying the last sugar cookie on the baking sheet. I’m changing the subject, and we all know it. Luckily, they let me.
Molly takes pity on me and launches into a story about the last time she tried to make a cake. I give her a grateful smile, and she winks. We finish up the baking a couple of hours later. The house smells amazing, so much so it’s making me hungry.
“Ladies, let’s take a break. We’ve earned it,” Valerie says. Molly and I follow her into the living room where the guys are watching A Christmas Story.
“I love this movie,” I say out loud, not meaning to.
“It’s a classic,” Molly agrees. She sits on the oversized chair—well, technically, she sits on Jake’s lap, and he’s sitting on the chair. Jerry is in the recliner beside Grandpa Rhett. Valerie joins Rhett’s dad on the love seat, which leaves the couch for me and Rhett.
There’s a throw blanket on the back of the couch, and I grab it, spreading it out over my lap. I wish I could kick off my boots and curl up. Instead, I train my eyes on the TV and get lost in the movie I’ve seen what seems like hundreds of times.
“I’m going to go take a nap before we eat,” Grandpa Rhett says.
“After a long day of travel, that sounds perfect.” Valerie stands and takes his arm, leading him up the steps. Rhett’s dad follows his wife and father.
Then there were five.
“Me too. I’m going to find me a bed in one of these empty bedrooms and catch me a nap too. I’m not a spring chicken like I used to be,” Jerry says.
And then there were four.
“Hey, babe, I thought we could take the UTV down to the pond, check it out with all the snow,” Jake says.
“Do you mind?” she asks Rhett.
“Not at all. Key’s in it. There are some blankets in the trunk by the door. Make sure you grab a couple and take your phones just in case.”
“Thanks, man,” Jake says, giving Rhett a look of relief. He must have been worried about Molly having to walk if they break down. Weird.
“You all want to come?” Molly asks.
“Actually,” Rhett speaks up. “I need Short Stack to help me with something for Gramps.” He looks over at me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all.” I want to ask him what he needs help with, but his grandfather has been so kind to me, going as far as saying I was family to them, the least I can do is help him out when he needs it. Molly and Jake disappear into the garage.
And then there were two.
“So what do you need help with?” I ask Rhett.
“Nothing, I might have told a small white lie.”
I turn to look at him. “Why?”
“Jake needed Molly alone for a little while.”
“Oh,” I say, not knowing what else to say. “You can go. I mean, if you have something to do, I’ll be okay here with Ralphie to keep me company.”
“Nope. I got nothing going on. Here.” He scoots to the edge of the couch and pulls my leg onto his lap. I watch him as he slowly slides the zipper down and pulls my boot from my foot.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I ask him.
“We might as well get comfortable. I know you want to curl up to watch this.” He motions with his head to the television.
“Was I that obvious?”
“Not to anyone who’s not watching.” He removes my other boot.
“You were watching?”
He nods. “I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you,” he admits. He stands and places my boots beside the couch. He grabs the throw from my lap. “Get comfortable.”
I do as he says and pull my feet up under me. Rhett waits until I’m settled before placing the throw over me. “Thank you,” I say, looking up at him.
He nods. After kicking off his shoes and placing them beside mine, he sits on the couch right next to me. Instantly, I can feel his warmth even through the cover. “You good?” he asks, leaning so that his arms are resting on my legs, leaning across my lap.
“Y-yes,” I stutter like an idiot. This new dynamic with us is confusing as hell. Rhett rewinds the movie so we can watch what we missed. I don’t say anything as I try to focus on the movie and not on his hand that is gently rubbing my knee from where his arm is resting on my legs. It’s arousing and… relaxing. It’s a new concept for me. Pete was never really affectionate, and I was okay with that. Elaine was really the only person in my life to ever show me open affection.
Eventually, the caressing stops and his breathing is deep and even. He’s fallen asleep. Grabbing the remote, I turn it to a random Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel. I turn down the volume, so I don’t disturb him. My hand itches to run through his hair. It always looks so soft. I refrain, not wanting to wake him up. Instead, I settle for resting my hand on his back as he sleeps soundly against me. I’m sleepy, but I fight it off. I like being able to see him like this. I wish I could see his face. I imagine his features are soft and relaxed, which is not a look I’m used to seeing on him.
Turning my attention back to the television, I get engrossed with one of the many holiday movies I’ve watched. This is a repeat, but that’s okay. They only play them this time of year. I always find myself being envious of the characters, the way their love interest loves them, fights for them, romances them. It’s not something I’ve experienced. Looking back at what Pete and I had, I know I was settling, and that’s not how I want to live my life. It’s mine, and mine alone. I don’t have family to run to; I need to make it what I want it to be. I have a second chance to find a Hallmark kind of love, and that’s what I want. One day, I want that to be me. I want to be the one who finally lives happily ever after. Will I ever find him? My Prince Charming? My knight in shining armor?
“Tha
t feels nice,” a deep, sleep-lace voice says, causing me to freeze. “Don’t stop, Say,” he whispers.
That’s when it hits me that my hand is in his hair. I’ve been running my fingers through the silky stands unconsciously. Dammit. “I’m sorry I woke you,” I say softly.
He adjusts so that he’s lying sideways and his head is in my lap. His big brown eyes stare up at me. “It feels nice.” He reaches for my hand and places it on his head. My fingers have a mind of their own as they begin to comb through his hair. My other hand is on the back of the couch, since I’m not sure where I should put it. Rhett reaches up and laces his fingers through mine, placing our hands on his chest. His eyes are still on mine, and I can’t look away.
“You’re beautiful, Saylor,” he murmurs. My face heats, I feel it, and I know he sees it when his eyes sparkle. “That too,” he says softly. “That blush of yours could bring a man to his knees.”
“What about you?” I ask boldly. I bite my bottom lip. I can’t believe I just said that. If I thought I was blushing before, it’s tenfold now.
“Yeah, baby, especially me,” he admits without any hesitation.
“So Whiskey, huh?” I ask him.
“Yeah, well beer actually. My father owns Baxter’s Brewery in Tennessee. He and my Gramps didn’t always see eye to eye, so he branched out on his own.”
“Which do you like better?”
“They’re both the same in my eyes. Although, growing up Gramps always said I would one day run the distillery.”
“But you work for your father?”
“Yeah, after college I went to work for him. It wasn’t until recently, being here I was reminded of the plans Gramps and I had as a kid.”
“I love your eyes,” I tell him. “Have I ever told you that?” I ask changing the subject. Partly because he seems sad and partly because his whiskey eyes are boring into mine.
“No.”
“Yeah,” I say, still running my fingers through his hair, not taking my eyes off his. “That’s why I call you Whiskey. Your eyes, the color reminds me so much of whiskey—well, that and it was your choice of drink that first night I met you. It fit. At the time, I had no idea who you were.”