Jingle all the Mitchell Way: a holiday novella
Jennifer Foor
Chapter 1
Jax
The sound of the alarm on Amber’s phone was piercing to my ears, considering I’d gone to bed only hours before after staying up late to finish the slew of tasks she’d given me. It was going to be the first Thanksgiving we’d ever hosted and my woman was hell-bent on making sure it went off without a hitch.
I brought my arm over and tapped on the first spot my palm landed on. A slap sound made me smile, even as my eyes remained shut. I’d made contact with her squishy tit, her hand catching me from doing it a second time. “Cut it out, Jax,” Amber mumbled while the annoying tune was still blowing up the room.
“Turn the shit off. It’s still dark out.”
I felt the mattress moving and cracked my lids to discover her standing up. She was covering her perfect body with a thin robe as if she were leaving the room. I sat right up. “Where are you going now?”
“I have to put the turkey in,” she whispered. “Go back to bed.”
“No,” I insisted. “I’m coming too. I don’t need to hear any shit that I didn’t put forth the same amount of effort for this catastrophe tonight. It’s not every day the whole clan will be sitting in our dining room, enjoying a meal my wife slaved in the kitchen for days over.”
I caught her rolling her eyes before her hands caught each side of her hips. “First off, this isn’t a competition, at least not yet, and second, don’t be annoying this early. I may slip with the carving tool and take off an important limb before it can impregnate me with two more mini Jax’s running around.”
Her snarky comment caused a low cackle to escape me. My little twin girls were into everything. Every single time I saw them smile it was like I was put on this earth to give them all their little hearts could ever want. Yes, I was scared shitless of them becoming teenagers, but at least for now they were safe and sound with their daddy’s protection.
My attention went back to my overly-tired, seemingly antagonized wife. “You love it,” I added, while latching my hands around her trim waist. “I happen to enjoy making babies with you. In fact, let’s take advantage of a quiet house and get back in bed. I just had this dream about a position we’ve never tried before. It’s where you put your leg up above your head while I…” Amber cut me off.
She shoved me away lightly. “Jax, be serious. Go to sleep. I’ll come to bed once everything is situated in the kitchen.”
Against her orders, I followed Amber down the old wooden trimmed stairs and into the large country kitchen. We’d remodeled the space when we bought the property. What was once a small area, had been increased to a space capable of several people being able to work without feeling crowded. During the design process we’d kept in mind the size of my family, and what it would be like when filled to capacity.
Now, it was no secret that my wife wasn’t the most skilled in the kitchen. I found it hysterical to watch her struggle through recipes my mother could prepared with her eyes closed, though I never seemed to mind whatever she put on the table, even if it was unrecognizable due to being extra crispy.
After being asked three times to get the turkey out of our garage freezer, I’d stuck it in the large farmhouse sink to thaw. It’s twenty five pound size almost took up the entire area. “Are you sure you can handle something so big, baby?”
She was struggling to get her hands under the turkey to lift it out of the sink. I leaned against the kitchen island watching and waiting for her to react to my comment. It was clear Amber was determined to prove some point, even though I couldn’t have cared less about the turkey being in the oven on time. I needed sleep. Sex first, because let’s face it, my wife in only a silk robe was pretty damn sexy. Then sleep. Lots of it. I needed to recuperate from a week’s worth of Amber’s preparation wrath. She’d been a force to be reckoned with. It was surprising she hadn’t had a nervous breakdown yet.
“I don’t know,” she came back with a resting bitch face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve handled something this size. I’m used to little things.”
I patted the cold quartz countertop. “That’s low. Way to make me feel insignificant.”
“No problem. You asked for it.” She spun back around and fiddled with the raw bird. “Are you going to stand there or come over here and help me put this in the roasting pan?”
I headed to the sink, shoving my wife over so I could manage it myself. My first attempt failed, the turkey covering my arms in slick lubrication from being rinsed. “It’s slippery,” I announced, after noticing her giving me one of her looks as if she knew I’d have issues with it. “Did you oil it up?”
She giggled, filling the empty kitchen with echoes of her amusement. “What? Of course not. Hurry up. If you keep messing around you’re never going to have time to bend me over.”
In my defense, my wife was a model. Hearing her talk about bending her fine ass over for me was like dangling a piece of chocolate in front of a woman on her period. I couldn’t resist. I got the turkey within inches of the damn pan before it slid out, slapping onto the counter first and them tumbling to the tile floor.
Amber’s hands went up to her shocked face, a screech escaping her tiny frame. “Oh my god!”