The Plight Before Christmas(55)

“Har har,” I say as Eli’s deep chuckle rumbles next to me. To be fair, it’s the first time he’s laughed.

“Thatch,” I say, eyeing Peyton, who’s sitting stock-still, completely captivated by his favorite movie. “I’m so—”

Thatch shakes his head adamantly, cutting me off. “Not even a week after Gracie was born, we named you guardian if anything were to happen to us.” I take the offered tea in his hand, lips wobbling. “Two days after Peyton was born, we adjusted the will for the same reason. You would never, ever intentionally hurt my son or put him in harm’s way. Don’t even think of apologizing to me. Serena isn’t even upset.”

“She’s not?”

“Nope. I’m the only one she’s pissed at today,” he sighs, bends, and kisses my forehead, and my eyes water.

“Cut it out,” he orders with a grin. “Besides, if that kid had to go flying off a mountain cliff, I can’t think of a soul better for him to do it with, and you proved that today.”

I eye Gracie, who’s flipping through the channels next to Peyton.

“I’m sorry I ruined everyone’s fun.”

“You did no such thing,” Serena says, appearing behind Thatch. “They’d been at it for hours, anyway.”

“It’s okay, Auntie Whit,” Gracie speaks up.

“Thanks, baby girl.”

Serena bends down in a whisper for me. “We’re going to go wrap if that’s okay?”

Eli bristles next to me as if agitated when I nod.

“We’ll just be down the hall in Mom and Dad’s room.”

“I’ve got it,” I tell her.

I turn to Eli as Thatch and Serena exit the living room. There’s no mistaking it or the hard set of his jaw. I can still read him.

“What?”

“You think you’re really up for watching them right now?”

“They’re just sitting here, so yes.”

He cups his chin, a move he did when he was irritated, as Gracie approaches. “Auntie Whit, can I please borrow your phone for a second?”

“Sure, baby,” I exaggerate sweetly before powering on my phone and handing it to her. She lifts it and scans my face with it, opening it up.

I glance over at Eli, who lifts a brow.

“Aunts get to spoil without consequence. It’s a perk. Don’t judge.”

“I’m not,” he replies quickly.

“You are so judging.

“You’re doing too much.”

“I’m sitting here.”

“You need to take it easy.”

“You’re the only one pestering me.”

“Keep talking,” his smile is dazzling, and it dizzies me a little as I try not to imagine being in my underthings on the toilet while his breath hit my skin. Or his eyes dropping to my lips, or the sincere terror in his face as he carried me inside the house, or his relief after, or the gentle stroke of his thumb.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He grins again, making my heart pump faster as Erin walks in from the kitchen. I hold my hand up. “Tell Mom I’m fine. And all of you, stop fussing over me.” I turn to Eli. “You especially.”

“You defied gravity today, sis,” Erin defends, eyeing Brenden, who’s snoring in the recliner before she heads back into the kitchen.

“Exactly,” Eli chimes in.

“I’m fine,” I insist.

“You don’t have to be so tough, you know. Everyone has a right to worry.”

“Well, there’s no need.”

“No one is made of Teflon, Whitney.”

“Says the guy who went into denial every time he got sick and refused to go to the doctor.”

“I had a hot nurse.”

“A nurse you slammed the door on.”

The light in his eyes dims.

“You know,” I snark, “for someone so intent on jogging my memory, yours seems selective.”

He shrugs. “Nothing wrong with trying to remember the good.”

I lean over. “That’s because all you got was good.”

“And you don’t think you were a handful? You must be joking.”

“I was good to you.”

“Not denying it, but you could’ve stood to be taken down a peg or two.”

“Did you just Super Troopers me?”

He grins. “I love that line.”

“Well, you misquoted it. And you know I can slaughter you in movie trivia.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Do you, now?” The wider his smile gets, the more I want to wipe it off.

“You’re starting a bickering fest to keep me in conversation.”

“It’s working,” he grins smugly.

“See, now there’s the ass I know.”

“And love?”

I snort. “Dream on pal.”

“Auntie Whit,” Gracie squeaks from the couch. “Who is Jonathan?”

“I don’t know, Gracie,” I dismiss her, narrowing my eyes on a smirking Eli. It’s clear he’s reveling in the fact that he can still push my buttons. “You’re just as arrogant as you used to be. You only know what you think you know,” I whisper vehemently, “and that’s not much.”