The Plight Before Christmas(66)

“Until it isn’t,” Gretchen remarks snidely, wiggling to better fit in the recliner she commandeered from Erin while she was feeding Wyatt a bottle.

It’s then I feel Eli’s gaze home in on me, as it has several times the last half hour of interrogation.

“Should we exchange gifts?” I speak up.

“We’ll get to it,” Gretchen says dismissively in the way of a Queen addressing a peasant.

“And you,” she addresses Eli, whose smile lifts as she shifts all focus on him. “What is your purpose here?”

“Like you, I don’t have a family of my own.” His quick response and easy answer has my heart flinching. “So Brenden was kind enough to invite me.”

“He’s been a blessing,” Mom interjects, a slight warning in her voice.

“Good looking man, with a job, and still a bachelor at your age?” She scoffs. “You must be close to forty. Is there a reason you’re playing Peter Pan?”

“Pardon?” Eli feigns ignorance, though I know full well he’s baiting her to take the brunt of her malicious intent.

The slight lift of Gretchen’s lips is practically a metaphor for her rolling up her sleeves. I narrow my eyes. It’s one thing for me to call Eli out—we shared time together and a sexual past—but it’s another entirely for my intrusive asshole of an aunt to ridicule him.

“While I don’t have a family, these are my blood relatives. Where are your pare—”

“Bat!” I shout, and the entire family looks over to me as though I’ve lost my mind. Eli chuckles.

Smooth, Whit. Really smooth.

“Bat?” Mom asks, her brows fusing together.

“I thought I saw one,” I point out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “A bat. A giant, hairy, imposing, blood dripping from its teeth bat.”

“Ewww,” Gracie says, “I don’t like bats.”

Eli smirks at me as we exchange words telepathically.

No prisoners? He asks.

Off with her mol-ie head! I reply.

Want to go first? He asks, ever the gentlemen.

After you, kind sir.

He dips his chin in confirmation.

“You know, Gretchen,” Eli says, standing. “I was wondering if you had any advice on that. You know, being alone, all the time, with nothing else to do but observe the world around you. Whatever do you do to pass all your time…alone?”

“I’ve had my fair share of suitors over the years.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Eli says, warming his hands in front of the fire. “Wonder why they didn’t stick?” Brenden smirks and sips out of his cup, his eyes screaming, ‘get her.’

“Well, suitors aren’t spaghetti are they, Eli?”

“No, they definitely aren’t, and I’m sure you enlightened them on exactly why they didn’t suit your lifestyle, which is doing what again?”

“I’m into…” Gretchen wiggles in the recliner, “art.”

“Art. Historical? Modern? Are you a Monet fan or more of a Pollock type of woman? Who painted the last piece you bought?”

“I’m actually…I paint.”

“Oil or acrylic?”

“A bit of both…” she says, darting her eyes around.

“Odd. Many painters stick to one type so they can hone in on their craft.”

“Well, I’m only dabbling at the moment.”

“Ah, dabbling.”

“And…I, uh, garden too.”

“I can tell by the tan,” Eli says, eyeing her paste white skin. He presses in by walking over to the recliner, his eyes intent as he kneels in front of her chair. “Since you and I seem to have so much spare time, maybe I’ll come for a visit. I can check out your paintings.”

“Well, I don’t have any to show you right now, per se.”

Eli nods as if in perfect understanding as he takes her Allen-sized hand in his, his eyes softening. “Well, when you’ve finished, I’d be honored if you would show me one.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she says, darting her eyes around to each of us before he recaptures her gaze with his voodoo icicle eyes. “Why would you come all that way just to see my painting?”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right? Art, much like people, can be largely misunderstood unless the right person comes along to decipher it. Even then, it’s such a personal thing, isn’t it? I have faith it will be worth the trip.”

My frigid aunt visibly softens where she sits as I shake my head, barely managing to hide my smile. I should have known Eli would level her with his wit before reducing her to a pliable puddle of insecurity only to build her back up.

His voice is the perfect mix of stern and coaxing when he speaks again. “What do you say we exchange gifts, now?”

When my aunt nods, seemingly confused that for the first time in the history of ever, she’s lost control of the room, Eli’s lips lift in victory, and he winks at me as he stands.

My wretched Aunt Gretchen left just after lunch, but not before giving Eli her address. My mother left lipstick marks on both of Eli’s cheeks as she drove away.

Tag team, my ass.

The smooth bastard.

Ruby down. Serena to go.