No Kissing Allowed (No Kissing Allowed #1)(39)

“Teach you to try to do man’s work.”

“Man’s work? I’ve got this. I was just playing around before.” I fought the ax more before finally growing frustrated and tossing it down, the log still stuck to it like I’d glued them together. “I’m just gonna let that rest for a bit.”

“Are you now?” He placed his foot on the log and took the ax in his left hand, jerking it free, then tossed it to the ground. “You’re cute, you know that?”

I walked over and draped my arms around his neck. “Cute, huh? Is this cute?” Rising onto my toes, I pressed my lips to his, tempting his mouth open with my tongue and sweeping in to show him just how uncute I could be. Then before my teasing turned to passion, I pulled away and bit my bottom lip.

“I retract previous statement,” he said. “No cuteness at all here, folks.”

“Come on, let’s go down to the dock.”

The sun shone from just over the trees now, making everything beautiful. Not a cloud dotted the sky, and I made a mental note to come sit out on the patio tonight to see the stars. We reached the end of the dock and sat down, draping our legs over the side.

“It must have been amazing growing up here.”

I thought of the fireworks on the Fourth of July. The family reunions in our backyard. “It was.” Then glancing at him, I asked, “Do you have any fond memories from childhood? After your father left, maybe?”

He hesitated, thinking, then gripping the dock and leaning forward to look into the water, he said, “I have a lot of good memories after he left. It’s odd. We never wanted for anything when he was there, yet I never felt like I had anything. Never felt content or safe, the way you should in your house. Then he left, and Mom and me had nothing. No money. Shit food. No fancy toys at Christmas. Yet I never missed those things. We were happy.”

“What was your favorite memory?”

“When I was twelve I asked for my own bicycle so I could ride to the park for my baseball games instead of walking. It was Christmas, and I’d long since stopped believing in any jolly old man coming to bring me my wishes, but still, there was that hint of kid hope. That anticipation that maybe I’d get lucky and I’d get my wish. And then I woke Christmas morning and came out of my bedroom to find a bike under our tree. It was used and had rust spots, but there it was. Mom made us pancakes and we just stared at that bike, happy for the first time in a long time. That was a good day.”

I threaded my fingers through his, running my thumb over his palm. “It sounds like she was a special woman.”

“She was. She died too young. Heart disease.”

“I’m sorry.”

Aidan shrugged and stood, reaching for my hand. “Care if I go in for a shower?”

“Not at all.”

I showed him to the bathroom between our two rooms and where to find towels and anything else he might need, then stepped up to kiss him once more, our bodies touching, heat radiating off him in waves. “You smell good,” I said, causing him to laugh.

“I smell like sweat.”

“You smell like the outdoors. It’s nice.”

He dipped his head to press his lips to mine, then pulled away. “You better get out of here before I drag you into the shower with me.”

Grinning, I went for the door. “We’ll have dinner ready when you come back down.”

“Royalty treatment. I could get used to this.”

I closed the door and leaned against it, smiling. “Yeah…me, too.”

…

I made my way into the kitchen to help Mom with dinner. The smell of rosemary and spice filled the air, bringing with it a thousand memories of me up on a small wooden stool, bright-eyed as I watched Mom work her magic in the kitchen. She taught me how to bake, how to season, how to make cookies from scratch and the most perfectly moist turkey on the planet. I thought of Grace and Lauren, both of whom couldn’t boil water, and felt a surge of pride for all Mom had given me. “Thanks for teaching me to cook,” I said as I sorted cheese and bread on the serving tray she’d set out.

“I’d have liked to show you more. I wish you were home so I could.”

Sadness and guilt weighed on me. “I know. But I’m happy in New York.”

“I can see that,” she said, smiling over at me. “He’s nice. Where is his family for the holiday?”

“He lost his mother a few years ago,” I said. “That’s why I invited him. He would’ve been alone.”

Mom glanced at the doorway to the kitchen, likely listening for Aidan. “What about his dad?”

“Left when he was a kid.”

She covered her mouth. “He doesn’t have parents?”

“He doesn’t have anyone. No family.”

She shook her head, her eyebrows drawn in concern. “Well, then, he can share yours.”

I pulled her into a hug. “I love you. Thank you.”

Mom and I carried the roast and sides into the dining room, where Aidan and Eric sat talking football again. The table brimmed with candles and swirling pumpkin-and-leaf decorations, the perfect holiday centerpiece. I sat down beside Aidan, Mom across from me, and Eric at the head of the table. Mom’s best fine china, sterling, and crystal were positioned in place settings in front of us.