“Ican,” I defended. “Just not my own.”
Hecocked his head and smirked. “Must make that time of the month reallydifficult, huh?” Rolling my eyes, I attempted to jerk my hand from his grasp. “Hey,I’m not done here yet. Relax.”
“Well,you don’t have to be so disgusting,” I scolded.
Chuckling,his lips quirked into a lopsided smile as his eyes met mine. “No, you’re right.I’m sorry.”
Theimmediate rush of tension dissipated just as quickly as it came. “You don’tthink I need stitches?”
“Nah.”He shook his head, wrapping the final strip of bandage tape around my pointerfinger. “They might scar a little, but they’re not deep enough to rush you downto the emergency room.”
Trustinghim, I nodded. “How’d you find the first aid kit?”
“Greysongot it while I carried you in here,” he said, and patted his hand over minebefore gently laying it over my stomach. “Okay. You’re good. Time for me tobutcher the bird.”
“Wait,you don’t—”
Hisdeep brown eyes widened with laughter. “Tabby. You almost chopped your fingersoff! There’s no fucking way I’m letting you wield any more weapons.”
“Youstartled me!” I defended myself, as he stood up and headed into the kitchen.
“Youknew I was coming!” he laughed in reply.
Islowly got up from the couch, testing my legs before trusting them enough towalk after him, and when I did, I found him already set to the task. The breathwas stolen from my lungs at the sound of his powerful voice, singing along toSeether’s “Rise Above This.” A deep, melodic growl, nearly matching that ofShaun Morgan himself. I leaned against the door frame, losing myself in the bangof his head and the sway of his hips, and before I could stop, I found myselfthinking that I would be perfectly content if this was my life.
Thiscouldbe the life I’ve always wanted.
“Hey,by the way,” he tossed over his shoulder, “thanks for inviting me for dinner.You really didn’t have to do that.”
Feelingas though I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have, I cleared my throatand pushed away from the door. “Oh, stop,” I brushed him off, walking to standbeside him as he continued to carve. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“Uh,yes, it is,” he laughed, smirking and holding my gaze. “Itisa big dealwhen the woman you have history with invites you over for fucking Thanksgivingdinner.”
“Well,whatever,” I dismissed the comment with a purse of my lips. “Thanksgiving isfor family, and guess what, Sebastian? That’s what you are. As weird as thisall might be. You’re family.”
Helowered the knife, laying it on the counter as his eyes searched mine for ananswer to the question I sensed he was thinking but wouldn’t ask.What thehell are we doing here?I stood frozen, wondering the same thing. I foundmyself wishing that he would lay his hand against my cheek and kiss me, tellingme to forget dinner before carrying me up to my room. And along with myfantasy, I finally succumbed to the proclamation of my heart.
Ilove him.
Theself-admission struck me deep, rattling my soul, and I turned away from him,wide-eyed and bitten-lipped.
“Thisisn’t weird,” he finally spoke. “It just kinda feels like us.”
Ibegged my heart to relax as I replied, “It just is, right?”
“Yeah.”I looked to him again and watched him nod with acknowledgment. “Exactly.”
***
“This issofreakin’ good,” Greyson declared, spooning another helping of sweetpotato casserole onto his plate. “Aunt Tabs, you should let Dad cook moreoften.”
“Okay,for the record, I didn’tlet himcook,” I pointed out, glancing atSebastian with a taunting smirk. “He justshowed upwith this stuff.”
“Hey,I told you I’d bring something,” Sebastian reminded me.
“Yes,you told me you’d bringsomething.” I gestured toward a plate of homemadebuttermilk biscuits, the tray of marshmallow-covered sweet potatoes, and a dishof cranberry stuffing. “You didn’t tell me you’d blow my green bean casseroleout of the water with food Martha Stewart would be proud of.”
Helet out a throaty chuckle, reaching out for another serving of said casserole.“Hey, don’t diss the green beans. This shit is good.”
