We all laugh then as Tom walks into the room with a child clinging to each leg.
“Where am I sleeping?” He asks, scratching his head.
“Daddddddd, we need to bake cookies!” Victoria whines from his left leg as Harry immediately chips in.
“No, we need a snowball fight.”
“No, we don’t, Harry,” Victoria argues, reaching out to swipe at her brother. “We need to bake cookies forSanta!”
“Maybe you’ll give him food poisoning, and he’ll die, and no one will get any gifts.” Harry grins at Victoria, who narrows her eyes in horror.
“You’re nasty! Mum! Tell Harry to stop being mean about Santa!”
I exchange a look with Dylan, who drains his tea and places it on the bookcase beside him.
I panic that he’s going to leave, and I’m not sure what to say to make him stay.
“Thanks for the tea.” Dylan smiles, rising to his feet. “But I better leave you to it.”
“No,” I blurt out as he turns to me with a puzzled expression.
Shit.
“Erm, you’ve got nowhere to be, right? It’s Christmas Eve. Stay and bake cookies with us. As a thank you for helping me.”
Dylan glances back at the twins, who are still arguing, as Cassie and Tom try to keep them apart.
“I don’t think—”
“Please stay,” I whisper, and his eyes widen as he blinks, clearly confused.
I’m not sure what else I can say other than to tell him the truth.
“I like your company. Plus, we have a tree, and you don’t.” I laugh, twisting to the tree in the corner of the room. “You shouldn’t be on your own at Christmas.”
“Yes, stay,” Tom calls out, who is now being held down on the floor by his family. “We’ll play games after baking cookies—”
“And have a snowball fight!” Harry interrupts as Cassie grins at us.
Dylan hesitates, but I simply clap my hands together and smile. “Is that a yes?”
His cloudy blue eyes meet mine as he relents, heaving a sigh. “Alright. I’ll stay for a bit.”
* * *
Dylan takes to family life like a fish in water, showing the kids how to shape the cookies expertly without using a cutter, and then telling them how to take the cookies out of the oven just as they brown, so the chocolate chips melt in your mouth.
Everyone else is outside, having the promised snowball fight as we watch from the window, sipping tea and munching on the cookies.
“Why did you want me to stay?” Dylan asks without moving his gaze from the window.
My hands tighten their grip around the mug I’m holding, and I bite my lip. “I don’t know. I just wanted you here.”
“Merry, look,” Dylan says, turning towards me. “I—”
Without thinking, I press my lips against his, my hand on the back of his neck as he stiffens, moving back instantly.
Oh. My.God.