My dad is laughing now. “Well done, Warren.”
“Take notes, dear,” my mom says. But none of them take their eyes off us. “Go ahead and save Christmas, please, Levi.”
This situation is now more funny to me than awkward. And honestly, I just had Taylor’s soft, warm body doing all kinds of twisting and bumping against me for charades; it’s theaudiencethat makes her uncomfortable. Not me.
I slide an arm around her waist and pull her against me; having Taylor pressed against me from chest to knee is a very different experience from having her back pressed to me. Her eyes flash at me. Irritation, maybe?
“Say no if you want to, Tay,” I tell her, my voice low.
“It’s fine,” she says with the slightest trace of martyrdom.
Something about it pricks my pride enough to make me decide to prove that I’ve had womenwanta second kiss.
“Merry Christmas, Taylor.” I slide my free hand into her hair, around the base of her neck, and lean her back. She goes with it, grabbing my arms for balance. “I’m offended you think I can’t hold you.”
“Shut up and kiss me,” she growls.
I know she means it as a warning, but it sends a lick of heat shooting up my spine and cements my half-baked decision. Instead of laying a comical, smacking kiss on her, I lower my head slowly, and her eyes get big.
“What are you—”
But I cut off the surprised whisper with a soft kiss, my lips brushing hers. She stiffens. “Trust me,” I whisper against her mouth.
Another beat and she relaxes slightly. I brush my lips over hers again, and this time, her soft breath feathers against mine, her hand tightening on my bicep.
“Is that enough?” I hear Sara ask, but she sounds far away, like I’m listening to her through a tunnel.
“Almost,” Gage says, and I’m going to make sure that kid gets extra pumpkin pie at Christmas dinner.
I settle my lips more firmly over Taylor’s, not off to the side like the first time. And she kisses me back.
There is no mistaking the pressure of her mouth, and the distant tunnel sound of the other people in the room disappears, buried beneath the loud drumbeat of my blood pulsing in my ears. I slide my fingers holding the back of her head with barely any pressure, only enough to create a gentle scraping along her nape. She gives the tiniest tremor, and an indrawn breath that invites me to explore between her slightly parted lips. I do, stealing a taste of her, which wins a small sound from her. It is not a protest, and I’m about to go back for more when Gage’s voice—remarkably piercing for a human not yet in kindergarten—says, “Good job, Tata. You did it.”
She presses lightly against my chest, and I draw back, my eyes searching hers as they flutter open. She clears her throat. “We did it.”
“We did it,” I repeat softly.
“Right. So . . .” She gives another light push, and I straighten and set her on her feet.
Sara’s gaze dances back and forth between Taylor and me, but she only says, “All good, Gage?”
“Bum pat,” he says.
Taylor’s eyes are speaking murder if I do it, but I shrug, likeSorry, not the boss here. I draw my hand back and she takes a step forward right when I would have connected with her jeans.
“And there’s the pat,” she says. It must have been convincing enough for Gage because he rests his head on Sara’s shoulder, his eyes at half-mast.
“How about now?” she asks. “Christmas wishes are still coming true?”
“Yes.” Then his eyes widen and his head pops straight up. “Oh no. I forgot to tell everyone to wish for Rome’s wish to come true. We need to do it again.”
Well, the rules are the rules. I’m game.
Dr. Bixby, apparently less entertained than Sara was by me kissing his younger daughter, claps his hands. “Good thing that’s what I wished for anyway.”
“Me too,” Mrs. Bixby says.
All the other adults rush to assure Gage that it’s what they all wished for too, trying to get us out of another mistletoe kiss. I really,reallydon’t want their help with that.
