Devon cleared his throat. “C’mon, uh, I’ll walk you out.”
Noah might fucking swoon. Tommy who?
But he managed to keep it together until they were in the mudroom, where he tugged on his nicely warmed boots and shrugged into his jacket.
“So,” Devon said. He rubbed the back of his neck with one scarred hand.
“So,” Noah repeated. He let himself sway closer, until he could pluck Devon’s phone out of his pocket. “Unlock this for me. I’m giving you my number.”
The awkwardness evaporated. Score one for Noah. “You are, huh? Expecting me to text you first?” He handed it over.
Noah created a new contact named NOAH BELL followed by three kissy-face emojis and entered his number. “Nah. You’re gonna call. Like a gentleman.”
Devon took the phone back, but he was looking at Noah. “I am?” He was still just a little pink in the cheeks, which were all pinched up as he held back a smile.
“You are.” Noah pushed himself up on his tiptoes and kissed his cheek. It was warm and stubbly under his lips.
“I am,” Devon agreed, much pinker now.
Yeah, he was. “I’m looking forward to it.” And now Noah needed to make an exit before he decided to move in instead. “Thanks for the rescue, Devon.”
If his own cheeks felt warm, well, his dad would probably pass off any flush as down to the winter chill.
HOW SOON is too soon to call him, do you think?
Devon regretted sending the text as soon as he’d done it, but it was too late now.
You are a disaster of a human, Amber sent back. You could have called him ten seconds after he left and it wouldn’t have been too soon.
Groaning, Devon flopped back against the back of the couch. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d apparently lost whatever remained of his mind. There just wasn’t anything he could do about it at this point.
Except call Noah, probably. That would help.
Or it would’ve helped, if he weren’t currently at his sister’s for Christmas dinner. She and Gable were hosting for the very first time, in celebration of their first Christmas as a married couple. Bronwyn had decked not only the halls but the kitchen, dining room, living room, and bathrooms—every square inch of the house glittered in red and green. And there was a whole crowd gathering, apparently, not just their parents but Gable’s too, some cousins from both sides, and a handful of friends who’d had to cancel their out-of-town holiday plans because of the snow.
Devon appreciated the Christmas spirit a normal amount for someone who didn’t drink, and he loved that his sister collected people and gave them somewhere to celebrate. He didn’t doubt she had a whole cupboard full of last-minute gifts just in case—maybe only a funny pair of socks or some fancy soap, but she’d make sure everyone had something to open, that everyone felt included and thought of.
Which was frankly bananas, because Devon needed a flow chart to figure out how he was connected to his own relations in this house. It was loud.
Devon was maybe hiding in the den in the basement, a little bit. The seventies wall paneling had been garnished with a single sad string of Christmas lights—the old non-LED kind, with a handful of burnt-out bulbs. The couch was older than he was. He had a cranberry mocktail and a plate of cheese and a chat open with Amber, who was literally just upstairs, having come directly from her family’s traditional Christmas breakfast.
Maybe I wasn’t ready, he sent back at length.
“Bitch, you literally suggested we name this year’s lambs after Muppets the second he drove away.” Amber stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking around. “Oh my God, are you the only one down here? You’ve been holding out on me.”
“Shhh,” he said. “We’re hiding.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” She flumphed onto the couch opposite him and shoved her feet under his thigh. “Who from?”
“Kids who want to play mini sticks and parents with nosy questions about my playing days.” He tilted his head back on the couch and turned his face toward her. “Todd—is his name Todd?—went on a fishing expedition to see if I’d out any other drug addicts.”
“Charming,” Amber said dryly. “And I think it’s Trevor. Don’t get me wrong, I love Bronwyn, but she could be a little more discerning when opening her home.”
“Probably, but then she wouldn’t let me in either.” He could deal with it. Currently by running away and hiding in the basement, but he had cheese. It wouldn’t kill him.
“Hey.” Amber didn’t like it when he talked down about himself for being a drug addict, even though it was true and he’d mostly forgiven himself. “Only one of us dated the boy she had a crush on in tenth grade. I’m surprised she lets me in here.”
“Well, you did bring the cheese tray.”
