by L.H. Cosway
“I’m trying to decide if your jumper is awful or inspired,” I commented, and he grinned wide.
“Well, there’s one in your size wrapped and under the tree, so I hope it’s the latter,” he shot back with a wink.
“You better be joking,” I warned. “Or there’ll be a Christmas morning tantrum courtesy of yours truly.”
They both laughed. Conor led us inside and the house had been transformed. There were garlands twisted along the staircase, fairy lights on the bookshelves and mistletoe hanging over the doorway. There was even a giant tree in one corner of the living room donned with gold and red baubles.
“Did you do all this yourself?” I asked, impressed.
He nodded. “Yep. Christmas is my favourite time of year.”
“You’re such a big kid.”
“Stop trying to bring me down, or I’ll call you Ebenezer for the next two days.”
I folded my arms and smiled. “Fine. But only because your cheerfulness is adorable.”
Conor scowled playfully, just as his parents emerged from the kitchen, alongside his sister. Bethany was a few years younger than Conor, her hair in a long braid down her back. I knew them all from the Villas, and we used to say hi when we ran into each other, so they weren’t complete strangers. We exchanged greetings just as Dylan’s dad, Tommy, and his girlfriend, Bridget, came down the stairs.
I couldn’t believe how well Tommy looked, and Bridget seemed lovely. She had short brown hair and kind eyes, and I guessed her to be in her late fifties. I was admittedly glad I lost that bet on her being a pretty young twenty-something who favoured older gentlemen.
“Evelyn! I can’t believe how long it’s been. And Yvonne, you look great,” Tommy said as he came and gave us both hugs.
I felt a little emotional just to see him, because he was clearly in a much better place now. Life away from the Villas had been good for him, and it wasn’t so much the setting as it was the memories. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must be to move on when you still lived in the same flat you shared with your dead wife. It had certainly been hell for me to live in a building where my best friend’s memory was so engrained.
Maybe that’s why I felt lighter here in New York, where everything was new and there weren’t reminders constantly bringing me down.
“This is my friend, Bridget,” Tommy went on. “She’s a chef.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I replied and shook her hand. “You aren’t by any chance cooking the turkey for tomorrow? I’m dubious about letting Conor and Dylan loose in the kitchen.”
“Hey! I’m a great cook,” Conor protested, overhearing me where he stood chatting with his parents.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it,” I teased.
“Dylan’s actually doing most of the cooking,” Bridget replied. “I’ve given him a little guidance, but other than that I’m off duty.”
Speak of the devil, Dylan emerged from the kitchen wearing a green and red apron. I held back all the jokes I wanted to make, since we were in company and I knew I should behave. There was flour on the apron and I wondered what he’d been making.
His eyes landed on me first, his smile tender, and I remembered all the things he’d said to me in the car.
I might create them, but they’re all you.
Warmth suffused my body as he came and greeted us. “I see everybody’s met.”
“Yes, and we hear you’ve taken on the task of preparing the food,” Yvonne said. “How’s it going?”
“So far so good. I just finished the mince pies.”
Was it weird that I was aroused by the idea of him in the kitchen, cooking up a storm?
“Anyone for Baileys?” Conor asked and was met with a round of yeses.
“Let me show you both where you’ll be staying,” Dylan said, eyes on me. He pulled off the apron then led Yvonne and I upstairs. It really was a wonderful house. If Dylan ever decided to settle down, he should seriously consider buying the place.
Our room was on the second floor. It had a king-sized bed and a pretty antique vanity. I could just imagine some turn of the century lady sitting down to powder her cheeks.
“Wow, this is great,” I said and dropped my bag by the foot of the bed.
“The room is gorgeous,” Yvonne added.
“I’m just at the end of the hall,” said Dylan, like I needed reminding. Maybe he thought I’d sneak down there in the middle of the night. With the way I was feeling about him lately, it was a definite possibility. “And the bathroom’s just over here,” he went on, crossing the hallway to open the door to a nice-sized bathroom.
“Yeah, we remember,” I said, unsure why he was giving us the grand tour. We’d been up here before, though admittedly it was a while ago. Maybe he was just nervous. After our emotional heart to heart, I knew I was experiencing all kinds of intense feelings.
“Dad and Bridget are on the third floor, and Conor’s parents and Bethany are staying on the basement level.”
“You should’ve put us down there,” I chided. “We were the last-minute invite, after all.”
Dylan shook his head. “You haven’t seen the basement. It’s a separate little apartment with a door that leads outside. They’re staying until the 28th, so we thought it best they had their own space.”
Oh well, that made me feel a little better.
“Bridget seems nice,” I went on, curious about what he thought.
Dylan nodded. “She’s great. I like her. I was so worried she might be trying to use Dad for money or something, but she’s actually really lovely.”
I eyed him, dubious. “Because that’s the only reason anyone would be interested in your dad. You of all people should know he’s a catch.”
He narrowed his gaze, about to say something when he shook his head. “Nope, I’m not rising to it. You’re trying to rile me, I can tell.”
I smirked. “He’s in very good shape for his age. Isn’t he, Yvonne?”
“Oh yeah, a real silver fox,” she added, joining in.
Dylan put his hands in the air. “Still not rising to it. You both take your time getting settled. I’ll see you downstairs.” His eyes met mine briefly before he closed the door behind him.
Yvonne placed her bag up on the bed and pulled out a cardigan. She shook her head, smiling to herself. “You two.”
I shot her a look. “What?”
She sighed then levelled me with a fond expression. “He loves you very much, Ev.”
I looked away and busied myself looking around the room. Most of the drawers were empty, as was the wardrobe. When I didn’t respond she continued, “And you love him.”
I exhaled in exasperation. “Where are you going with this?”
“Just stating some facts. I’m not sure why you’re both dancing around one another when it’s obvious you should be together.”
Pot meet kettle.
I didn’t bother saying anything about her and Conor, because I’d already tried. She needed figure it out for herself. She pulled on her cardigan and went downstairs. I sat on the mattress, stomach turning over with butterflies as I thought about what she said. She was right about me loving Dylan, and I was certain he loved me back. What else could he have meant by telling me all his perfumes were inspired by me?
And why would he stare so deeply into my eyes and say he didn’t want to be with anyone else?
Chapter 16
When I finally went downstairs, there was a glass of Baileys waiting for me. I sat on the couch between Yvonne and Bethany, chatting for a while with Bethany about how she was studying nursing at college. I’d had to attend a few courses before I became Gran’s primary carer, so I could relate to a lot of the things she was learning about.
Dylan was mostly in the kitchen working on dinner. At one point he emerged, still wearing that ridiculously Christmassy apron. Our eyes met, and he walked towards me. He slid his fingers through mine and pulled me up from the couch.
“I need an extra pair of h
ands,” was all he said before he dragged me into the kitchen.
There was a cut of beef roasting in the oven, and gravy simmering in a pot on the stove.
“So, the perfumer has turned his hand to cooking,” I commented.
He gave me an indulgent smile as he came and gripped my shoulders. His hands were firm, their heat sinking into my skin and warming my insides. He set me in front of a pile of potatoes and handed me a knife. When he stood behind me, I felt his chest press into my shoulders. He lowered his mouth to my ear and instructed. “Peel these.”
He might as well have said, “Take off your clothes,” for the way his words simmered through me, making every hair on my body stand on end.
I nodded and quietly set to work, still thinking about what Yvonne said. I wondered and I hoped. Dylan moved about the kitchen with effortless flow. You’d swear he’d been cooking all his life. But I guess in a way he had been. Designing perfumes was exactly like creating a recipe. You needed to find just the right ingredients. Figure out the exact method of combining them to achieve the desired result.
“Seems like you’re not too bad a chef,” I said, halfway through my peeling.
Dylan stood by the stove, alternating between stirring the gravy and checking on the roast beef. I admired the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing toned forearms.
“Have you forgotten the bruschetta I made you?”
“Right, yes, the best bruschetta in all of New York.”
He smirked. “Not quite, but it’s definitely up there.”
I gave a soft laugh. “And what are we having for dessert?”
“Ah, now that’s a surprise.”
I carried the peelings to discard in the bin, while Dylan grabbed the potatoes and washed them under the tap, then threw them in a pot of boiling water. “The key to great mash is to use butter and milk. I also like to toss in a small teaspoon of wholegrain mustard.”
“Interesting choice,” I murmured just as his hand slid gently along the back of my neck. He swept my hair over one shoulder and lowered his mouth to my nape. I gasped at the contact of his soft lips on my skin, gripping the edge of the countertop.
“I’ve been dying to do that since you arrived,” he whispered, then dragged his mouth across to my earlobe. I stifled the urge to moan, every part of me on a knife’s edge already.
“Erhmmm,” I murmured back, incoherent. It was so hard to concentrate on words with his lips caressing, teeth nipping.
His hand moved to circle my waist. I closed my eyes and savoured his heat. He rested his head on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around my middle. I turned my face into his and nuzzled his chin.
His mouth fell open and his breath hit my skin. It was way too hot in here and it wasn’t even from the oven. Dylan held me close and neither of us moved. We stayed like that for a long while, until the potatoes started to boil over. Dylan hurried to lower the heat, while I walked to the other side of the kitchen and stared out the window.
Dylan came and stood next to me, not speaking. The windowpane was frosted on the outside from the winter chill. Our shoulders brushed when he reached down and took my hand. And then, as if by some miracle, it started to snow.
We watched the falling white flecks for a minute before an exclamation of excitement rang out from the living room. Dylan smiled down at me.
“It’s snowing!” Conor announced when he burst into the kitchen. “Come on, you two. We’re all going outside.”
“Wait and see if it sticks first,” Dylan said.
“No way. I’m going out,” Conor argued before hurrying back into the living room.
I chuckled. “He really is a big kid this time of year.”
“The holiday season does something funny to his brain,” Dylan agreed.
In the end, the snow became so heavy that we all couldn’t resist going outside. I wrapped up well and what was supposed to be a pleasant wander around the neighbourhood turned into a full-on snowball fight. It was Yvonne, Bethany and me against Dylan and Conor. Girls against boys. The ‘grown-ups’ were wise enough to sit it out.
I wasn’t sure who won in the end, but I had snow stuck in places it had no business being stuck, courtesy of Dylan shoving snow down the back of my coat. I rewarded him by smashing some against his cheek and he gasped at the cold.
When we went inside, I savoured the warmth of the central heating and changed into some comfy leggings and a hoodie. I knew it wasn’t exactly dinner attire, but I decided to choose comfort over fashion.
As expected, Dylan’s food was delicious, and dessert turned out to be sherry trifle. I was pretty sure it came from a packet, since I couldn’t fathom how he would have time to prepare everything from scratch.
After dinner we all gathered in the living room to watch a movie. Conor delegated himself to decide what we watched, and I couldn’t help smiling when he announced his choice was When Harry Met Sally.
He glanced briefly at Yvonne, who appeared touched by the gesture, her cheeks flushed. I was pretty sure she hadn’t watched the movie in years. I guess she didn’t have to anymore. She was living the life she aspired to, but she didn’t have anyone to share it with.
Sure, she had me, but a niece wasn’t the same as a lover, someone you could share everything with.
Once the lights were dimmed, Dylan slid in next to me on the couch. It had been a long day and I was exhausted. I couldn’t help resting my head on his shoulder as I settled into the movie. At one point, he threw his arm around me and pulled me closer so that the side of my body was flush with his. I was relaxed and peaceful, and I could’ve fallen asleep right there if it weren’t for how his fingers stroked my hip.
The baggy hoodie I wore allowed him to slip his hand underneath and caress my skin. I had a lump in my throat and my belly was tight with need he turned me on so much. When the film ended, and everyone started making their way to their bedrooms, all I wanted to do was take Dylan’s hand and lead him upstairs.
But of course, I didn’t. Maybe if it was just the two of us, I’d have taken the plunge, but definitely not with a house full of people to witness my slutty behaviour. Okay, so it was hardly slutty, but still. I was too embarrassed to do something so forward. Besides, what if I did and then Dylan was all, Ev, this isn’t the time . . .
I’d be mortified.
In our room, Yvonne and I changed into our PJs and climbed into bed. I wondered what she thought about Conor’s movie choice, but decided not to pry. There was no sense meddling when I was sure they’d find their way to one another eventually.
At least, I hoped.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. I just couldn’t stop thinking about Dylan, couldn’t get the memory of his mouth on my neck out of my head. I tried everything, from counting sheep to thinking of the mundane and reassuringly attractive faces of The Vampire Diaries cast. Usually, that method helped me nod off, because if everyone in your universe, even the supposedly plain people, was that good-looking, the world would be a pretty worry-free place.
But no, even my failsafe wasn’t working tonight.
Driven by pure frustration, I got out of bed and crept to my door. I took a deep breath, twisted the handle and stepped outside, only to find Tommy coming up the stairs. He was wearing a housecoat and held a cup of herbal tea.
Man, bumping into the parent of the person whose bedroom you were trying to sneak into for sexy times was the worst.
The worst.
Tommy smiled and gestured to the tea. “Bridget couldn’t sleep. It’s the jet lag. I thought some camomile might help.”
“Oh, good idea. It took me a little while to get used to the time difference when I first moved over as well,” I said and awkwardly folded my arms.
Before Tommy could say anything else, Dylan’s bedroom door opened. He wore boxer shorts and a grey T-shirt. I wondered if we’d woken him up, or if he’d been having just as much of a hard time sleeping as me. I was momentarily distracted by his scruffy bed head and
bare, muscular legs when our eyes met. God, he was sexy, especially when he took in the scene and came to the most obvious conclusion. The tiniest, almost imperceptible smirk graced his lips.
Kill me. Kill me now.
He looked from me to his dad.
“Everything okay?”
“I was just taking some tea to Bridget,” Tommy replied.
“And I needed to use the bathroom,” I added then quickly hurried across the hall. I could hear Dylan and his dad talking while I turned on the tap and pretended to pee. They were still out there when I emerged, discussing a plan to drive to the Catskills on Wednesday for some sightseeing.
I nodded to both of them, not meeting Dylan’s gaze, then shuffled back into my room.
Well, that had been a disaster.
The embarrassment seemed to kill any previous sexual desire, because I fell asleep soon after. The next morning, I didn’t wake until ten. I figured everyone else was awake because Yvonne’s bed was empty, and I could hear voices downstairs. I pulled my dark blue dress and glittery holiday tights out of my bag, then went to take a shower. I knew we’d just be hanging out in the house all day, but I still wanted to make an effort.
When I went downstairs, Yvonne, Dylan and Conor were in the kitchen drinking coffee. Dylan’s attention fell on me, a smile in his eyes when he saw my outfit. He came forward and dipped to press a kiss on my cheek. “Merry Christmas, Ev. You look beautiful,” he murmured then returned to his place by the stove.
“Are you making pancakes?”
“Yep. You want some?”
“Sure. But just one. I want to save space for dinner.”
“Ev’s and my Christmas tradition is to eat nothing at all until dinner time, then we gorge,” Yvonne said, lifting her coffee mug for a sip.
“I like your style.” Conor chuckled.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked.
“Gone out for a walk,” Conor answered. “Dad likes how quiet it is on Christmas morning, the streets are always empty.”
“Well, I favour not leaving the house until the twenty-sixth. You’re all lucky I made the effort to get dressed,” I joked and went to grab some coffee. Dylan had one of those fancy machines, and I had trouble figuring out how to use it. Yvonne and Conor chatted when he came up behind me and took the capsule from my hands.
