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“Merry Christmas. Coffee would be good, thank you. Where can I put these?” She held up the brightly wrapped packages.
“Oh, under the tree in the living room. Tom is still upstairs; he should be down soon.”
“Okay.” She placed her gifts under the tree, then returned to the kitchen. Pete put a platter of bacon on the table. She circled to her normal spot in the corner where Pete had already left a cup of coffee for her. She sat and sipped.
Tom entered the kitchen. Wow. He’d looked good in his designer suit last night, but today he was... sexy. Dark designer jeans, tight across his muscular thighs, and a thin knit sweater in a warm chocolate that matched his eyes and clung to his broad shoulders and chest.
“Merry Christmas. You look beautiful.” Tom smiled.
She blinked up at him, startled. She did? He was the beautiful one. “Merry Christmas.” She took another sip of coffee to hide her hot cheeks.
He grinned, then turned to the counter, pouring a cup of coffee. Pete placed more dishes on the table, then they both sat. Smiling, Pete nodded to Tom, then her. “It’s too bad the rest of the family couldn’t make it, but I’m glad you’re here. Seems more like Christmas when there’s more than just the two of us.”
Tom nodded like a bobblehead.
Warmth rising through her chest, Wiz was still amazed they’d included her, the weirdo. She’d never had family who cared as much as these two men. “It’s nice to spend it with someone in person. Thanks for having me.”
Pete snorted. “No need to thank us. You’re family. You don’t need an invitation, either. Now, let’s say thanks and eat.”
They all bowed their heads. Wiz said a short prayer of thanks, but it was thanks for the men across from her, not for the food. Pete pulled a plate off the stack and stuck a spatula into a casserole dish. He handed her the food.
Toasted bread and cinnamon wafted to her. “Pete, this smells delicious. What is it?”
He served another piece to Tom. “Stuffed French toast. You make it the night before, letting it soak in the fridge, then bake it in the morning. Serve yourself some bacon too.”
She took a bite and moaned. Soft, maple egg-custard bread with a vanilla-cinnamon-sugar crust and creamy sweet cheese. “Wow, this is so good. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
“Sure.”
They ate. Wiz didn’t need to talk; she was content to enjoy the food and the company. Plus, she was hungry.
Tom cleared his throat. “We’ll let the roast cook here, then we’ll take it up to your place to finish it off at high temperature, so you’ll want to bring your oven to its highest setting around three or so. That way, it will be preheated before we get there, and we’ll roast it for thirty minutes, then let it rest for another twenty. That way, we’ll be able to eat right around four, which is what you told everybody, right?”
“Perfect.” She took another bite. “This is so good.”
“Yep, you outdid yourself this year, Dad.”
She ate slowly, enjoying every bite because otherwise, she’d eat too much. They weren’t talking, but the silence was comfortable. When she looked up from her plate, one or both of them were usually smiling at her. She’d return the gesture, but the men’s smiles were definitely different. Pete’s was warm and friendly, and a little proud, like she really was a part of the family. Tom’s was also warm and friendly, and there was some pride, but the warmth was different. She glanced over her coffee cup, trying to figure out the difference.
Well, for one, Pete kept his eyes on her face, and Tom... didn’t. His eyes wandered lower occasionally. Even when he gazed at her face, it was hotter somehow. As she watched, he looked back at her again and smiled, then dropped his gaze down her body and smiled again. And, instead of scaring her, it made her feel warm and...she couldn’t quite put a finger on it. She looked down, ate another bite, and looked up again. He was focused on her mouth. Oooh. He wanted her? Oh. Too much. She shivered and scraped her chair back. She couldn’t handle that; maybe she should go.
Clothing rustled and a muffled smack followed. “Ow. What’d you do that for?” Tom glared at Pete.
Pete frowned. “You’re pushing. Go get me some coffee, son.”
“Sure. Give me a moment in the bathroom, first.” Tom left the kitchen, a door closing a moment later.
Pete tapped the table, drawing her attention. “If he makes you uncomfortable, just kick him. Like a cow when Rusty nips.”
She snickered. “Okay. But you don’t have to intervene. I’m an adult, and I should handle my emotions on my own.”
“You’re not on your own.” Pete huffed. “And it’s not just your emotions involved. Tom’s a driven kind of guy, so occasionally, we have to remind him that his enthusiasm isn’t shared and tell him to back off. I’m happy to tell him; the dad part of my job never ends.”
She swallowed. She’d never had a real father, so she didn’t know. And in her experience, telling a man “no” did very little. Other men saying no wasn’t much more effective.
Pete pursed his lips and tapped the table again. “Wiz, you’ve come a long way. But you’ve got to ride your own trail. Tom is extremely patient, and he has more self-control than 99% of men out there, but sometimes, you’ll have to remind him it’s your pace that’s important, not his.” He grinned. “A swift kick to the keister will do nicely.” He sobered. “But I promise you, all it takes is words. You just have to say them.”
Wiz forced a smile. Words never worked. “Okay, Pete. I’ll do that. But I’m telling him you said to kick him.”
